Bring My Soul Out of This Prison (on hold)

Chapter 2

So, there was the young Seamus Sweeney, recently lifted from anything and everything he had ever known to be now standing at the rail station, waiting for a train to arrive and take him to a new life.

         “I’ve never seen a train before,” he suddenly said to himself out loud.  He spent a few moments, looking around nervously, checking to make sure no one had noticed.  “I wonder what it’s like,” he continued, this time in his head.  “The posters show a giant iron contraption with smoke coming out the top like the hearth back home.  Home.  I wonder what my new one will be like?”  This last thought made him shiver involuntarily.  He shook his body again to shake out the folly.

         Suddenly a shrill whistle that shook both his body and the wooden platform struck through the air.  Scared, Seamus craned his neck without actually moving his body and jumped back from the edge of the platform as the true iron giant steamed quicker than anything he had ever seen before.  A rush of humans began to surround the little boy when suddenly William Lewis wrapped his arms around Seamus and pushed him forward.  Seamus looked up and saw a determined look that suppressed the slickness and gave Mr. Lewis’ face a new character.

         “Mr. Lewis—“ Seamus began, but the man seemed not to hear him.  When they reached the entry to the train car, his feet were no longer touching the floor and he found himself in Mr. Lewis’ surprisingly strong arms.  They continued this way onto the car and then through several cars looking for an open seat.  Seeing one, Seamus pointed to the door and Mr. Lewis took a sharp turn.

         “Here,” Mr. Lewis handed Seamus the precious piece of paper that guaranteed his way to Dublin and his new life.  “Guard this carefully.  When a man in a hat with gold ribbon and a whistle comes by asking for it, show it to him but never let go of it.”  The once slick man, now seeming just old and tired, sighed.  “I wish I could ride with you, but—“ he looked around and shook his sharp shoulders.  He sighed again and turned toward the door.  Turning back to Seamus again, he looked directly into Seamus’ eyes, “Never give anyone the ticket.  And never forget where you come from.  Your parents were good people.”  Another sigh and he was gone.

         Seamus stuck the ticket deep into his shirt, close to his skin where he could always feel it, then jumped off the bench and ran to the window.  He threw his head and arm out of the window like he had seen others do.  Finally he saw him.  Mr. Lewis was standing on the platform, staring off into space and smoking a cigarette.

         “Mr. Lewis!” Seamus yelled as loud as he could.  “Mr. Lewis!”  Lewis turned his head and ran toward the window as the train whistled again and the wheels began turning.  “Mr. Lewis!”

         “Yes, Seamus?”  He huffed along.

         “Thank you.”

         “For what?”

         “Thank you for your kindness.  I will not forget you, Mr. Lewis!”

         Mr. Lewis stopped at the edge of the platform.  He stood there, all angles suddenly going soft.  As Seamus watched, a single tear slid down the sunken, gray cheek and then the man seemed to collapse from inside like a marionette when its strings are cut.

         Seamus calmly walked back to his seat on the bench and sat thinking about old men, advice, and kindness.

         Sleep overtook him quite quickly.  For some reason, the excitement of something new and the experience on the railroad platform were no match for the steady rhythm of the rumbling car he was on.  His little body curled into the fetal position, hugging his cloth bag to his chest, and buried his face in the back of the burlap-covered bench.  In fact, the only times he did wake up were the stops the train made.