flashback

t w e l v e

Ceon

            When I heard Fletcher’s voice through Danyelle’s phone, I was so excited yet scared. I slid off the seat and landed on my butt in the middle of the aisle. I got back up speedily and tried to avoid the annoyed stares of the people around me. “Lemme speak to him,” I demanded Danyelle. She held up her index finger to me and put the other in her ear, trying to hear him above the roaring subway. “LEMME SPEAK TO HIM!” I yelled loudly. The furrowed brows on everyone in the train furrowed even deeper. I clamped my hand over my mouth when I heard a loud click, and the sound of Danyelle spitting violently. Suddenly, all the lights in the train went out and stopped abruptly. Cursing was heard in every corner of the car. I covered Danyelle’s ears.

“What’s going on?” She whispered.

“I don’t know, something’s wrong with the train, I think.” I whispered back.

Danyelle turned the light on her phone on. “Fletcher was really scared,” she whispered into my ear. “He doesn’t know what’s going on. I wonder why the train stopped, anyway.” She looked down at the bright screen and spit. “No signal,” she said. “Can’t call him back.” My stomach swooped down into my toes and I sighed. “Why do we keep coming so close to success—and then fail?” I said, quietly. Danyelle stared at me with sad eyes for a moment, her eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks, and opened her mouth to answer, when the door to our car swung open. It was the conductor, a seemingly awkward old man clad in his hat and suit whose face was red as a tomato. His face had crinkles and wrinkles around his mouth going downward, which meant either he, recently had a Botox, or pouted a lot when he was a child. He took off his hat to reveal a bald red head, except for a thin line of fuzzy white hair that came from one ear round to the next.

He stood quietly and observed the car. Everyone sat on the edges of their seats, waiting for answers. I stared at his head. It reminded me of a defected red tomato with white mold growing around it. The old man walked slowly with a slight limp to a sign pasted on a window of the train. It was partly covered with gum and graffiti, but I could make it out:

THIS IS AN OLD TRAIN. USING CELL PHONES, IPADS, IPODS, AND OTHER TECHNOLOGICAL DEVICES INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO THESE WILL INTERFERE WITH THE MANEUVERS OF THIS TRAIN AND CAN CAUSE FIRES. PLEASE DO NOT USE CELL PHONES OR ANY OF THE ABOVE DEVICES WHILE ABOARD.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Ima Bigg-Freud

Head of CTA (Cottondale Transit Association)

            He pointed at it silently and began to speak annoyingly slowly: “This…sign was… pasted up on this wall for… a reason. An…obvious reason…actually. Something quite simple…if you want to get…where you need to go…you can’t use gadgets…in the train.” His mouth began to dribble a little, and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Now, who used…the cell phone… down here?” Next to me, I heard Danyelle gulp and it clicked. She slipped her phone into her duffel bag between us. A lanky man across from us who was holding a CDale Weekly newspaper cleared his throat and began to speak.

            “Conductor, sir. I believe those children right there,” he said, pointing to Danyelle and I, “were making calls down here.” Another blonde woman piped up. “Not only calls, but a lot of ruckus!” Danyelle stood up. “I apologize, sir, I didn’t mean to cause commotion in the car; I was simply making a very important call, and I had to speak loudly, sir, because of being underground and all. And I didn’t realize the sign; I’m sorry…” “Is that all?” the conductor asked softly. “Yes, sir.” Said Danyelle.

“That? That was not… an appropriate apology!” The conductor hissed. “You…” he said, pointing accusingly at Danyelle with a crooked finger. “You have not only damaged…but also completely destroyed federal…Cottondale government property. All these good…people will have to board…another train on your…account. Property that was…a running antique. The engine in this here train…has been running since early…1900. It was the pride of…the mayor. Not only have you offended the…CTA but also a high government…official!” He patted his red tomato head. “I’m going to have to turn you to in… until your parents can come pick you… up and let’s just…say “bail” you out and pay for the cost of the…damages. Or shall we say destruction? Which…one suits you best?” He chuckled, as did the man with the CDale Weekly paper. Danyelle began to sweat visibly. I clutched my dad’s old journal through my workbag. It was like my good luck charm, and at this moment, I needed more good luck than anything.

“W—we can pay!” I exclaimed, reaching into my workbag for my paycheck. “Y—yeah!” Danyelle exclaimed, reaching into her wallet for her own cash. The conductor smirked. “Kids, $40 isn’t going to pay …for what you’ve done. It’ll be maybe, $8,000. Probably $9,000 even. And that’s… just the engine.” The conductor continued rattling off our charges while he pried open the doors to let people out with a crowbar. I looked over at Danyelle, who wouldn’t make eye contact. She stood silently while people exited the train. Then she made a swift movement with her foot. I simply heard a yelp and saw the body of the CDale Weekly man fly unto the concrete. I smirked at him and he shot us a glare that could have stopped a charging bull. The conductor didn’t seem to notice.

            “Sir?” Danyelle said quietly. The conductor turned around. “Sir, my brother and I here are fourteen years old. He is turning fifteen soon. We are both minors. Under the Cottondale law, a non-governmental official is not licensed to issue a warrant or an arrest on any minor.” The conductor stared. “So, therefore, sir, I apologize, but you will have to find someone else to pay for your antique train.” The conductor opened and closed his fat mouth like a fish in water. “And this conversation has not been documented, I assume,” continued Danyelle, “because as this train was made in the early 1900’s, video was invented but was not yet implemented in the use of locomotives. Thank you, sir, for your time.”

            And with that, she hitched her duffel bag and book bag unto her shoulder. I grabbed my workbag before the old man could persist, and you can bet your life savings we ran out of that station as fast as we could. Behind us, the old crotchety man yelled, “Get back here, you two! Come back! I demand you!” But we ran and ran and didn’t stop running until we saw light. We zoomed up the stairs, Danyelle’s hair flying wildly and her duffel bag dancing on her shoulder. We stood outside by the stairs and looked around the street. “Welcome to Sheathing” a sign read. I looked at Danyelle, who grinned, recognizing our first close escape. I wanted to kiss her so badly, but I bit the inside of my cheek and looked for oncoming traffic on the street.

We began walking slowly in silence to the bus stop Fletcher had described to us, and no matter what, we didn’t look back.