Waiting For You

The Station

Several days ago, my world started disappearing. My favorite actor, sports team, movies, shows, even my friends, all ceased to exist. Shortly thereafter, the windows and doors to my apartment disappeared. I only escaped due to a series of cryptically instructional IMs left over Skype by my internet friend, Ray. Ray is one of the people who stopped existing. He obviously came back, if only online, but so far nothing – and no one – else has.

After I escaped my apartment, I found a portal in my fridge that led to an otherworldly prison. Somehow, that prison exited into my local library. Coincidentally – or not – the library is a few short blocks from a train station. This is helpful, because the instructions Ray provided required me to take a train.

I stayed at the library until it closed. I spent all that time looking things up online. That research didn't shed any light on whatever's happened to me. It only made it clearer that I'd lost my home.

After the library closed, I walked to the nearest restaurant. It closed at 8:45, which left me with over two hours. According to Ray's instructions, I couldn't wait at the Amtrak station itself. In fact, I couldn't even enter until 11:01 PM.

A Veterans' Memorial sits halfway between the library and the train station. While in a sketchy area, it's well-lit and only a couple minutes away from the station, so I sat on a cold bench and waited.

I spent those two hours second-guessing everything. Ray's messages kept playing through my head: the kind ones - the ones that sounded like him - and the insulting, frightening ones. The messages always came together, like two people were typing simultaneously. But that wasn't possible. So, on one hand, Ray was potentially dangerous. On the other hand, he was the only reason I was alive.

So this begged the question: who was Ray? I considered him my best friend, but our relationship was entirely online. Though I trusted and emotionally relied on him, I'd never even met him in person.

It knew it would be stupid to trust him. I didn't know who he was, and had no idea how he'd been able to help me.

But I was literally trapped in another world. I didn't exist. I had no home, no job, no history. I had no life, no means of survival. The prospect of living on the streets as a pitiable nonentity was real. I could see myself wandering aimlessly for days, then weeks, then months, and finally years; suffocating in the summer, shivering under filthy cast-offs on winter nights. I'd forget myself eventually. My memories would fade with every step, and one day the last remnants would blow away with the dust on the wind. Then I would be left with - and as - nothing.

That's why I followed Ray's instructions: not because it was smart, not because I wanted to, but because it was the only viable option.

So I waited at the Memorial. No one bothered me. No one even noticed me. I wondered, paranoid, if I'd already faded into nothing.

When my dying phone finally read 10:55, I walked to the Amtrak station. I intentionally squared my shoulders and stood straight, desperately trying to convince myself that this would work.

I reached the station doors at 10:59. Several passengers lounged on chairs. One had a service dog.

With two minutes to go, I took the opportunity to read Ray's instructions one last time.

Amtrak Bakersfield Walk in at 11:01 PM NOT BEFORE NOT AFTER

Buy a ticket from the second window from the left. Don't tell him where, only tell him "One for the 11:31" NO MORE NO LESS

Take the ticket and wait as far as you can from the window

When the ticket seller starts calling you, IGNORE HIM