Train Story
by James Gyure
The young man said he was “kind of” headed home, explaining that his own house had burned down, so he was staying with a buddy, sleeping in his basement room, which was tricky, because his buddy’s wife is his ex-fiancée. He called things off just days before the wedding because he found out that she had cheated on him during her bachelorette bash. It wasn’t clear if this buddy was that guy. When he described his own bachelor party, it sounded tame, a little nerdy, video games and stuff.
He boarded the train in Newark, lugging a giant duffle, claiming the big open seat in the front of business class, taking a long time to get settled. Loquacious, loud, antsy, he snagged into conversation anyone who accidentally glanced his way, telling them he was in the military. “Special Forces,” he said, just back from a second deployment, although he wasn’t allowed to say exactly where. Everyone was more or less polite, because he was a soldier, although I suspected he wasn’t the resolute, reassuring type they liked to imagine soldiers to be. They got back to their phones and iPads as soon as possible.
Thin and wiry, in white t-shirt and olive cargo pants, he sprawled across his seat, stood up, sat down. He stared at a young woman across the aisle, and when she finally looked up from her laptop, he launched into a monologue about favorite video games, as if continuing a conversation that she had started. It turned out she did know some about gaming, and he was delighted to show her his game-themed tattoos, stretching out his ink-covered arms, palms up, and scrunching up his shirt. A small dragon spread scalloped wings across his bare chest. A couple rows behind, I ducked my head to avoid eye contact, pretending to be reading. The scene seemed destined to get awkward.
Later, in the cafe car, in line behind a guy with a gray ponytail ordering two vodkas and a hot dog for breakfast, I heard the young soldier again: the same stories – the house fire, the fiancée, the Special Forces – adding details, talking about secret missions he couldn’t describe. He was at a table with a middle-aged woman who was tapping her phone, looking up now and then to smile, being courteous. I took my coffee and laptop to the table across the aisle from him, and started typing: Note: maybe an interesting little story here, a quirky character. I typed what I saw and heard, like a reporter at a scene.
Behind them, a grandmother was playing rummy with two grandsons, chiding them impatiently when the boys put down the wrong cards. Maybe it was some sort of mock-strict, but she was really giving them a hard time. Between scolds, she listened in on the soldier’s talk. “Well, thank you for your service,” she said, nodding her head vigorously and tapping him on the shoulder. He nodded back, smiling, looking around the cafe car, then down at his own phone.
I typed: But, what if he’s not really a soldier? It’s not like anyone is going to ask him for proof. What if it’s all like a video game in his head, some kind of cosplay…
Suddenly the soldier laughed, staring at his phone, acting startled.
“Wow,” he said. “She wants to marry me!” Loud enough for the whole car to hear, he explained that he had just that moment received a text from a young woman he knew, a single mom with a baby. “Not mine,” he said, smiling impishly. He said he hadn’t known her all that long, but out of the blue she was asking him to marry her.
The woman across from him put down her phone and frowned. She looked perplexed, as if torn between wanting to offer some motherly advice and worrying that she was being played.
I looked at the wiry young soldier in his white t-shirt, grinning at his phone. I looked at the middle-aged woman frowning in confusion at his announcement. I looked at the cranky grandmother, who had returned her attention to her card game. I starting typing again.
The soldier stretched out his arms to the woman across the table, and started to explain his tattoos.
James Gyure lives in Pennsylvania, where, in a former life, he had a long career as a university administrator. His fiction and non-fiction have appeared in jmww, Baltimore Review, Tahoma Literary Review, Jabberwock Review, Epiphany, The Maine Review, and elsewhere. His short story collection was short-listed for the Steel Toe Books 2020 Prose Award, and he’s received two Pushcart nominations. He’s at work on a novella about eco-anxiety and can be reached at jfgyure@gmail.com.