Infatuation

The Canadian officer didn’t frisk me, check my pockets, or even stare at my passport in scrutiny. Security was much more lenient here.
“Welcome aboard the Torpidus Exiguity,” he said with a forced smile. Grinning back, I took my passport in hand and stepped onboard. I grabbed my shirt’s front pocket, feeling for my friend, reassured that she was still safe and undetected. Next, I reached into my pants pocket, retrieved my train ticket, and read to myself “Compartment 6A.”
Looking up, I realized I was already standing in front of my room. The large brown door ahead of me seemed immovable. My arm felt heavy as I lifted my keycard and scanned it, unlocking the door. I sluggishly slid the door open, trudged inside, dropping my luggage on my way to the bed, and then plopped down on its fluffy surface.
I sat up minutes later and noticed the abnormal arrangement of the room. I had reserved a premium compartment, quite spacious, but the furniture and appliances had been placed in an unusual pattern. The bed on which I was laying was diagonally placed in the center of the room, with the foot of the bed facing the left side of the entrance. The three walls (not including the one with the brown sliding door) each had a piece of furniture or an appliance against it. There was a tidy work desk on the far wall under the window, a large dresser on the right wall, and a white refrigerator on the left wall. The most unusual part of the room was an enormous cushioned chair, sitting in the nearest right hand corner of the room, directly next to the entrance. It was strikingly unusual because it was a bright lime green, as the rest of the compartment was made up of black, white and shades of red.
I diverted my attention away from the chair and groped my breast pocket again. She was still there. Carefully, I reached into the pocket and slid out a small black case, then quickly shoved it back inside, realizing I had left the compartment door unlocked.
After checking outside to make sure no one was approaching, I shut the door and clamped the lock. Relieved, I sat back down and, with my slightly quivering hand, removed the plastic case. The case was not heavy but felt burdening in my grasp. I unlatched the sides to reveal my sweet friend, a small bottle of clear liquid. Also in the case were a syringe, a rubber tube, and a set of needles.
My veins were like rivers running down my forearm as I tied the yellow tube into a tourniquet around the end of my bicep. I inserted a needle into the syringe while reading the label on the bottle. “Lysergic Acid Diethylamide.” My fingers twitched as I pierced the top of the bottle with the tip of the needle and extracted the drug from the bottle. The needle was shaking, dripping on the bed’s comforter. After placing it on the top a vein, I looked out the window and watched the countryside blaze past. Distracted by the passing images of amber-colored grain fields, vibrant green leaves on tall, towering trees, and rays of golden sun bathing foliage in warmth, I did not feel the needle pierce my skin, but I felt a rush spreading through my veins.
I only blinked for a split second but hours had passed. The golden rays of sun had gone, replaced by luminescent moonlight. Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. Bolting off the bed, I tripped and found myself on the floor. Staggering to my feet, I hobbled towards the compartment’s bathroom. Vomiting made me feel better, cleaner in a way. I walked back out of the bathroom and strolled across the room. I felt drawn to the green armchair in the corner, as if it had a gravitational pull beyond that of the earth. The chair formed perfectly to my body as soon as the two made contact- the most comfortable seat I’d ever experienced. I closed my eyes and let my head droop backwards.
Inside my mind, I watched a battle being waged between my emotions. The battle was evenly matched; thousands of soldiers fighting for hope and courage were face to face with their bitter enemies of anger and depression. Anger’s battalion fired the first shots, followed quickly by depression, taking out many of hope’s front line. Their rifles fired bullets not made of steel, but memories, reminders of past anguish. But hope and love responded quickly with cannons blasting future possibilities of happiness. The cannonballs rolled over the opposing armies, dealing great damage, but not enough. Anger proceeded to drop a bomb; an infectious bomb of massive proportions. The bomb consisted of one sole element: heartbreak. The image of my former girlfriend, Michelle, running out the door of my apartment with another man, spread through the troops of love and hope like a highly contagious disease. The battle was over. Anger and depression were victorious.
I opened my eyes, surprised but not startled, to find that I was no longer in the green cushioned chair. I was in a café, the train’s cafe de affection, according to the sign hanging across the wall above the exit. The words quickly faded as all of my surroundings became a blur or colors and hues, brown and gray, white streams wavering like streamers in the wind. Then my vision focused in one place, and for the second time that night, I gravitated out my control, this time towards a person, not a seat. Not just a person. Her presence stunned me like waking up in a cold shower. Her bright blue eyes were light towers shining over a dark, vacant ocean. I locked my gaze on her luscious lips as she sipped on a cup of coffee, then my eyes traveled down her body, carefully studying her prominent features. I had never seen anything so beautiful.
“She is too magnificent for you,” a voice echoed. I spun looking for the speaker. “Do not let her see you.” I now understood that the voice was my own, ricocheting inside my head. I couldn’t let her know I was there. I crouched behind a table, still keeping my eyes locked on her. She is beautiful, much too great for me.
Staying behind the coffee table for what seemed like days, I was enjoying every moment with my enchantress. Finally, she stood and exited the café. Watching her walk excited me in ways I didn’t know possible. LSD had never produced such euphoria as that I felt simply seeing this woman.
“Follow her,” my voice rang out, “you can’t lose sight of her.”
Obeying my own commands, I hurried out of the room, staying in a crouched position. As I entered the hallway, not knowing where I was on the train, I saw her enter her compartment. Walking calmly towards the room, I looked closely at the brown sliding door, then backed away and leaned against the hallway wall.
I couldn’t see her but I still felt her presence. I needed her. I decided to wait outside her room. My weary eyes, which I could barely keep from shutting earlier that night, were now wired open. For the hours she spent inside, my mind raced with thoughts of her long, slender legs walking down the hall, and then suddenly she was there.
Her perfect legs strode just as I had imagined. I thought at first that she had noticed me but, to my relief, she walked on without a sign of recognition. I did not want to be seen. I knew a woman of her phenomenal appearance would only be disgusted by my presence. “I am too low a form of life for her to experience,” I told myself.
She continued towards the end of the train at a slow pace and I followed at a safe distance. I tried to decipher where she headed but was unable, as she passed all of my predicted destinations. Finally, she reached the end of the train and stepped outside. I followed closer now. I looked out through the glass door and saw her leaning on the railing, peering off the edge of the train at the rushing ground below. I opened the door.
She turned towards me, not surprised, not disgusted; she seemed to be expecting me. There was an awkward silence and then she spoke my name: “Michael,” her voice was magnificent, “touch me.” With a remarkable rush, I ran towards her, my heart pounding with passion, but when I neared her she changed from the beautiful being I had followed into a much less comforting thing: Michelle. I could not stop myself from reaching her, but just before my fingers touched her side, she vanished. A figment of my imagination.
My heart stopped, my knees hit the railing and I flipped over it. The train left my body as it sped off into the distance.