the train trip that transcends time

I didn’t used to believe in past lives. Until I boarded a train in Vienna. There was a man a few rows ahead who looked familiar but I couldn’t put a name to his face. I considered the possibility that he looked like a childhood friend or a famous celebrity, but I couldn’t come up with anyone who looked quite like him. Sometimes I dream about people I’ve never seen - scientists swear it’s impossible, but my dad insists it happens to him, too, and he often meets people later in life that he’s seen in his dreams. When we locked eyes, something felt different. I knew he was thinking the same thing.

I recalled at that moment our story.

Coincidentally, it began on a train, the Orient Express, going from Paris to Budapest. I spent my inheritance on a ticket, which I came to regret come time to retire. We were in the dining car, and I tripped right next to his table. I have never been good at walking in heels. I had borrowed that pair from a friend and they were about half a size too big, making my balance even worse.

I knew that not everyone was staring at me, but the hush that fell over the room was significant enough to make me feel humiliated. I was not raised in the upper class - the inheritance came to me through technicality. I’d never met that side of my family. It was obvious that I didn’t belong here. I was about to regret my decision to purchase a ticket when the man next to me reached out his hand to help me stand up.

The first thing I noticed about him was the way that his brown eyes softened when I met his gaze. The second was that he was sitting alone.

“Yes, I’m traveling solo,” he said, knowing I was thinking of a way to broach the question.

“Why is that?”

“There wasn’t anyone to take with me.”

“I can relate.”

“You’re here alone?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

I realized that I was in the way of a waiter who was doing a much better job balancing a tray of plates than I was at balancing on my own two feet. I made the split-second decision to sit across from the man who I came to know as “William”, sometimes just “Will”.

We talked until the dining car closed when we were politely asked to leave, though I could see behind the waiter’s eyes that he did not like me.

“Would it be inappropriate to ask you if you’d like to come back to my room?” William asked. “And I’m not suggesting anything like that.”

“It might be, but I’d say yes if you did ask me.”

“Okay, then: will you come with me to my room?”

“Yes, I’d like to.”

I came to find that he had a nicer room than I did, but there was no reason to be jealous because I slept there too for the remaining days of my trip. William opened the door and immediately removed his suit jacket, tie, and shoes, and I started to consider the fact that he might’ve been propositioning me after all. I lingered by the door, trying to decide if “it’s vacation” or “I paid a lot for this trip, so I should get my money’s worth” was enough of an excuse to sleep with him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when he noticed I hadn’t spoken.

“I’m still trying to decide if I should sleep with you or not.”

“I don’t think you should.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

“No, but I think you should take your shoes off because you look like you’re about to fall over and I’m pretty sure you only had one glass of wine.”

“Okay.” I placed my shoes next to his and I heard the distinct sound of his body flopping back onto the mattress.

I gathered a lot from the way he smiled when he was sprawled out on the bed like his long day of mingling in the bar car exhausted him to the extent a day spent in combat would.

I didn’t ask him if I could take off my earrings, but I did before I mirrored the way he fell backwards into bed. He later told me he liked how I was “unapologetically myself”. In reality, I was ready to apologize for any misstep I took, but he happened to be easy to please on account of the fact that we were very much alike.

We were late for breakfast the next morning and I was absolutely positive that everyone in the dining car assumed it was because we were having sex the night before - I overheard a snippet of a conversation and I wanted to go over and correct the record, but William said I should enjoy my fifteen minutes of fame. Most people are unremarkable, and that I must be remarkable since they were making remarks about me.

The truth was that we spent the night playing Gin Rummy with a pack of cards he borrowed from an old friend and “forgot to give back”. I insisted on playing until I won, but I didn’t win until well after midnight.

We were in as much of a committed relationship as two strangers on a train could be by that night, which was when I stopped by my room to grab my toothbrush before I headed back to his. We didn’t sleep together, but we did sleep next to each other. It was quite possible that he caught a glimpse of me naked when I changed into one of the complimentary robes after I spilled champagne on my shirt - actually, he made me laugh so hard it came out my nose. He promised not to peek, but if I were him I would have, so I couldn’t blame him either way.

Since the other passengers made their assumptions and judgments about us, we decided to make some about them, making up rumors about the rich folks around us as they walked through the bar car. Most of them were unbelievable and some of them were crude, but all of them were hilarious.

I remember the moment I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Will. We were in his bed and he started singing this song he had stuck in his head, but he could only remember the chorus. He gave me the tune of the verses and we worked on lyrics. He wrote them down on a napkin and kept them in his pocket. The pen was mine, but he asked if he could keep it. I had no particular attachment to the pen, so I let him have it.

It was a few hours later that I asked him why he wanted it. “Why did you ask for my pen? It’s nothing special.”

“Not to you, it isn’t,” he said. “It’s special to me because it’s yours.”

I wanted to tell him that he already had my heart and he could have my soul if he wanted it. But instead, I asked him for the deck of cards he had, and he gave them over without hesitation.

I’m not a writer like I was then, but I still carry a pen in my purse almost always. I take it out along with a receipt, so I can write him a message. I don’t address him by name because I don’t know what his is in this lifetime.

I don’t have the time or space to tell him everything I’m thinking either so I keep it short.

“Just so you know, I loved you. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time.”

When an attendant comes by with the drink I ordered, I hand him the note and beg him to discreetly deliver it. For whatever reason - maybe it’s the desperation he sees in my eyes - he places it between two napkins and hands them to the man I knew as "Will".

I get off the train before he does. When I pass by his seat, he mouths “I love you too”.