A Simple Key

I opened a door. Or rather, I allowed it to open itself. The handle jiggled, asking a question I'd been ignoring for what seemed like ages.

Do you miss me?

No.

Do you think about me?

God, too much.

And that tiny chink in my armor was a key, and the door didn't hesitate the slightest bit. It burst open, releasing a howling banshee that ushered in a blizzard. I was numb before I could really even register what was happening. It's funny how things can get so out of control so fast sometimes.

And suddenly I was along for the ride.

It was like my brain decided that being numb was a free ticket to shut me, it's master out, and run away, sending me postcards here and there to let me know it was all right. The only problem was, it was not all right.

I was a passenger on a train, without even knowing the destination. I knew I was moving, and could see all the scenery, but had no control over the speed, or where I was going.

I had been here before, quite a few times honestly, and knew that I could jump off the train, I just had to ride it out to the next stop. Force myself to step through the door once it opened again. No hesitation, no second thoughts. But I hesitated. I wasn't alone on the train, and my companion had the looks of a newcomer.

Whether it was pity, or guilt, I could never honestly say, but I did know that I was back in the driver seat.

His eyes were comically wide as he took in the scenery, but it could never hide the fact that he was fast approaching lost. I asked to see his ticket, and he showed it without a word. One punch marred the otherwise pristine slip of paper, proving that this was his first trip on the train. Smiling, I gave him his ticket back. My first trip lingered in my head still, and I could easily recall every detail. After that, however, the memories just kind of ran together, and separating the times of each was an impossible task.

I asked him how he was enjoying the ride so far and he told me that it was the best ride he'd ever been on. Quickly, he ran down a list of other trips he'd taken (a short list it was), and how it compared to the ride we shared. He spoke fast, beginning another sentence almost before the final word of the last sentence even had a chance to reach my ear, not stopping until I laughed at him.

For a moment he looked angry, but he calmed down fast enough when I told him that I only laughed because he reminded me of myself my first time. I took the opportunity to tell him what I had learned over the years, on my various rides on that very same train. I explained that the scenery was nice most of the time, and that the ride itself was a rush, but if you weren't careful you would miss your stop, and then there was no telling when you would remember to get off. He laughed as if I was joking, until I explained to him that I had gotten lost one time, and explained how hard it had been to find my way back.

With my telling he became more somber, though that comically wide eyed look never left his face. I finished my story by telling him about the door, and about how the slightest doubt, or weakness would open him back up to everything he would have had to have worked so hard to leave behind once he got lost.

He shook my hand as the train slowed to a stop and the door opened, and thanked me earnestly. As I got off he waved and offered a simple good-bye before the train started down its rails again.

I wonder if he's still riding, watching the scenery, eyes wide. All I know, is I like to think that he didn't get lost, that my story helped him get off that train before that happened. And I also like to think that I locked that door forever this time.