Freight Hopper

Frank smiles, his eyes fixed on the yellow blur rising up behind the mountains. Mac’s head is resting in his lap, her legs curled into her chest. Frank isn't sure whether she is sleeping, or, like him, watching as the clouds turned from a dark grey, to a yellow so bright, he almost turns his eyes away, almost. The sky lights up, a brilliant golden haze illuminating their faces, and as Frank’s eyes gaze in amazement, as the sun rises up higher and the darkness of the sky fades away, it is silent. Frank can feel the eyes of the others, watching the picture before them, and no one spoke. There isn't a whisper, a sigh, even a cricket in the passing grass. As the warmth, radiating from the sun, hit Frank’s cheeks, his smile fades. No matter how beautiful the sun appeared to be at the break of day, he will never like the scorching heat it gave off, the burning feeling you received if you sat in it’s presence for even the shortest of times.

Frank likes the snow. He likes harsh winds that made your cheeks sting, and air so cold you could see your breath circling in front of you as you spoke. He likes heavy storm clouds, and snow that never seemed to stop falling. Snow holds happy memories for Frank. Snow makes him regret things, makes him wish for things, makes him wonder things, question things. Snow sends him plummeting out of reality and into the world inside his head. A world where it is safe.

“Kid yur bag!” Rat’s scruffy voice calls out.

Frank looks down, his fingers quickly grasping the top of his backpack just before it falls.

“Give it ‘ere,” Rat says from behind him.

Frank hands him the bag, and Rat playfully whacks him on the head. Rat throws the bag next to various others, where it won't accidentally slip, and sits back down.

Mac sits up from Frank’s lap, and gives him a small, tired smile. He grins back and stands. Some people weren’t good at walking during a ride. The tracks are bumpy and jagged, and it is the furthest thing from smooth . Frank had grown accustomed to it, however. It was like, when you’re on a boat for a long enough time, eventually you’ll get your sea legs; walking around the boat is no problem, you don’t wobble or get dizzy, it’s just natural. These were your train legs. Once you ride for long enough, walking with the unevenness is just familiar.

Frank walks to the other side, leaning on the rail. His arms rest on the bar, and he watches the landscape in front of him soar by. You saw things during rides, things you can’t see driving down a highway. You felt things, heard things, experienced things you couldn’t in a normal life. And Frank likes that part, the part of not being normal. He had been normal for seventeen years; now, it was just nice to be different.

“Hey, kid...” Mac’s voice comes behind him. Frank looks up.

“Man, what’s with you today?” she shakes her head while Frank just shrugs; “I asked if you wanted some?” She holds a bag of pretzels in front of him, and he grabs a handful, with a nod of thanks. Mac ignores his gesture, as she did with anyone who tried to thank her, apologize for something, anything of the sort. Frank isn't sure of the reasoning behind this, but it was just how Mac is.

Frank passes Mac another smile, and she returns it, letting the atmosphere around them relax. Not much talking was ever done during a ride, the train itself made it fairly loud, but no one usually felt the need to talk. That’s not what riding was about; it was about the experience, nothing more. The sounds of others breathing, and maybe an occasional cough or grunt came from someone, perhaps a whisper or two, but conversations were never carried, at least, not long ones.

Frank leaves the edge of the car, shuffling further in. He grabs his bag, and yanks his sleeping bag out, rolling it up properly. Placing it on the floor, he lay down, his head resting on the sleeping bag. He stretches his legs out, sighing happily as he did so, and allows each bump and jar rock him to sleep.

----------------------------------------------------

“Kid, wake up.” Frank feels hands shake him awake, and, though his mind is screaming in protest, his eyes open and he sits up. Rat is standing above him, his hand still on Frank’s shoulder. Frank rubs his eyes, and looks up at him. He gives him a crooked smile, and Rat pulls him to his feet. Rat doesn't say anything before walking away, but Frank, by now, just knows what to do. He re-rolls his sleeping bag and puts in his backpack, which, somehow, seems even more worn out than it had when he had fallen asleep. He zips it up, and swings it onto his back. The train is still moving, but he can feel its pace slowly decreasing.

JayB smiles at him as he walks to his side, and Mac grins from the other side of him. The train jerks viciously as is slows to a stop and Frank feels his knees buckle and his palms hit the gravel as he jumps from the car. He feels JayB’s hands grasp his shoulders and pull him from the ground.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Frank replies absently, wiping his cut hands on his pants, in hopes of some relief.

“Kid!” Frank’s head snaps around to see Rat, carrying a bottle of water and some rags. Rat takes Frank’s hands in his own, and slowly tips water over the palms. They watch the dirt wash away, the fresh cuts now visible, and Frank hisses in pain. Blood trickles from Frank’s right hand and he bites his lip. Rat wraps a thin cloth around each hand, tying them tightly.

“Wear yur fuckin' gloves next time.” He says. “What’s with you today, kid?”

Frank shrugs, as he had earlier, and Rat shakes his head, walking away. JayB gives him a sympathetic smile, and they follow Rat.

Frank smells the air around him, the murky feeling surrounding him. He knows this place, he knows this place. It is almost dark outside, but he can see the surounding buildings, and he knows them. Faint sounds can be heard, off in the distance, and he knows those sounds, he fucking knows them.

“Rat!” he calls.

Rat’s head spun around, “Eh?” he grunts.

“Where are we?” Frank asks.

“Jersey.”