Freight Hopper

“Erm...Kamry?”

“Hm?” she murmurs distractedly, folding laundry on the small couch near the window.

“I, uh, I need to go to the bathroom,” he tells her shyly.

Kamry, noticing Frank’s embarrassment, laughs aloud. Frank gives her a stern look, and she laughs once more, walking to his beside. “Come on,” she says, placing her arms around his shoulder and waist. She hoists him out of the warm bed. Frank feels uncommonly weak, and, as Kamry guides him out of the room and into a short hallway, he feels terribly out of breath. She turns the knob on a dark mahogany door, revealing a brightly colored bathroom.

“I’ll take it from here,” he tells his caretaker. She giggles softly, but when Frank stumbles at her release, she fills with worry, “Woah, woah. You all right?” Frank coughs and nods slightly, closing the door behind him. He does his business, and cautiously turns towards the mirror.

In the three years Frank had ridden, he’d not had a mirror, and it was rare that anyone else carried one. He had caught glimpses of him self in windows when he roamed about a city, but the last time he had looked at himself, really looked, had been...ages. He was not that much different, really. He definitely needed a shave, and he’d not had a proper bath in a week or so. But he felt as though he was looking at a person he’d yet to get to know, yet to understand. His skin was rougher than it had been, and was far more pale (but that was, perhaps, attributed from being sick.) However, what shocked him was his eyes. His eyes, which he had once known to hold so much, once known to be an utter give away to the emotions pulsing through his veins, were, not dead, not empty, but quiet, it almost seemed, tamed. Gerard had once told him his eyes were wild and alive, that they had an electricity of their very own that could light an entire room. Don’t think about him, Frank reminds himself. He knows it is not worth the effort though, not worth the scolding. Since Gerard’s appearance at the yards, Frank had been struggling to think of anything but Gerard. He coughed harshly.

“Frank? You okay?” Kamry’s knock comes.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “One sec.” He opens the door, and Kamry gives him a soft, sympathetic look. Frank clutches her for support, and once again wraps her arms around his frail form.
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When Judy returns home much later that day, she is clad in scrubs that are decorated with penguins and giraffes wearing party hats (Judy, as Frank learns, is a nurse at a hospital), and looks tired, but just a warm and cheerful as that morning. She has a plastic bag full of pills and cough syrup and more soup than Frank could ever imagine eating; when Judy hands him various pills, Frank doesn’t question her. He thinks for a spilt second that perhaps he should, but something makes him trust Judy, the same way he already trusts Kamry. Frank had encountered bad people plenty of times before, and Judy and Kamry we not bad people. Perhaps he is being rash, being silly, over trusting, but the growing appreciation he feels for them is nudging him insistently. These are good people, it says. These are good people.

Frank swallows each pill with slight wince, which is followed by a deep cough. He obediently gulps down the sickly sweet syrup, and is given a hot bowl of soup.

“Normally, I would make homemade soup, but it’s flu season and the hospital is swamped. I just don’t have the time,” Judy says, “You know that old wive’s tale that you should always eat chicken noodle soup when you’re sick because it makes you all better? Well, it’s actually true to some extent. You see, back when you couldn’t buy soup at the store, people made all their soups, broth and all, right there in the kitchen, there were special probiotics in the broth that helped people get better. But now everything is processed and fake; sure the soup tastes good, but it doesn’t do much to make you healthy.” She sighs, tutting softly, and Kamry is shaking her head at her mother with a loving smile. They laugh happily together. Judy rises, rummaging for something within the plastic bag, hands it to Kamry, and leaves them with smiles and kisses.

Frank slurps his soup, but Kamry is looking ever so amused. He gives her a quizzical look, and she giggles at him.

“Lift up your shirt,” she says.

“What?” asks Frank, slightly alarmed.

“Relax,” Kamry smiles, holding up a container of Vick’s Vapor Rub. He rolls his eyes, puts his half empty bowl of soup aside, and shyly lifts his shirt. All business, Kamry spreads the sticky gel across his chest and Frank can feel his chest opening, his shallow breaths expanding. She’s laughs again at Frank’s wonderfully shy expression.

“Yuck,” she says, “You really need a bath.”

He blushes, “Sorry. Trains aren’t exactly five star hotels,” he defends.

“Well, finish your soup and you can get in the bath later.” She stands, wiping her sticky hands on Frank’s napkin, “You need anything? A book or something?”

Frank shakes his head, “No, i’m all right, kind of tired. Think i’ll rest a bit.”

Kamry nods, “All right.” She gives his hand a gentle squeeze, and quietly shuts the door.

Frank finishes his soup, and places the bowl carefully on the floor. He sinks into the bed, wrapping the mountain of blankets securely around him. He’s tired, but shockingly content. His stomach is fuller than it’d been in a very long time, and he knows he is warm and safe. There is a feeling though, buried deep inside him, tugging at his lonely heartstrings, reminding him of times long, long ago, and he smiles; for the first time in a very long time, he feels loved.

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He awakens from his nap, mind plagued with unsettling dreams, and shadows hanging high above him. He still feels frustratingly weak, and he coughs over and over and over as Kamry leads him to the bathroom.

“I’ll bring you some tea to have while you’re in there.”

He nods, unwilling to irritate his sore throat by answering. Kamry runs a nice, hot bath for him, hands im a towel and some fresh clothes, “My brother sent over a bunch of old pajamas,” she tells him, and finally leaves him in peace. Frank doesn’t lock the door, knowing she’ll be back to deliver the tea.

His reflection is still a mystery, and i’ll figure it out one day, he thinks while stripping down. The water is deliciously toasty and he has trouble trying not to fall asleep. Kamry enters quietly minutes later, places the tea on the counter, and leaves before Frank has time to thank her. He climbs out of the tub with haste, grabs the cup, and relaxes back into the water. His mind is fogged with Gerard, but, for once, that’s just fine. He is safe and happy and, he this he knows, very loved.