Eastbound Train (Closed)

The wind seemed to whisper a sultry tune as the day drew itself to a close once more. Chicago was once again living up to its name as the Windy City, and Mason, all too familiar with these conditions, was appreciating the summer air wafting warmly around him. He was seated on a slightly aged bench, at the nearest train station to his house, located about a mile northwest. A vacant yet pondering look was occupying his face, which was pointed downward towards his MP3 player, perched in his right palm. His wallet, containing essentials such as his flat house key, was nestled snugly in his navy blue pants pocket.

Mounds and heaps of people were circulating about the station, training and detraining at set intervals. Mason’s train, which was bound for Chicago’s downtown, was set to arrive in twenty minutes’ time. A restaurant that he often frequented was located on the Loop’s lakeshore, which specialized in delicacies such as deep dish pizzas and pastas, but also salads and soups, the latter two of which Mason enjoyed immensely. They had the potential to satisfy and whet his appetite like no other. This was an essential perk, seeing as the effects of nicotine often left him parched and hungry.

Despite the temporary pleasure Mason’s smoking habit provided, he never truly enjoyed it. He knew that it would eventually deviate his lungs, or perhaps worse. Cancer and heart disease were known effects of it, and emphysema could be lurking as well, destined to expose itself before age seventy. It was this train of thought (no pun intended) that spurred Mason to not buy a pack in the days following the Cubs game. Weaning himself off was out of the question, but a strict cold turkey philosophy was sure to suffice too, despite the ever-present aches and cravings.

Mason yawned succinctly, glancing up at the overhead acoustic clock in the process, the time registering itself as 5:45 PM. His train was due in fifteen minutes now, and the familiar feeling of longing returned to him. It had been a month since he had paid a visit to that restaurant, and the staff could surely be graced by his presence once more.

Riding around on a crowded, messy train wasn’t exactly how Callen Lacefield had imagined her day going, in fact, she hadn’t imagined her day going like this at all. She’d been sitting on the train in the same spot for hours with every intention to get off at the next stop, but no intention of moving. So she had just sat there, somewhat listlessly, a paperback book untouched on her lap. Her intentions for the day had been to go and get some fresh air or go into a café and read. Instead she had been mesmerized by the train and it’s passengers.

On the way to one station it had been the way the windows had rattled, the next the rise and fall of the conversations next to her, the one after that had been the steady movement of the train as it plowed forward, bringing passengers closer to their destinations. For someone who hated crowds and got stressed being in them, Callen found them easy to watch. There were so many different people, each unique yet so completely different. She watched for things, matching purses or coats, ties askew, baseball caps, it was all familiar, yet so unnervingly different, and Callen couldn’t decide if she hated it or loved it.

The train began to slow again and many passengers disembarked, leaving Callen and a few others in a beat of silence before people began to board the train. Her phone chimed and Callen pulled it out of her pocket carefully as to avoid knotting the headphones that were dangling from her ears. It was her mom, saying she’d be home late. Callen was fairly sure she’d gotten the same text every day for the past month, and she responded the same way every time: “okay.” She wondered how long it would take her mom to stop sending them and for “home late” to become the normal time for her to come home, but she knew it wouldn’t be long now.

The text from her mother had distracted her from the boarding passengers, but it didn’t matter, she’d kind of lost interest in them now, after hours of observing. Her eyes glazed over and she stared off into space, not meeting anyone’s eye and not noticing the somewhat familiar face of one of the passengers on the train.

The next fifteen minutes gradually slipped by, though Mason had not glanced at the clock since then. He was too occupied with the post-punk influenced indie music of Editors, a British band whom Mason was fond of. The lead singer’s Morrissey-esque vocals reverberated not only from his eardrums, but practically the late-adolescent’s entire skull. He had a fair bit of their discography stored within the bowels of his ever-expanding MP3 player, and the third consecutive song by them was ending just as Mason began feeling, hearing, and seeing the telltale signs that the 6:00 train’s arrival was imminent: slight vibration under his feet, a rush of wind coming from the west, and the single circular headlight affixed to the train’s front.

As Mason arose from the bench, he glanced up at the overhead clock once more. Sure enough, the time read 6:00. The train was punctual tonight, something that was often a rare occurrence given that thousands of people used Chicago’s public transit system yearly. With one final roar, the train opened its doors, and streams of people began trickling out of each compartment, the spectacle being akin to heat escaping from a microwave-steamed vegetable package when torn open.

Upon crossing the platform onto the train itself, Mason was greeted by inviting drafts of cooler, drier air; a stark contrast to the humid and sweltering late afternoon summer heat. It took perhaps fifteen second for him to find an open seat, although most of the passengers embarking from this station were already seated. This made sitting next to a stranger inevitable, though Mason routinely was pigeonholed into such situations. In any event, he often ignored most means of unnecessary conversation, which contradicted the stereotype that all Minnesotans were warm-hearted and friendly. He never cared much for the people in his old home, anyway.

What Mason missed the most was Minnesota itself, and the pristine skyscrapers of the Twin Cities towering above him, often making him feel like a mouse within a maze. Although Chicago was similar, the aforementioned cities were safer, cleaner, and more inviting overall. Even for a loner like Mason, one could easily be at peace with his or herself spiritually and/or mentally in such an area, since nature and urban expansion coexisted in Minnesota. Illinois seemed to lack the former, which Mason bitterly resented. Still, the relocation was necessary. And besides, if he ever desired a brief return to the area, the drive from Chicago to Minneapolis was only about nine hours if one went northwest through Wisconsin.

For now, however, Mason was to remain in Chicago. Nine years of it had ravaged his view on urbanization, but he often made the most of it in these memory-driven situations. He had met Avery here, and the group of friends that the pair had concocted at the Cubs game a few days prior had proven to be a charismatic and diverse assortment. If Mason was destined to remain in Chicago longer, then he might as well acquaint himself with as many people as possible.

In the key of irony, Mason decided to turn his attention to the passenger next to him, who apparently had not noticed him sit down. He recognized this girl, for sure. She had a vacant, neutral expression on her blonde-hair accentuated face, and her bluish gray hue eyes were glazed over in evident distraction. Perhaps she was daydreaming. In an effort not to divert her attention (or lack thereof), Mason elected to give her a curt nod as opposed to a traditional greeting, mainly because her posture and facial expressions seemed to be conveying two things: fatigue, disinterest, or a combination of both.

Her time spent in Chicago so far had been incredibly uneventful, and the most exciting thing that had happened involving Callen was by far the Cubs game. The majority of her time had been used to decorate the house (which was nearly finished) and doing things like riding trains or sitting on park benches for the better half of the day. Typically Callen was organized, making lists and schedules until she had filled up the calendar, even if it was just a plan to take an hour-long walk in the park. She’d never let plans slip away like this before, like the hours she’d spent sitting on the train today, slipping away as if they we’re nothing, as if time didn’t matter. The detective’s badge on her nightstand at the house proved differently, serving as a constant reminder that there would never be enough time. However it wasn’t enough for Callen to stick to her plans now, especially considering the fact that she didn’t have one.

Out of the corner of her eye there was a sudden and brief movement and Callen tore her eyes away from the empty space she’d been staring at for the past five to see one of the few acquaintances she had in Chicago. Not sure if she’d seen correctly, she did a quick double take and found her initial guess had been correct. Callen almost laughed at the irony of running into someone who she kind of knew in a city as big as Chicago, but she didn’t. Instead she tried to start up a conversation, despite her ultimate fear of people in general.

“Oh. Uh. Hi. You’re Mason, right? From the Cubs game?” Callen didn’t know why she’d asked even though she already knew who he was and where they’d met, so she just continued talking, all her words coming out in a quick and quiet stream. “What a surprise, meeting you here! It’s kind of ironic…” She let her words trail off, he probably didn’t care about the irony of a chance meeting. Callen could feel herself blushing slightly and was internally cursing herself for her constant failure at regular conversations and small talk. She turned her head downwards towards her book and played with one of it’s worn corners, letting her hair slide in front of her face as she awaited a reply.

The realization sped towards Mason’s cranium like a metaphorical bullet, and made impact almost spontaneously. His full, undivided gaze was now plastered to this familiar blonde girl, who he could now assign a name and origin too. Not all too hastily, however, he responded to her introduction.

“Oh. Callen, correct? I could swear you were a familiar face. I was about to say the same about the irony…”

Mason’s voiced trailed off slightly, but he regained his composure almost immediately. Curiosity’s floodgates had opened once more.

“Anyway, I didn’t see you embark. Where are you bound, by chance?”

He took a chance with such a question, as the conversation could either drag on until his destination, or be interrupted if she was to detrain before him. He knew very little about her, and yet her blonde-streaked face seemed to convey signs of intrigue. They had talked briefly at the Cubs game several days ago, but nothing had truly sparked between them in terms of a fluid conversation. This occasion could very well be no different, depending on Callen’s intentions.

A possible scenario of companionship began forming in Mason’s mind, but this was out of mere dissatisfaction with his excessive solitude over the years, save for the occasional hangout. He would call up Avery on occasion, but the two did not share as cohesive of a friendship as they used to. Therefore, the company would be greatly appreciated. All that remained now was a response.

Callen was still looking down at her book, and panicking slightly. What if he was ignoring her, or hadn’t heard her and she had to repeat herself? No. If he hadn’t heard her then she wasn’t going to repeat herself. She would open her book and stat to read and pretend that nothing had happened and that she hadn’t said anything, then she would get off at the next stop and walk home. Much to Callen’s relief he responded, and she looked up and gave a small laugh. The irony of the situation hadn’t just been her own humour and she relaxed a bit.

“Anywhere and everywhere.” She responded with a smile, allowing for several beats of silence. “I’ve actually just been riding the train for the afternoon out of sheer boredom, so I’m not exactly going anywhere, what about you?” Callen asked politely. She had always been the type of person to be polite, save when there was something to argue about, so she was always hypersensitive when it came to answering a question and typically made sure to ask a question in return.

The start of a particularly loud song on her phone reminded Callen that she still had one of her headphones in her right ear. She quickly wrapped them around her wrist in a bracelet like fashion and secured it with a knot. Callen quickly turned back to her conversation with Mason, hopping he didn’t think she was ignoring him and that it would go well.

Anywhere and everywhere, she had said. Quite a whimsical response. It seemed to resonate well with Mason, and he subsequently nodded approvingly. Callen had apparently been riding the train nonstop for the vast majority of the afternoon. While it would most likely bore most people to be in one place for such a long time, it seemed to entice her. The more Mason tried to envision himself doing the same thing, the more interesting the idea sounded to him. He could study the cityscape and suburbs around him with each successive stop, and nonverbally study the passengers embarking and disembarking along the way. Some would be in a hurry, while some would be taking their sweet time and look forward to an early arrival. Perhaps some people were mere visitors, vouching to use the train rather than a car. The multitude of potential subjects in such a scenario aroused Mason’s curiosity once more, and he found it somewhat reassuring to know that Callen seemed to share the same interest.

As Callen fumbled with her headphone, Mason responded to her earlier statement, making an effort to improve the claret of his voice so as not to convey false disinterest.

“I’m on my way to a restaurant I like. I’m pretty famished,” he said nonchalantly.

Mason ate at odd intervals, and today was no different. He had skipped breakfast, and ate an apple to curb his hunger until now. Sometimes he merely felt disinterested in taking the time to eat a proper meal, but it was not the effects of a disorder or anything along those lines. He put a hand to his thin stomach with a smirk, and refreshed his posture.

“If you don’t have a set destination in mind, perhaps you’d like to join me? It gets lonely in that dingy downtown sometimes,” Mason proposed casually.

He had originally planned on eating alone, but with the amount of social negligence he had received as a younger boy, any type of social interaction was welcomed, even though he was accustomed to being with friends at this point in time.

Her words were met with an approving bod, which came as a bit of a surprise to Callen. Most of the time something she said would either be met with a confused look (typically followed by a frown and then disinterest) or a disapproving look (which was typically followed by a frown and a brief argument). This was mainly due to the fact that A. Callen didn’t say much and B. she normally was saying something argumentative or fact filled and not something normally heard in conversations that mostly consisted of small talk. That being said, Callen didn’t like small talk. At all. It was boring, repetitive, and stupid. She found it difficult to engage in meaningless conversations filled with small talk, and thus was extremely bad at it. Unfortunately she rarely had much say in the matter and was often thrown into conversations mainly consisting on awkward small talk and suffering from hits on her confidence as a result.

When Mason mention that he was going downtown for dinner, it immediately sparked her interest. She hadn’t eaten since boarding the train, which seemed like a long time ago, if one was judging by Callen’s hunger. Callen was the type of person who ate meals at all hours of the day and was snacking constantly between meals, so naturally she was very hungry. Realizing she was so hungry, she quickly began to try and remember what was in the fridge so she could whip something up when she got home, though it did not seem very appealing since she wasn’t in the mood to cook anything and the fridge was rather under stocked at the moment.

His suggestion that she join him for dinner, on the other hand was much more preferable. She nodded. “Sure, I’m quite hungry myself, and I have absolutely nothing to do.” Callen responded, though her last few words were said to herself under her breath.

“So, what’s this restaurant in that lonely, dingy downtown called?” She asked, still having a bit of difficulty contributing to the conversation.

Mason could not resist another chuckle as Callen inquired about the name of the restaurant.

“It’s a place called Tony’s. The name isn’t all that original, but the food is. They have a pretty damn relentless assortment of pizzas and whatnot. But I’m more in it for the salads,” he said wistfully. “I’m pretty sure the owner and I are almost on a first-name basis.”

Mason grinned for a moment, savoring his success. It was not every day that he had the opportunity to mingle with a potential acquaintance or friend. He was looking forward to eating especially; by now, he had deduced that his hunger was likely caused by his withdrawal from smoking cigarettes. If excessive hunger was the worst of it, then it must be quite fortunate. After all, smokers who quit cold turkey often pessimistically complained about various pains and side effects. He was determined to kick the habit before it became too commonplace. So far, it seemed to be working.

The train was rolling once more, having stopped at another station while Callen and Mason were introducing themselves. All that remained was a response from the former, and a bit of patience, since the ride would last about thirty more minutes.

She didn’t understand what was so humourous so Callen simply quirked an eyebrow in a silent and almost rhetorical question and refrained from saying anything. After all, it wasn’t like she was known for her words.

“Tony’s. Huh. Never heard of it, obviously. Sounds good though, I guess.” She said then let out a quiet laugh. “Pizza. That’s not surprising at all. ‘Oh, you’ve just moved here? Welcome to Chicago then, you should try the pizza it’s brilliant!’” Callen added, mimicking the words that she’d heard on countless occasions after moving here with over exaggerated excitement. Of course she hadn’t bothered to try it, and didn’t intend to soon, she wasn’t overly fond of pizza, but she’d eat it on occasion.

She studied him for a moment. “ “Funny. I hadn’t pegged you as a salad person.” Callen said in a thoughtful tone. She was mostly sure that it was due to he fact that practically everyone back home would take a steak over a salad any day, save the vegetarians, who seemed to be few and far between.

“Being on a first name basis with the owner certainly does have some perks. You must go there fairly often then?” She asked. Callen noticed that she was the one asking most of the questions, and found it slightly bothersome, but did nothing to change it knowing it was a minor detail.

Mason chuckled once more as Callen mocked the people of Chicago and their fondness for its pizza. Though Mason enjoyed it, he was indeed more of a salad person, in contradiction to what Callen had apparently just pegged him as. In reality, Mason much preferred hearty soups, but salads were a favorite of his as well.

“I’m actually more into soups in general,” he responded. “But the salads at Tony’s seem to resonate with me for some reason. I can’t really describe the feeling. All I know is that I enjoy it.”

He thought the description was pretty tacky, but perhaps his hunger was altering his speech. Though some skeptics may deny it, being unable to formulate certain words in a conversation while hungry was not uncommon.

“And I go there when I can. Not every night; that would get monotonous. But the owner is a decent guy. I suspect he smokes a lot of weed, though,” Mason said wittily. “But in an expansive city like this, such occurrences aren’t uncommon.”

The response was a bit on the verbose side, but he felt like he nailed the crucial aspects. Mason was not the type of person to babble on and on unless it was about a topic he enjoyed. Furthermore, he doubted that Callen would appreciate his babbling if it ever surfaced on this ride. Fortunately, it was not often that he rambled on and on about anything and everything.

"Soups, eh? Well I suppose that's not as surprising, I guess. As for enjoying the salads, I'll have to try one sometime." Callen said with a shrug. She enjoyed eating salads on occasion, typically when she wasn’t particularly hungry or when she wanted to eat something light.

“I think you’d get bored of the menu if you went every night, unless it has a particularly expansive menu.” She mused. Then with a small laugh she added “no, a small restaurant owner who happens to smoke weed isn’t uncommon at all.” Callen remembered a few years back, on of her friend’s favourite restaurants had been shut down because the owner had been charged with smoking weed. They hadn’t understood at the time why exactly that had been such a big problem, it had been good TexMex for a decent price, but when they realized it, they’d laughed about it and found a new restaurant to go to. Sadly, the tortillas there weren’t as good, and then Callen had moved.

She envisioned the places as a little hole in the wall dinner with cracked fax-leather booths and small tables. It would be slightly dingy, but the tabletops would be clean, save from a few stains and scratches. The kitchen would be slightly visible, and there’d be a take out menu on the counter where one would pay. It seemed like a nice place in her mind, but Callen would just have to see.

Mason remained amused for the duration of the train ride, intrigued by Callen’s responses. The latter response generated further inquiry. Where was Callen from, anyway? She seemed to lack the dialect that most people spoke with around here. Mason still had traces of upper Midwest in his speech, and he would occasionally slip and say things like “ruhf” instead of “roof” or overuse his ‘o’ sounds.

“Where are you from, anyway? I don’t think you’re from around here,” Mason reasoned soundly. “Granted, I’m not from around here either, so I may just be overanalyzing this, but I wonder nonetheless.”

For some reason or another, Mason enjoyed talking about locations and traveling quite a lot. He had not been many places besides his hometown and Chicago, but he vaguely remembered a trip to St. Louis as a child. The arch was breathtaking for the youngling, and the rest of the city seemed enjoyable, albeit baseball-oriented and relatively chauvinistic about the sport. They were Cardinals fans, while Chicago was divided between the White Sox and the Cubs. Mason preferred the White Sox, but he seized every possible moment to attend a Cubs game as well, like the preceding events several days prior.

She was a bit surprised when Mason asked where she was from, especially considering most people found her accent a dead giveaway. She had a fairly thick southern accent at times, especially when said certain words, like y’all, beer, truck, and several other words that were specifically related with states like Texas. Callen wouldn’t deny that it was a stereotype that was mostly accurate, save for the Texans being less intelligent “hicks.” Many people, and possibly a majority of people in Texas where very intelligent, yet the few who weren’t were notorious and thus had helped shape the stereotype that was partially accurate.

“I’m actually a bit surprised that you can’t tell by my accent! Maybe you should take a guess before I actually tell you?” She suggested, somewhat coyly.

Callen didn’t know where else this conversation might lead, a fact which was at minimum slightly unnerving to her. They’d covered food, and were now on to where she was from, but that was just about all she could talk about off the top of her head aside from school, music, and sports. None of those topics were particularly interesting, and all were talked about on such a frequent basis that they had all become very boring very quickly, leaving her nothing to talk about once more.

 

Callen’s slyness was inviting to Mason, but he felt no crucial need to reciprocate that. After all, he had his own persona to look after. The former had challenged Mason to guess where she was from, which the latter took as being the city and the state, and not just the state or region. However, the most accurate guess he could possibly muster would be region, because fifty states existed in America, and a handful of them were considered part of the region he had in mind. He had difficulty pinning down her dialect exactly, but he could gather that she was most likely from the south. After all, there was not much to see directly north ofChicago, unless one counted Milwaukee and Green Bay.

“Oh, it appears I’m being put on the spot,” Mason responded coyly, turning to Callen once more. “Well, if you’re expecting me to pinpoint the exact area or state you’re from, I highly doubt I could get it on the first try. Therefore, I’ll just guess the general area. I would say you’re from the south. My reasoning? A few days ago at the Cubs game, somebody used the term ‘y’all’. The voice sounded a lot like yours.”

As Mason wrapped up his miniature monologue with a cheeky grin plastered onto his face, he thought back to the game which had taken place a few days prior. It was at this time that he attempted to envision the exact seat he was in and its proximity to Callen’s seat, for a second reference of her dialect. Something could have easily been missed during that time. Until she actually disclosed the area where she hailed from, Mason would have to resort to listening more intently to her on this train ride, which was now approaching its halfway mark.

“There’s nothing wrong with being put on the spot, but you’re correct, I’m definitely from the south. And as for saying y’all, it is a proper contraction and I’d like to think I’d say it even if I weren’t from the south. It’s much, much better than ‘yous guys’ or whatever y’all use up here. Any guesses on the state though? And don’t worry, I won’t make you guess cities, unless you want to?” She responded with an equally sly smile.

She wouldn’t admit it out of politeness, of course, but she was slightly surprised that he hadn’t noticed that she’d said she was from Texas at the game as well as say y’all. Callen did vaguely remember saying it once or twice, though she had attempted to tone down her southern accent a bit, y’all still managed to come through with a fairly obvious central Texas twang. In his defense however, Callen did remind herself that around the time she’d introduced herself, they had been rudely interrupted by someone who had both condemned smoking and hated baseball. The four of them had verbally ganged up on the girl for her blatant arrogance, which was something Callen had quite enjoyed (though she felt incredibly rude for admitting it even to herself).

Ah, the magnificent guessing game. The luxurious grandeur of said game involved chance and luck, both of which impossible to define completely. There was a microscopic chance that Mason would guess Callen’s hometown correctly, but a better chance of precision laid in merely stating the state of his choosing. Callen’s confirmation of being from the south leveled the field significantly, but he still had a handful of states to choose from. In regards to Callen's stab at the pluralized form of 'you', it was clear that she was still relatively new here. ‘Youse guys’ was not even a phrase in Chicagoland, although other word substitutions were common, such as ‘pop’ instead of ‘soda’. Mason, who had mostly grown up in Minnesota, was already accustomed to saying ‘pop’.

Drawing a sharp intake of breath, allowing the musty scent of the train’s interior waft its way into his nostrils, he quickly evaluated his options for the guess. The South typically included states such as Texas, Arkansas, the Carolinas, Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi. Texas was the most populous of the aforementioned states and by far the most diverse culturally. Because of its sheer size, it seemed like the most viable option. In reality, however, any of the above states were fair game.

Vouching to go for statistics, Mason said, a sly grin forming across his lips, “Hm… Elusive one, aren’t you? I’ll guess the state. I say you’re from Texas. Correct me if I’m wrong, obviously.”