Early Risers

Author's Note: This is a tag - team story I wrote with a couple other people for a writing group.


The suitcase weighed heavily in my hands, cutting into the grip of my palm, and began to slip as I hurried my way to the station. The train had just arrived, and the passengers waiting to board the late afternoon connection to New York crowded the platform, organizing themselves into a line under the wooden veranda.  My overcoat began to feel too hot to wear, even on an autumn afternoon.  


Finally I threw my case onto the loading platform, and reached into my pocket for my wallet. I slowly walked up to the stairs, readying my mind for the journey and the new beginning I was receiving in New York. I had only what was most important to me, and the little money I had saved in the past month to pay for my one way train ticket.


The people in front of me were filing into the train, and soon I was walking up into the train into the first piece to my new beginning.  The seats were a deep red color, and the fabric looked as if it was as soft as silk.  I sat down in a seat toward the front, and began to unload my heavy bag, the bulging leather seeming as if it were about to burst.   


Sighing in relief, I stared out the  dirty window with a deep sense of accomplishment. Time seemed to fly by after that, as the train eventually pulled out of the station, starting slow and smooth. I watched as I left my hometown and my past, the colors blurring together as the locomotive picked up speed. Here is to new beginnings, I thought proudly, and staring out, I found that I was glad to be gone, separated from past tragedies.


No one wanted to see Chicago in their rearview mirror more than I did. As I watched the landscape slowly shift the further the train surged ahead, I began to wonder what new life in New York could bring. My eyes felt heavy and I slowly drifted off to the gentle hum of the engine. The smoke from the coal burning car seeping slowly into the room, causing a dark fog for a moment before another passenger rose to open a few windows. 

My heart began to race a bit; the smoke brought back memories of why I was leaving Chicago, and why I was hoping to never return to that city of sludge, that railway ridden cesspool on the Great Lake Michigan. I wondered momentarily which was worse: the literal pollution of the city and its snaking river that wound a puddle of filth, or the human corruption of politics and business. I had to get my start in the industry somewhere, so it served its purpose, but now I was moving on to better things.


The job awaiting my arrival in New York was one of promise, and I let myself exhale again, dispelling Chicago and all its memories from my mind. With this final release of stress, I allowed myself to fall into a deep sleep, dreaming of the memories I could make in New York, not the nightmares I made in Chicago.
I jolted awake to the screech of the brakes, as the train came to a shaky stop. My first instinct was to look out the window, hoping to see what lay ahead of me, but I quickly realized that we were enveloped in the dark of the train station.


I was aching to get a glimpse of New York, but I knew I had to wait until everyone had got off the train.  I sat in my seat, my hands clamped together and my cold fingers shaking.  I put on my hat, and reloaded my suitcase, for it was coming close to my turn to leave this train.  I stood up, and walked down the center aisle of the train.  My steps were heavy, and I wanted to go fast.  I wanted to see my new world.  


As soon as I took my final step off the train, I knew I had made the right choice.  Yet people were bustling around, huddled together trying to make their way through this marvelous, and massive city. I was just like them, and the moment of relief evaporated just as quickly as it had come. I slowly began to shove through the crowds, but just once, I turned around to watch the train slowly pull out of the station once more, destroying my last connection to Chicago, and all the dark memories with it.


I gathered my belongings and began to look for a map. I had no sense of direction but started to wander into the massive city. I stumbled upon a man amongst the crowds playing a violin softly. He reminded me of someone I used to see in Chicago, and it sparked a hurtful memory that I try to keep buried inside me.
The song he played reminded me of the last evening we spent together, the wonderful meal we shared, and the difficult words I had to hear. There was no future for us, so there could be no future for me in Chicago.  I smiled at the street musician, dropped a spare nickel in his box, and continued up the street.


I knew at least that the hotel where my reservation was being held was a place facing Central Park -- a wonderful development and famous all over the country. Since I had been on my feet most of the morning, I decided to hail a cabbey.  I turned to face the traffic, and simply raised my hand when suddenly a horse drawn carriage pulled up, the driver of which, tipping his hat in my direction.  “Central Park please,” I called out, and stepped up into the carriage.


We rode in silence, as I took in the sight of the huge city. I was stunned to see all of the buildings reaching into the sky, finally being lost behind the clouds. The scenery gave me an odd feeling, like I had seen it all before.  It finally hit me, and I felt the cold wash over me. I felt as if the world has just fallen on top of me. I had seen all 
of this before. In Chicago.


I stared down at my feet, not wanting to have to look at the buildings that reminded me so much of home.  The cabby soon came to a slow stop in front of a magnificent hotel that was within walking distance from Central Park.  My jaw dropped in awe while glaring at the hotel.  It seemed too good to be true.  I stepped out of the carriage, tipped the driver a couple of dollars, and continued toward what would be my home for the next month or so, just until I found myself a new home.

I grasped onto the handle and swung the door wide, passing through with my head down. When I looked up again, I was under a huge dome with a chandelier high overhead, and a small lobby desk in front. To the left and back I spotted the elevator, and to the right of the desk and back what I assumed be a door to a small food area.


I briskly walked over to the desk, stating my name in my business voice. The man working the counter was a tall man, with a round beard on his chin and grey drab spectacles resting on his pointed nose.


“Room 254” the man said gruffly, and he placed a card key in front of me.


I swiped the key up quickly and made way towards the elevator, dragging my luggage with me. Pressing the button labeled number three, I stood tall as my stomach flew. A pleasant ding alerted me of my arrival, and my stomach fell back into place as I stepped out, glancing both left and right at the signs. 250-270 was off to my left, and I took off speedily down the corridor, stopping in front of the bronze letters 254 on the door to my room.


I placed the card in, and pushed, taking the card out as I did. The door swung open silently, and I stood in astonishment at the room that was l in front of me. Yet this seemed far too elegant and large to be called a room. A short and narrow hallway led into the main room, where the room opened up, in both height and in width. The walls in the main room were stretching far to each side, with a window for the far wall.  The window was large and magnificent, making up the entire back wall. Couches and coffee tables were scattered across the polished wood floor, and there was a small kitchen just to the left, completing the room.


Yet none of these things had me mesmerized. I was drawn automatically to the view, my jaw agape in wonder as I gazed out at Central Park view. Behind that I could see the city, and I could only picture what this scene might look like at night.


I undid the top button of my starched collar, and fell back on the bed. The light overhead shone with a brilliance of sparkle, radiating from the bejeweled shards of crystal suspended by golden fasteners arranged in a geometric pattern so complex that the light against the ceiling formed cascading shapes like snowflakes of light and shadow, reminiscent of the blinding snowfalls of Chicago, the driving life taking storms that swept like Nature’s purifying hand, wiping the slate clean for another season to be born again when the spring thaw would release the land from the harness of winter.  It was as if no matter how hard I tried, Chicago wouldn’t leave my mind.


I lay in my bed, mind spinning, pondering the world. There wasn’t a topic in the world that wasn’t spinning in my head, and slowly all the thoughts drifted together, even as my brain struggled to pull them apart, and I drifted away from the world, until I finally fell asleep.