To My Family

Three months have flown by. It seems hard to believe. I have done so much, experienced so many new things. There were many times I wished you were here with me to share my adventures. Other times I wished for your company to make the nights less lonelier adapting a little less difficult. But most of all, I wish you were here to see me change. I don’t think you will recognize me anymore. It is like coming out of a long sleep. I did not realize how much of myself had slipped away the past few years. But Japan has brought me back to life. Like sap slowly moving as winter turns to spring, my energy and creativity are returning. I have pushed my body to jog and dance, things I haven’t done since my injury out of fear (and depression). I have lost weight, too. I do not know how much, I don't have a scale, but if I measure it in how much better I feel it is a significant amount. I have also reawakened to the fantastic. This amazing country with its architecture, culture, and people that are so different from my own inspires my imagination. I find stories waiting around every corner, hiding in shadows or peeking out through paper screens. I had forgotten how amazing and beautiful simple things could be, like the sound of rain on an umbrella, or the leaves of the red maple in autumn. This country is a feast for the senses and it has filled my soul with the zest for life I had somehow lost. So when we meet again, please don’t be too surprised to find a different person than the one who waved goodbye to you in August. It may seem like a sudden change to you and it might be jarring at first. But know that I am happy. Despite the difficulties and strain this adventure has created, it has helped me not just remember who I was, but it has helped me become someone new as well. Someone who is really looking forward to meeting you again soon.

Lady Luck - A Special Thanksgiving Reflection

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, this seemed like the best time for me to count my blessings and reflect on how very lucky I am. I am not saying any of this to brag, but to recognize the fact that I have lived an amazing life with many opportunities that can only be attributed to something outside myself.  

I have always been an extremely lucky individual. I had talent, opportunity, and support to follow my dreams throughout childhood all the way to college. As I got older, I realized these things were not given. I was just super lucky. There have been some minor setbacks in my life, but overall I am truly blessed.

So while it was not unexpected that my life in Japan would be equally fortunate, I have found it beneficial and humbling to reflect on the amazing adventures, people, and things Lady Luck continues to bestow on me.

Most important, from the very first moment of my life, I have been blessed with amazing parents. They gave me strength, courage, and a burning desire to understand this fascinating world. They have supported me and encouraged me in every endeavor I have undertaken. Moving to a foreign country has been no different. From care packages with peanut butter, Halloween candy, and tortillas, to advice and travel planning assistance, Okasan and Otosan have been with me every step of the way. I cannot wait till they visit next month so I can share this beautiful country with them, since they are the ones who first introduced me to Japan when I was just a little girl.

I am also so very lucky to have found and married Anata. Without his support, hard work, and understanding, I would not be experiencing any of this. Being the one to stay behind and pay the mortgage, take care of our three fur babies, and otherwise man the home front hasn't been easy. Listening to my adventures and looking through the thousands of pictures I post of Facebook is harder still. But he bears it all. I could not have been luckier the night I ran into him at a sorority party almost a decade ago.

My friends and family in America and other parts of the world have also been a blessing on this adventure. They have given me advice, comfort, and laughter. Things that are always welcome. They help to keep me grounded and up to date. I am not quite ready to come home yet, but when I do they will make it easy to pick up where I left off.

But it has really been my circumstances in Japan that really put the astounding scope of my luck in perspective. Things could have gone so very differently. Instead, Fortune has continuously smiled on me through each step of my journey.

When I first applied, I was nervous I would not get the job. I was highly qualified, but there is always doubt when it comes to an interview. However, I seemed to sail through the hiring process. Not only did I get the job, I got the August start time I wanted. The number of positions available mid-way through the Japanese school year is very small. But my company thought I was the perfect candidate to fill one of these positions.

Luck smiled on me again when I was placed in Osaka. When I filled out my application I knew very little about Japanese cities and geography. I was warned at every stage of the interview process that a rural placement was likely. Still I put down Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto as my three choices of assignment. I did not know any other areas. So when I got the call telling me I would be assigned to the Osaka area, I realized how much Fate was watching out for me. Osaka is the perfect place for me in Japan. There is food, art, culture, history, and warm, down to earth people ready to accept a foreigner.

One of these people was Otose, my amazing landlady. To say my stay in Japan would be drastically different without her is a complete understatement. She, and the other women I live with, have cooked for me, interpreted for me, been my tour guide, and travel agent. She has made sure I am experiencing every possible aspect of Japan. She make reservations at delicious restaurants, finds English speakers to befriend me, helps me shop, and even sets up private students to help supplement my income (so we can go on even more adventures). So many of my adventures - participating in the danjiri, celebrating Obon on my first night in the house, shopping for and learning to wear the kimono - are all thanks to her. I am the luckiest person in the world to not only have stumbled on her room posting, but to be accepted after just one email. She often tells me she knew from the start I would be the perfect tenant and roommate. I am working very hard to live up to that bar.

It is not just Otose, either. My roommates, neighbors, business owners on my local shopping street, and other members of my ward, like the danjiri participants I spent a weekend with, have all gone out of their way to make me feel like part of the community. Despite language and cultural barriers, they welcome me wherever I go. It makes me feel valued and accepted. I know I have people I can turn to and talk to. I have made good friends who make a huge difference in my survival in this foreign country. Because of them, I am learning so much about not just Japanese culture, but what makes us all human as well. It is insight I am truly grateful for.

As if these blessings were not enough, I lucked into a position at one of the best schools imaginable. Now part of this was qualification, but I think there was a good deal of providence as well. I get to work with an amazing staff. They are dedicated, friendly, and welcoming. I have several teachers that speak English (two almost fluently), but even those who don't speak English will talk to me. We have to work to make ourselves understood sometime, however, the alternative is silence so I appreciate their effort. Our staff room is full of laughter and warmth. It is an amazing environment to work in. It makes the hour plus commute worth it.

My students are another source of joy. They are brilliant, to put it bluntly. They work hard and are excited to learn. From first grade all the way to ninth they are some of the best students I have every worked with. Each class they astound me with their energy and excitement for English. Watching them grow in my language has been fascinating and heartwarming. I truly hit the jackpot with my school assignment.

It almost seems like more than luck at this point. I must have been a saint in a past life for Karma to be so generous. So as people back home go around the dinner table saying what they are thankful for, my only answer this year would be the phenomenal life I have been able to lead. There are too many blessings to count, too many people to thank. The only thing I can do is recognize and celebrate my amazing luck and work hard to live a life worthy of such good fortune.

Cast of Characters

As my adventures continue, I find it is necessary to give fictional names to the people I write about. Because the next dozen or so blogs were written all together in a somewhat continuous flow, it seemed silly to keep calling people my so and so. Also, I wanted to start using some of the Japanese I am learning. So, to keep things straight, I decided to make a Cast of Characters.

Cast of Characters

Otose - My landlady. This is the name of the landlady character in one of my favorite animes, Gintama. Now　I am calling my landlady Otose not because she is anything like the character。Except in her overwhelming kindness and overall standing in our community. Okay, so maybe she is a bit like the Gintama character. But she does not sound like a fifty year smoker and I have never heard her yell.

Okasan - Japanese word for mother

Otosan - Japanese word for father

Anata - Japanese word for you, but used by women to address their spouses. Think of it as darling or dear. In this blog, it is the name I will use for my husband.

Ojiichan - Japanese word for grandfather or old men you are familiar with. Chan is a friendly honorific usually used for those younger than you, but for grandparents it is used instead of -san in most cases. Since I have met a lot of wonderful old men, I will just call them all ojiichan.

So those are some of the people you will see popping up from time to time. You will also see more Japanese words. I will try and use my awesome writing skills to make their meaning clear from the context clues, but if not I will try to include a translation in the end notes. That's all for now. Happy reading!

Commute - A Choose Your Own Adventure Story for Halloween

The clouds hang low and heavy, the dark grey that promises more rain.

You shiver as a gust of cold wind whips up under the hem of your coat.

Rain begins to fall; fat cold drops that slip down the back of your neck. You step away from the edge of the subway platform, back under the protection of the metal awning, as the rain falls faster.  The ting, ting turns to a dull roar, the only sound on this empty platform, as you continue your miserable vigil.

There are never many people at this stop at this time in the evening, but the rain must have convinced them all to stay home. Even the older salary man with the salt and pepper hair and identical black suit every day is missing. Jealously burns in your chest as you blow on your icy hands.

Although it is only five, the gathering dark makes it feel much later. The street lights have been on all day. You look at your watch, just to make sure it isn't really eight or nine. No. Five thirteen.  The train should be here in one minute.

Chimes blast from the loudspeakers, overly loud on this quite night. You jump. But it is just the notice of the approaching train. The train you have been waiting ten minutes for.

Through the curtain of rain, you see the warm, yellow lights approaching, seeming so much more inviting in the gloom than they usually do. The train slides toward you, driving a wind before it that blows the rain toward you for a moment. Then the doors whoosh open and you sprint through the icy downpour.

There are noticeably fewer passengers inside. There is only one other person seated on the dark red, velvet seats- an old lady, quietly sleeping with her chin resting on her wrinkled chest. You move past her, toward the furthest door of the car, and take a seat. Through the open connecting door you notice the rest of the train is empty. It is just you, the sleeping old woman, and the driver three cars in front of you.

The doors close and you sway slightly in your seat as the train accelerates away from the station.

The heaters have been turned on. They warm the back of your legs. The warmth seeps into your stiff, cold limbs. The steady beat of rain on the roof and the sound of the tracks zipping by beneath you fill your ears. You find yourself sinking into the seat, the weight of the weather and stress at work being pulled out of you by the slightly prickly fibers. The subway car is a metal cocoon of warmth and safety from the weather. 

You stare blindly out the far window. You can only see the droplets and streams of rain; the rest is obscured by darkness and the raging downpour. As the train speeds on, your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. You fight to remain conscious, but the harder you fight the closer sleep comes to claiming you.

Just a moment, you tell yourself. I will just close my eyes for a moment. There is still quite a bit of time before your stop. But a moment passes and you have not opened your eyes. You are asleep.

Do you wake up in time for your stop?

            Yes - Go to number 1.

            No - Go to number 2.

1.

You awake with a stat as the doors next to you slide open. Still somewhat groggy, you only half recognize the name of the station printed on the glowing sign.

Realization surges through you and you lunge onto the platform just as the doors are closing.

You trudge up the steps into the cold, clear air. The rain has stopped, but it is completely dark now.  You walk quickly down the glistening streets toward home, the taste of hot cider filling your tired, cold mind.

2.

You wake with a start; your eyes popping open, but your mind still heavy with sleep. It takes a moment to get your bearings. 

The rhythmic shh thunk, shh thunk of the train speeding along tells you that you are still moving, but outside it is now full dark. Lights shine from the windows of buildings, but their shape and relation are blurred by the pouring rain. The sleeping old woman is gone. You are alone in the car.

How long were you asleep? It feels like just a moment that you closed your eyes, yet things have changed in the subway car. Your heart starts to beat faster. What if you missed your stop? You glance at your watch - five forty seven. Have you missed it? The darkness and rain make it impossible to tell.

You curse yourself for falling asleep. It has always been one of your worst fears, ever since you took a job with such a long commute. But tonight, between the rain and the darkness, you are especially upset with yourself.

Where are you? When will the driver announce the next station? You wait impatiently, drumming your fingers on your thigh. A knot is forming in your throat, threatening to choke you.

You glance into the car behind you. A figure in a long, dark coat is standing in front of the middle door of that car. His hat is pulled down low and his collar pulled up high, hiding his face in shadow.

You turn to look out the window, struggling to make out the buildings through the rain. 

Suddenly, lightening streaks across the sky, lighting up the landscape.

Where are you?

            A part of town you've never seen before - Go to number 3.

            Somewhere frighteningly different - Go to number 4.

3.

In the brief flash, the skyline is seared into your eyes. Where are you? You see the buildings on the back of your eye lids. You don't recognize their shapes. This is a part of town you have never seen.

Panic floods your mind. Your heart pounds and you realize you've been holding your breath.

The intercom crackles and the driver announces the next stop. You leap from your seat and rush for the map posted above the far door. Frantically you scan the stop names, searching for the one you just heard. You find it, four stops past yours.

You have never ridden the train past your stop. Right or wrong, you always thought of everything past your stop as the bad part of town. It is full of large apartment complexes, factories, and has a reputation for violent crime.

Your eyes continue down the map. You breathe a sigh of relief when you count one, two, three stops till the end of the line. You return to your seat to wait for the train to turn around.

You feel drained as you sink back onto the prickly seat. The panic has begun to dissipate, leaving you exhausted. You are still frustrated with yourself, but the problem will be resolved soon. Mentally, you calculate how much change you might need for the fare adjustment. You have never done this before. Will they make you pay for this blunder? You have missed a stop before, got off, changed trains, and returned without being charged before. But would it be okay? Would they catch the extra time and make you pay more?

You are lost in your thoughts as the train pulls into the next station. The doors open and a trio of people step into your car. You are pulled from your thoughts.

Like the man in the car behind you, these three are dressed for very cold weather. One is a young girl. Her stockinged knees peek out between the hem of her red jacket and the top of her black boots.  She has on a dark grey wool cap and a grey and red plaid scarf that covers the bottom half of her face. The only things uncovered are her bright blue eyes. She catches you with those icy orbs.

You quickly look at her companions - two large men, made even larger by their heavy garments. Each one holds one of the girl's gloved hands in his own massive paw. Both wear black wool caps pulled down to just above their eyes. One has a long, dark brown ponytail falling down his back.  His face is covered with thick black stubble. The second has a full red beard that hides his mouth and neck. Both men watch you with eyes so dark brown they are almost black. Silently the trio sits across from you on the empty train. Silently they stare at you as the subway lurches to life.

You turn to the car behind you. The man in the heavy coat is still standing in front of the middle door. A dark skinned woman with white hair and a hunter green jacket sits on the far side of him.

You look back at the strange trio in your own car. The bearded man has closed his eyes and is resting his head against the window behind him. The other man has pulled out a magazine.  Between them, the girl continues to stare at you.

You close your own eyes to escape her stare. There is no trace of your earlier lethargy. The last few minutes have left you wide away.

At the next stop a young man with spiked black hair, a black leather jacket, and tight denim jeans saunters into the car.  His music, playing through lime green headphones, is loud enough to hear over the rain still pounding on the metal roof.  He sits at the far end of your seat.  Behind him, you see the man in the dark coat step off the train.

At the next stop no one gets on. You breathe a sigh of relief. The weather, the strange people, the scary neighborhood...your mind is running wild.

Finally you come to the last stop. The strange, silent trio stands and exits the car. The young man sings under his breath and bobs his head to the beating music as he follows him. You are alone again.

The driver, a lanky man in his early forties, who looks out of time in his dark conductor uniform, opens the door from the car in front of yours.

"End of the line," he calls.

You nod.  "I missed my stop.  I was just going to ride back."

Does he make you get off?

            No - Go to number 5.

            Yes - Go to number 6.

4.

In the sudden blackness that follows the lightning flash, you try to comprehend what you just saw.　Outside the window was a vast plain of black grass, dotted with crumbling buildings and gnarled white trees reaching their naked limbs toward the dark sky like souls in agony. You are dreaming. You must be dreaming.

Wildly you glance around the empty train. There must be some clue that this is all a dream. But why aren't you waking up? You pinch the skin on the back of your right hand, your nails leaving white indentations from the pressure. White like the skeletal trees still burned into your eyelids.

Thunder rolls across the car, rattling the handholds swinging above your head. The train begins to slow as if approaching a station. There was no announcement. Where can you be? You squeeze your eyes shut, afraid of where this nightmare might be going. Wake up. Wake up.

The train stops.

The doors hiss open, bringing the sound of pouring rain and a cold blast of air.

After a moment they hiss closed again. You did not hear anyone get on.

The train begins to move.

Slowly you open your eyes. Your breath catches in your throat. Across from you sits a young woman dressed in a frilly black Victorian looking costume. The skin on her thin face is almost perfectly white except for the smudges of dirt. Her eyes are closed, but the lids and area under her eyes is black, making her cheekbones even more prominent. Her dark hair hangs in tussled ringlets around her face. There is a small red leaf clinging to it near her left temple. You look away before she can open her eyes and see you.

You look into the car behind you. The man in the long, dark coat has taken a seat on the dark red closest to your car. You still cannot see his face clearly. You heart begins to beat even faster.

There are a half dozen more people in the car now. They are all dressed in various shades of black, charcoal, and navy. Four are seated. Two stand. They all give off the same feeling of sadness as the woman seated across from you. Every hair on your body stands on end as you look quickly from one to the other. 

A flash of color catches your eyes. A young girl in a red coat, who had been hidden by the large man in black seated next to her, leans forward. Blonde hair covers her face. She is swinging her short legs. She has no feet. Her black stockings disappear into nothing.

Quickly you turn back to the woman across from you. The hem of her gothic skirt hangs a little above the train floor. There are no shoes under it.

You are on a train with ghosts.

You struggle to stay calm as the storm rages outside and the ghost sits quietly across from you. Fear wraps itself around your throat, threatening to choke you. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to run. 

Slowly you turn to look at the man in the dark coat. He meets your gaze with blazing yellow eyes.  He smiles, exposing a mouth full of sharpened teeth.

You start to leap from your seat, but the ghost across from you stirs. Frozen with fear, you grip the armrest to your left. You can still feel your hand shaking even through your white knuckle grip. You squeeze your eyes shut.

You feel the train slowing again as it pulls into a new station. As the doors open, you open your eyes, ready to run. The platform is filled with pale people in dark clothing with no feet. The smell of wet earth and decay fills the air.

Do you flee through the crowd of ghosts?

            No? - Go to number 7.

            Yes? - Go to number 8.

5.

The conductor smiles, "You wouldn't be the first. We'll leave in two minutes. Don't fall asleep this time."

"I won't," you promise. You consider asking him about an extra fare charge as he moves past you into the next car, but you hold your tongue. You will cross that bridge when you come to it.

You watch the strange riders from your car disappear down the steps of the platform. The girl glances your way last time before disappearing from sight. You shiver and press into the warm seat a little more.

The doors close and the train takes off in the opposite direction. You lean your head against the window behind you. Its cold mingles with the warmth of the car. It feels good.

The return trip is uneventful. At each stop the doors open on empty platforms. Soon it is your stop.  You pull your jacket tight around you and step out into a light drizzle.

It is now 6:07. You are only half an hour later than usual. Pushing your hands a little deeper into your pockets, you think about the warm cup of coco, with a generous splash of vodka, that you will cap off this adventure with.

6.

"This train is going out of service. You will have to wait for the next one," the conductor says, covering the distance between you quickly with long, quiet strides.

"When is it," you ask.

"Fifteen minutes."

He floats past you into the next car.

You take a deep breath and push yourself up from the warm seat. Pulling your jacket tight around you, you step out onto the platform. The strange trio from your car is still on the platform. The youth in black stands near them, nonchalantly leaning against the wall and tapping his foot to the music. The white head of the dark skinned woman is disappearing slowly down the platform steps.

You move just far enough from the train to be protected from the icy rain, which seems to have picked up again. You feel the little girl's eyes on your back as you face the departing train.

The warm yellow glow from the windows snakes through the darkness, leaving you alone in the cold, white light of the station platform.

You hear movement behind you. You turn to find the youth has moved from the wall and taken a seat in the light blue plastic chairs right behind you. His long legs are splayed out in front of him.  His fingers fly across the face of his phone. His head bobs to the music.

The girl and one of her companions, the one with the ponytail, sit on another set of chairs a little further away.  There is no sign of the bearded man. What are they waiting for? Before the girl can catch your gaze again, you look back toward the sheets of rain falling on the empty tracks.

The minutes pass like hours. Your hands and feet are stiff with cold. Each breath fogs and hangs in the damp air as the temperature drops further. To keep warm, you decide to walk further down the platform.

As you pass the seats with the little girl and the two large men, the girl giggles. You look without thinking. She is sitting between the two men, swinging her feet. The scarf has been pulled down so she can drink the bottle of red juice she holds. Her lips are blood red and curled in a slight smile.  You freeze in the gaze of her icy eyes.

"Good evening," she says. Her voice sounds overly childish, like an adult trying to seem younger. It seems strange.

"Good evening," you stutter.

Her companions are looking at you now. Your heart beats faster. But her eyes hold you in place. "I like the rain," she says.

The bearded man moves. He puts his hand on hers. She turns toward him, releasing you from her spell. You turn quickly and resume your walk down the platform. 

"Mister," she calls after you, "do you like the rain?"

You turn and smile, keeping your eyes closed. "Not tonight. I forgot my umbrella."

"That's too bad."

You turn again and keep walking to the end of the platform. You check your watch. Still five more minutes before the next train. You stare off into the darkness, waiting for the familiar yellow light to appear.

But it doesn't. The appointed time comes, but the train has not arrived. You glance down the platform. The other passengers from your car are still there. The girl leans over and smiles at you.

Five more minutes pass and the train has still not arrived.

Do you continue to wait?

            Yes - Go to number 9.

            No - Go to number 10.

7.

You try to stand, but fear has turned your legs to boneless lumps of flesh. The ghosts silently stream onto the train. One sits next to you. Others push in and cling to the handholds above you.

The smell of decay is overwhelming. It erodes the mental dam holding back your tears. They stream freely and silently down your face.

The doors slide closed. The train begins to move. The intercom crackles to life. A hoarse whisper relates that you are approaching the final stop.

"I'm sorry," the ghost on your right says.

You turn and look at him. Unlike the others, his skin is blistered and charred. He wears a tattered conductor's uniform. The smell of smoke clings to him. "I'm sorry," he says again.

You stare at his disfigured face and milky eyes.

"There was a car on the tracks. I couldn't stop. I'm sorry."

You realize why you are on this train of the dead.

8.

With a deep breath, you propel yourself from the seat. You push through the cold fog of spirits and burst onto the platform as the doors slide closed behind you.

Your body shakes with fear and fatigue as you stand doubled over on the platform, panting.　　The train pulls away, leaving you alone. The storm rages around you, the cold wind freezing the sweat that clings to the back of your neck. Thunder cracks and the wind howls through the metal rafters of the depot awning. In the flashes of lightening you look out over the bleak landscape. 

Where should you go? If you stay here, another train might appear. More ghosts and devils might show up. The burning eyes of the passenger in the long black coat flash across your mind. You can't stay here. But you don't know where you are. You have given up on waking from this dream, if it is a dream.

Slowly you stand. With a deep, searing breath you take one step toward the exit. Then you take another. You don't know where you will end up, but anything is better than this train station for the dead.

There are no gates or turnstiles on this platform. You walk straight out onto the deserted plain.  You pause just at the edge of the platform's shelter. You look left. Through the curtains of rain, you cannot see far. Maybe those are figures approaching slowly. Maybe they are just the remains of a building decaying in this land of death. You struggle to see more than ten feet from your current position. Turning right you think you can make out a light in the distance. It is just a slight glow obscured by the rain and storm. Is it even really there?

Which way do you turn?

            To the left - Go to number 11.

            To the right - Go to number 12.

9.

The rain begins to let up. You don't notice at first, but soon the downpour has become a trickle and then even that stops. The platform is eerily quiet after the constant roar of the rain on the metal awning. The air feels clean and the smell of wet concrete rises up from the platform and buildings around you.

The youth in black stands. He holds his hand out from under the shelter. After a moment he shoves it into the pocket of his tight jeans and saunters toward the stairs.

The girl and two men follow. The girl smiles and waves at you before the man with the ponytail takes her hand. "Swing," she giggles. The two men lift her easily by the arms and swing her between them as they approach the stairs.

Now you are alone.

The night sounds of the city travel over the concrete walls of the station. A car splashing through puddles as it speeds through the darkness. A cacophony of radios and TVs as windows are opened in the many apartments around the station to let in the fresh air.

Now that the rain has cleared, you can make out the buildings. Huge apartment complexes tower over the subway platform, which in turn stands a few stories over the street. There are lights everywhere as people are probably sitting down to dinner.

At 6:38 the train finally arrives. You hear it coming. It is a yellow snake of light moving through a forest of multicolored lights that reach far into the still cloudy sky.

A wave of warmth washes over you as you step through the doors. You collapse onto the silvery blue velvet seat. Your hands begin to ache as the warmth works its way into your body. You rest your head against the cold window behind you. You close your eyes, but you won't fall asleep. You open them briefly to watch the new conductor pass by, and then close them again.

The doors hiss closed. The train begins to move. Your mind replays the events of tonight's adventure. You realize that the youth and the trio did not have umbrellas either. That is probably why they stayed on the platform after the train. You almost laugh, but the little girl's eyes still haunt you as you speed toward home. Instead you think of how good a hot toddy would be. Just thinking about it fills your stomach with warmth.

10.

Gradually, the rain tapers off from a downpour to a light drizzle. The train has still not arrived.  You glance at your watch. It has been over half an hour, twice what the conductor told you.

Soon the rain stops. The other passengers from your car begin to leave the platform. The young man in black leather goes first. His whole body moves to the beat of the music still blasting from his headphones. He slowly disappears down the station's steps. The girl gives her legs an extra swing and propels herself from the seat between the two men. She spins around as her companions slowly rise and stretch.

"The rain stopped," she calls to you as each man takes one of her small hands. "You can go home now."

"I am waiting on the next train," you find yourself saying.

She giggles as the men lead her away. The sound is ominous in the sudden quiet after the rain.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you are finally alone.

With the rain stopped, you can finally see the buildings. In the dark, they don't look particularly ominous. Just huge black structures dotted with bright windows, like the Lite-Brite you used to play with as a child. The sounds of the city coming to life travel up to you from the street below.  A car splashing through puddles as it speeds through the darkness. Shouts of greeting and farewell as people leave the buildings they have been sheltering in. A cacophony of radios and TVs poured out as people open windows to let in the fresh, cold air. You take a deep breath, the smell of wet concrete and asphalt filling your nose. You exhale. Your breath fogs and hangs in the cold, damp air.

The minutes continue to tick by. Thirty-five. Forty. Forty-five. Is there another train? The girl's haunting laugh comes back to you. Doubt creeps in. Fifty minutes.

Your hands are frozen. Your feet tired. Hunger gnaws at your insides. You realize you haven't eaten since the apple you had for lunch. As if reproaching you, your stomach rumbles loudly. After fifty-five minutes, you decide the train is not coming.

Hesitantly you move toward the steps. As soon as you leave, you know the train will show. You stop at the top of the steps and look down the black ribbon of tracks. There is no train, no sound, no lights. With a heavy sigh, you take the first step down.

The gate is deserted. The lights are on in the employees’ booth, but there is no one there. 

"Hello," you call, hoping someone will answer. But there is only silence and the buzz of fluorescent lights.

"Hello," you try again, desperation just barely tinging your voice. Still silence.

You wait a moment longer then swipe your subway card and step through the gate.

On the other side, fear starts to wrap itself around your chest. You don't know where you are. How will you find your way? You had thought to hail a taxi, but now the possibility that there won't be one clouds your determination. You take one last look at the employee booth, hoping someone has miraculously appeared. You are greeted by empty glass.

You move toward the escalator. As you step on, you think you hear the distant rumble of the train.  You scramble back toward the gate. But the sound is gone. You stand frozen at the gate, ready to swipe your card. Silence. After a minute, you turn back to the escalator. As you do, you can swear you hear the giggle of a little girl. A chill runs down the length of your spine and into your legs. You shiver.

The station is two stories above the street. As you descend, the sounds of the street get louder. When you reach the bottom, you find yourself in a glittering, deserted concrete jungle. You had hoped for a restaurant or store, but there are just dark windows. There are no people, and, as you expected, no taxis. You look right then left, taking in this bleak landscape of wet, silent buildings.

A ways down the street opposite the subway exit you glimpse what seems to be a livelier area. You cannot make out the words on the signs, but it is definitely brighter. There seems to be people.

You glance along the subway track heading back to your own station. It is dark. But following it would eventually lead you home.

Which way do you go?

            Follow the tracks - Go to number 13.

            Go toward the lights - Go to number 14.

11.

You step out into the rain. The drops feel like icy needles on your exposed skin. You burrow as far into your coat as possible. You close your eyes, the driving rain making it nearly impossible to see anyway. Blindly, you begin your trek. You walk slowly, your feet barely leaving the ground in a shuffle you hope will keep you from running into anything – or any one. You focus on your breathing and your steps, trying to block out the fantastic imaginings of your frightened mind.

Something brushes against your leg. You keep your eyes shut. Hot tears flow from the cracks between your eyelids.

Something is in front of you. You sense it. Pulling your left hand from your pocket, you grope the air in front of you. Your hand touches hard, cold stone. You open your eyes.

The station is behind you, an island of sharp white light in the overwhelming darkness. Ahead you can make out buildings slightly darker against the black sky.

The rain begins to slack off as you approach one of these silent structures. You find a door hanging open. Inside it is cold, but dry. 

You remove your wet coat and shoes. You cannot start a fire, but maybe you can warm up a little.  Your find a corner near the front of the building and collapse. You draw your knees up to your chin and stare into the black void of the room. You mind has moved past confusion. There are no answers for your questions. There is just the cold concrete at your back, the dark room in front of you, and the sound of rain falling outside.

Eventually you sleep, dreaming of the hot apple cider your grandfather used to make on nights like these.

12.

It must be a city or some kind of building, you decide. You pull your jacket close around you and take a step into the squall. The rain drops barrage you like icy bullets. You struggle to see the path ahead. You squint against the driving rain. You lower you head and begin you trek.

Time passes. You do not know how long. You cannot read your watch in the darkness. You are soaked. Rain drips down the back of your neck, off your nose, from your hair. The light is getting brighter, though. You quicken your pace.

You begin to hear another sound, barely audible under the howl of the wind and the drum of rain.  It is almost like a roar. You keep moving toward the fluctuating light ahead. Does it waver because of the rain? Or is it something else. As you approach, you realize why it seems to flicker.

It is a city engulfed in flames.

You move closer, the warmth calling to you. You can hear the roar of the flames now, distinct over the sounds of the storm. 

A group of figures stands near the edge of the flames. They are outlined black against the wall of orange and red rising in front of them. They stand apart from each other, but all stare deep into the inferno. You move closer.  The figures do not notice. Their pale faces appear to twist and contort in the unsteady light of the flames.

You turn to the flames.

You see a derailed subway car some way ahead in the fire. Two figures sit inside with their backs to you. As you look, one of the figures moves. The glowing eyes of the passenger in the long black coat stare at you through the broken window. The demon smiles through the flames.

13.

You take one last look at the brightly lit area several streets away. Your stomach growls in protest as you turn toward the dark road that runs parallel to the raised train tracks. With a sigh you start off on cold, tired feet. You try and imagine how far you must be from home. Four stops. It could be miles.

As you walk, you offer fervent prayers to any gods willing to listen. Please let there be a passing taxi. Please let there be a restaurant. Please let you make it home safely.

You trudge on for what feels like hours. You glance at your watch, 8:37. Already two hours late. The road is dark and deserted. You walk with your stomach in your throat, ready to burst forth in a scream. Stray cats, crows, and other animals peer at you from the gloom. You jump as they move away from you. You imagine more sinister creatures in the darker shadows.

A lone biker pedals toward you. He wears a black hoodie and a black scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face. You pass between a rare streetlight. He looks at you with black eyes. He continues on into the night. Did you really see that? You pick up the pace.

Sweat freezes on the back of your neck. Your breathing comes in ragged gasps as you move as quickly as you can without running.

Ahead of you, you see your station, peeking over the shorter houses and shops. You feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes as your stomach descends to its usual place in your belly.  You are almost home. You burst into the lights of your station, relief washing over you like the light.  Finally you are safe. Finally you are almost home. You lean against the cold railing. Railing you pass every day. It has never felt so good under your hand - solid, real, reassuring. You hold tight to the rail as you catch your breath, as if you are afraid to let go. The night air now feels refreshing on your hot, sweaty face. You breathe deeply as familiar smells calm your raw nerves.

Finally, you straighten up, adjust your jacket, and begin the short walk home. As the fear and tension of the day disappear with each step you take, the hunger returns. You decide to stop by your favorite restaurant, a small family place that serves the best homemade pizza. Your mouth waters at the thought of cheese and sauce. And an ice cold beer. You pick up your pace again, but not out of fear this time.

14.

Your heart sinks as your eyes travel further and further down the dark street that will lead you home.　　You hesitate. It would be wiser to find a restaurant or a shop and figure out exactly where you are before traipsing off into the night with no idea where you will end up. You turn again to the distant lights in the opposite direction.  Your stomach growls in agreement.

Despite the logic of your decision, you are hesitant at first. Like a young animal venturing from the safety of cover for the first time, you are afraid to leave the only tie you have to your normal world.　　Even if the train hasn't come, this is still the only link you have to home. But hunger steels your resolve. You convince yourself that the distant lights are a restaurant. You push forward, each step more confident than the last.

As you approach the lights, your hopes are somewhat dashed. Instead of a restaurant, you find a convenient store.

From behind protective glass the clerk watches you enter. He is young, maybe early twenties, with a heavy brow and small, deep-set eyes. His suspicious glare makes you pause before asking directions.  Instead you turn down a cramped aisle full of off brand snacks. You make your selection quickly, a candy bar and some chips, and step toward the register.

You slip your items through a metal drawer to the clerk. Without a work he rings them up. You bite your lip, trying to figure out how to ask this silent man for directions.

He points to the total on the register.

"Um," you start, desperately. "I'm lost. Can you give me directions?" He frowns, but doesn't reply. You push on. "The train didn't come." Why are you telling him this? The man doesn't need or want to know the details. But you can't stop. The dam has burst. "I need to get back to my station, but I don't know where I am."

With a glare, the man pulls out his phone. He brings up a map and holds it against the glass. You stare at it, unable to orient yourself on the tiny screen.

The clerk growls and pulls the phone back. "Where to?"

You tell him your home station, afraid to be more specific.

He grabs a crumpled piece of paper from under the register and smoothes it out. He writes down the directions. He passes the grungy paper through the drawer. As you struggle to decipher the writing he explains.

You feel more lost than ever, but the look on his face keeps you from asking him to repeat himself.  You pay for your items and shuffle back out onto the street. Dejected, you head back to the dark subway station, the starting point of your directions.

You do your best to follow the directions, but soon you find yourself standing in the middle of an intersection on a quiet residential street trying to figure out if you have gone three blocks or not. Should you turn left or keep going? Did the clerk count the street that teed into this one? Or not? The houses are all dark and not even a dog barks. You feel completely alone.

You look right then left, then put the scrap of paper in your pocket. You turn around and head back toward the station. Maybe the clerk will call a taxi for you. Or maybe you will just sleep at the station. Either seems better than wandering unfamiliar streets all night.

As you retrace your steps, you think about how good a soda would be right now. Your mouth is dry and your stomach upset from all the ups and downs of this evening's adventure. Maybe a soda mixed with something stronger.