Los Angeles Union Station was bathed in the soft orange light of dusk as I entered the huge concourse, headed for baggage check-in. I had my tickets for Amtrak's Train Number Four, the Southwest Chief, heading for Chicago, and was looking forward to spending almost two days on the train, seeing America from ground level. I had booked a Deluxe Bedroom, complete with its own toilet and shower, mainly because I wanted the oversize bunk and my own private bathroom. It cost a helluva lot more than going coach, but to me it was worth it.
After I checked my bags, I grabbed my carry-on and headed over to the waiting area. As I made my way there, I noticed a very attractive young lady sitting in one of the large wooden armchairs. She appeared to be crying, and as I got closer I could see that she was sobbing miserably. I could also see that she was quite pretty, probably in her late twenties, and she looked to be of Asian heritage. She had long, black hair flowing freely almost down to her waist, and a slim yet curvaceous build. She was wearing a blue denim miniskirt and a white tank top which displayed her assets admirably.
I wanted to approach her and see if I could help in some way, as she seemed quite distraught. An idea hit me, and I went over to the little gift shop and bought one of those overpriced little packets of Kleenex and a bottle of Dasani water, then went back out to where the crying girl was still sitting and sobbing away. I walked up to her, more than a little self-consciously, wondering what the hell I was going to say to her when she suddenly looked up at me.
"Excuse me, I don't mean to be nosy or anything, but I thought maybe you could use these," I said to her shyly, offering the Kleenex and bottled water.
She looked up at me, her face wet with tears. Her eyes were beautiful, a dark hypnotic brown, slightly slanted and very exotic. Her face was altogether gorgeous, even when she was she was sad. She hesitatingly took the offered items and offered a muffled thanks.
"Are you OK? Is there anything I could help you with?" I knew as soon as the words left my mouth how lame I sounded.
"No, I don't need any of your help," she answered, eyeing me suspiciously. "Thanks for this stuff"--she held up the items I had given her. "Now please just go away before I have to yell for a cop."
The last thing I wanted was a scene like that, so I headed over to the snack bar and grabbed a soda, and then the announcement was made that my train was ready for boarding.
I headed up the tunnel to the platform, found my assigned car and got on the train. The sleeping-car attendant showed me to my room which was on the upper level, showed me how to work the various controls and switches for lighting and bathroom, gave me my meal vouchers (another perk of traveling first class--free meals) then asked me what time I would like my bed made up. I told her I would let her know. As she left I threw down my carry-on and checked out my surroundings. It was one of the newer cars, with dΓ©cor trimmed in earthtones, blues, greens and greys. Very relaxing and simple in design. I thought to myself that I was going to enjoy this trip.
The train lurched to a start, leaving Union Station, and I decided to go up to the full-length dome lounge car and get a drink, and watch the familiar scenery roll by from this new perspective.
To get there I had to walk forward through three coaches, and as I walked through the coach reserved for Chicago-bound passengers I saw her, sitting by the window, all alone, holding a used tissue in one hand and a half-full bottle of Dasani in the other. She was no longer crying but her face looked incredibly sad. I scooted right past her and made my way to the lounge car.
When I got there the car was fairly full, but I managed to find a good seat on the top level. I watched as the streets, factories and buildings passed, and thought how great it was not to have to stop for traffic signals. Traffic was stopping for us, on this train, held back by crossing gates and flashing lights, as we breezed across heavily traveled roads and highways. Before long, we were slowing for our first station, Fullerton, and as we eased to a stop I heard a familiar voice.
"Is this seat taken?"
I looked up and there stood the Crying Girl, only now she wasn't crying. She still looked a little sad, but she also was trying to muster a smile as I looked at her, somewhat in disbelief.
"Well, yeah, come on, have a seat," I said, trying not to sound too eager.
"Thanks," she said as she took the empty spot next to me. I tried not to notice as the hem of her denim miniskirt rode up to the top of her thighs, and how she vainly tried to pull it down to a more civilized level. But of course I did notice, and she noticed me noticing.
"I had to catch this train at the very last minute, didn't have much time to plan a wardrobe for the trip," she said, blushing slightly. "I brought just a few extra things, warmer clothes for the midwest, but not that much. I didn't have any time to pack so I'm gonna have to wait 'til we get there to buy the rest of the stuff I need."
"If you feel uncomfortable, you can go change your clothes in my room back there. I'll stay right here until you get back, I promise," then I added jokingly, "You won't have to yell for a cop."
"I am so sorry about that, really," she said. "Today has just been a really shitty day, and I just wasn't in the mood for anyone coming on to me." Her eyes started tearing up again. "I'm sorry I couldn't see a genuine act of kindness when it was offered to me."
"Hell, we all have our bad days, don't worry about it. And you really are welcome to change your clothes in my room if you want."
"Thanks, but I'll struggle through with this for now. I gotta save what few things I brought with me for the next couple of days. By the way, my name is Nicole. Friends call me Nikki."
She held out her hand and I took it. "Nice to meet you, Nikki. I'm Sonny, real name's Oscar, so you can see why I like the nickname better. My mom was a big fan of Oscar Wilde. Please don't hold that against me."
Nikki chuckled a little and held onto my hand. "I think Oscar's a cool name, actually."
"Just don't start with the wiener jokes, OK?"
"Wiener jokes?" she asked, baffled.
"You know, as in 'Oscar Mayer' wieners, baloney, all that. Used to get teased mercilessly about it when I was a kid, in school, you know? That's why I took the nickname."
"Kids can be so cruel, sometimes," Nikki said softly.
"Yeah, well, so can adults. Listen, Nicole, I know you're having a bad time right now--if you want to talk about it, I can listen. Sometimes that can really help you to feel better, getting things out in the open and sharing it with someone."
She held on to my hand tightly, fiercely, as if she thought that by letting it go I might disappear. She looked into my eyes, deeply, and said, "You have no idea what I've been through today. I don't want to sound too forward, or make this into something it's not, but could we go back to your room, where it's quieter and a little more private?"
"Sure we can, and I'll leave the door open if that'll make you feel more at ease," I answered her.
We got up and walked through the three coaches back to my car, and I showed her into my room.
"Come on in, take your shoes off and set a spell," I said as I ushered her inside.
"This is nice," Nikki said, looking around. "Small but nice. Wish I could have gotten a private room instead of a coach seat, but it was all last minute, and you have to reserve these rooms way in advance, and I had no warning I was going to have to make this tripβ¦"
She trailed off, and plopped down onto the sofa. I sat down next to her, and she leaned over against me and started crying softly. I put my arms around her and tried to comfort her the best I could, not knowing what to say because I didn't know what was wrong.
Finally, she pulled herself together, and reached for my face with her hands. Turning my face to hers, she gave me a deep, soul-searching look with those wonderful eyes and said, "I trust you. I don't know why but I do. The world is so full of assholes and people who like to hurt others, and when I meet someone I can connect with the last thing I want to do is question it. What I want to know is, should I trust you? And do you trust me?"
"Yes and yes," I replied, amazed at myself for answering so quickly. This woman was a complete stranger to me, yet there was indeed some sort of connection taking place and we could both feel it. It was as if two old souls from a previous existence were re-uniting.
Nikki suddenly grabbed me and gave me a big hug. "I have something I want to show you," she said, reaching in to a small handbag that she had brought with her. She pulled out an envelope and very carefully opened it. Gingerly, she took out a snapshot and handed it to me, and I turned on the overhead reading lamp so I could see it better. In the picture was a heavyset lady, perhaps in her seventies. She was wearing a yellow print dress and was smiling broadly. She had her arm around a handsome young man to looked to be in his mid-twenties and was dressed in some sort of soccer uniform.
"That is a picture of my Aunt Minnie," Nikki said. "It was taken about eleven years ago now. That boy she is standing with was my husband. See, she really was his aunt, but when we got married she took me in as part of the family. No one else in his family cared about me or for me, but she did."
"Why didn't they like you," I asked her incredulously.
"As you can probably tell, I am half Asian--Korean to be exact--and his family is very prejudiced against what they call "Orientals." They totally disapproved of the marriage. They always treated me like an outsider--all of them except Minnie."
"Sounds like a wonderful lady," I said.
"She really was," Nikki said, her eyes filling with tears again. "I never knew my own mother, she died right after I was born. Minnie was the mother I never had, and she always told me I was the daughter she never had.."
"You're talking about her in the past tense."
"She died the day before yesterday. Her family lives in Decatur, you know, in Illinois. They didn't tell me." Nikki began to cry again. "I found out from a friend of hers today, and the funeral is two days from now. I can't fly out there--my husband was killed in a plane crash and I absolutely cannot get on an airplane. I barely have enough time to get there, but by God I am going to go to her funeral and I don't give a shit what her family says."
"Nikki, it's OK, don't worry, I'll make sure you make it there in time. My sister lives in Decatur--that's the reason I'm taking this trip, to visit her. Between the two of us we'll find out exactly where it is and get you there, I promise you that."
"Really? Your sister lives in Decatur?" Nikki asked, wiping tears from her eyes and looking at me in amazement. "What are the odds of that happening, meeting someone that has people right where I need to go?"
"Pretty slim odds, I imagine," I said, smiling at her.
"It's like we were meant to meet each other," she said, smiling back at me.
I pulled her to me and held her tightly, and she reciprocated by wrapping her arms around me and resting her head on my chest.
"I'm glad you showed me that picture. It means a lot that you would share that with me."
Nikki sat up and looked at me. "Really? It was so important to me that you knew what was going on with me back there at the station when I was such a bitch to you. I didn't want you to think badly about me."
The lights of downtown Riverside shone through the window as the train eased to a stop at the depot there.
"More people getting on here?" Nikki asked.
"Yup, 'fraid so."
She reached up and slid the door closed.