Doomsayer

Train travel reminds me of time travel. (Which I did a lot of as a kid.) You are between Here and There, trapped in a moving box while the world outside stands still. People riding the train seem to be more sociable than in other environments, more interested in talking to each other, more curious, and so on. There’s a sense of solidarity, as well as adventure. Here we all are, I mean to say, in the same place for the same reason. I'm more chatty, and feel much more outgoing, where in regular circumstances I would be guarded. I become approachable in turn, shyness seems to dissipate, new people are easily met.

But it can also be a pretty arduous way to get around. A few years ago I was traveling across the country by train, alone, northeast line this time. I remember feeling exhausted and uncomfortable, waiting for a connecting train in the middle of the night, when I met a crazy old man in the waiting room and unexpectedly ended up gaining some perspective—which is not always welcome but is always helpful—even or especially when you’re irritable and tired and would rather complain.

---

Cleveland train station, 4 a.m.

The train was running late in Cleveland. It was almost four in the morning. I sat in the waiting room, head nodding, until it was time to board. I slept, briefly, in my clothes, before I had to get up again to change trains in Chicago.

Union Station was crowded and noisy. I wandered around, looking for the waiting room, lugging my heavy bag. My shoulders ached. I was tired and dirty, a stale taste in my mouth. I felt dissatisfied with trains, traveling, other people, the world. I wanted to be alone and rest.

The waiting room in Chicago was depressing. Brown carpet, low ceiling studded with neon lights. I stood and looked for somewhere to sit. I saw what appeared to be a quiet corner and made my way to an empty chair. I sat down. It was good to have a moment's respite. I closed my eyes.

Suddenly, I heard a voice. Big, booming–sounded like it was right in my ear. I opened my eyes. A very old man was moving, slowly, toward the chair across from me. He was using a walker. An oxygen tank trailed on the floor behind him.

“Hello!” he bellowed, not quite shouting. He looked pretty lively despite it all.

“Hi,” I said.

“The end is near!” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

I raised my eyebrows.

“There's something coming,” he said, “whether you want to hear it or not.” 

I didn’t, but knew that I didn’t have a choice.

He lowered himself, slowly, into the chair.

I waited.

“Something's coming!” he said again. “It's gonna be big! It'll be the end of everything bad ...all the criminals, all the druggies, all the religions! Everything is dying; famine and drought, and people think that politicians can lead? Politicians can't do anything about this! There's no leader can change what's coming!”

I wasn't sure where he was headed with his prophesying, but it all sounded mysterious and wise and I found myself nodding my head in agreement. 

He smiled at me.
"Only a miracle can help us now,” he shouted. “And that's what it's gonna be ...a miracle! People think religion can help them? Religion is useless! Donald Trump is an ass!”

At this, the guy sitting in the chair next to me, who had been listening silently, nodded too. “Donald Trump is a total clown,” he said.

I turned back to the old guy.

“I have cancer!” He was yelling now, still cheerful. “I shouldn't be sitting here! I've had cancer for three years! I'm living proof of miracles!”

He looked at me. “Have you heard that cats have nine lives?”

I shrugged.

“Well that's what they say, you know, and if it's true then I'm on my third!”

He winked at me, paused, and then, with some effort, stood up.

“The world is coming to an end!” he said, looking around the room. “People need to wake up and stop following leaders! But everybody has their head in the ground!”

This seemed directed at the other people sitting in the waiting room, most of whom were ignoring him.

“Well,” I said, “I guess I don't think you should hope for much. It's the human race you're talking about here, you know?”

Both of the guys laughed.

The call for boarding came on over the intercom.

I stood up, put my backpack on, and began to head toward the door.

“Good luck with your third life,” I said, as I passed the old man.

“Thanks!” he said. He was beaming.

I got on the train and found my seat. I thought about the old man, his walker, his cancer. I thought about how good natured he was, despite it all. He was clearly nuts, but still. Thinking about him, my crabbiness lifted. I felt lighter. I took off my backpack, stretched, and decided it was time to pull myself together.

---