Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Every day, Alfred E Bielek would feel a quixotic sense of pride for surviving his commute to Boston. Ā He took the train to North Station every weekday with an unnerving gut feeling that at any moment the event he predicted would happen. It wasnāt like he didnāt tell anyone, itās just that nobody believed him.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā He was fidgety, clearly nervous. His skin crawled at the sight of every man dressed in a suit and tie. Over the years, he had fine-tuned his powers of perception through exercises of his own invention. He trusted his intuition to identify what he called āwanderers.ā In his notebook, he had a dozen sketches of different men in out-of-era formal attire. His entire scholarly career focused on proving, through physics and mathematics, that it was possible time travelers walked among us.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Alfred took advantage of his commute time to review the calculations of his study. When he was on the train, thousands of loose papers littered the smaller table on the top floor of a double decker boxcar. He followed a strict schedule: scan the crowd, review formula, repeat on every stop. When a particular person caught his attention, he would stop everything. First, he would sketch the stranger as fast as he could followed by a quick but detailed description of the space around the person. According to his observations, the vast majority of the āwanderersā had what he called an āauraā around them that appeared like a cloud of translucent gas to the naked eye.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āNow approaching, West Medford,ā said a man over the trainās speaker.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā She came in through the exit that Alfred was facing and her aura was so powerful it blurred the nearby exit sign. She wore a white cardigan over a cherry-colored soda fountain white dots dress with a loose bow as a belt. She had instantly noticeable dimples on each cheek that when she smiled became more conspicuous. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Alfredās messy table. He felt her presence and chills ran up his spine. She walked with a low bounce and sat on the longer table next to Alfred.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThatās new, a woman,ā he whispered and struggled to shove all the formula papers into his leather messenger bag. He took out the sketchbook and started his detailed observation. In turn, the mysterious woman took out a stack of perfectly arranged papers from a light brown leather saddlebag. From Alfred vantage point, they looked like middle school tests. āA teacher?ā he whispered again.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā She marked each paper with a red ballpoint pen. A check here, a check there, and done. Alfred noticed that she was not really grading the papers; it was more like just marking them as done. She looked at him, as if taunting him, and placed an unchecked piece of paper on the table. She flattened it out and stored the rest. She smirked at Alfred, but he didnāt reciprocate.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āNow arriving atā¦ North Station. This is the final stop. Thank you for ridingā¦ commuter rail,ā said an automated female voice over the speaker.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The mysterious woman walked away leaving the piece of paper behind. Alfred attempted to say something, but the crowd of passengers leaving the train engulfed the mysterious woman. He didnāt hesitate to grab the piece of paper. He treated it like a relic of some ancient civilization. He examined it. At first glance, it appeared like gibberish, a template of a test using filler text, but it felt unlike anything heād ever held in his hand.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā He followed the woman from the windows. He frantically pushed his way to the exit following her movements. He never lost sight of her, passing through North Station, going down the staircase into the street, until she walked into the subway entrance. Just before she pushed the door open, she smirked again, taunting Alfred.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āSpare Change newspaper, homeless publication. Help the homeless help themselves,ā said a man with a thick Boston accent. āSpare Changeā¦ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Alfred ran down the escalator, passed the tolls, and caught a glimpse of her again. She was twirling the red ballpoint pen, and just before she rushed down the escalator, she made direct eye contact with Alfred. Her eyes did not quite glow. Nevertheless, they were undoubtedly brighter than the average personās eyes. They were hazier too, as if clouded by the translucent aura.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWait,ā he whispered too low for anyone to hear.
He shoved his way down the stairs and followed her into the first train to come from the outbound Green Line. When he entered the car, everything went dark, as if all the lights in the station malfunction at the same time.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Alfred had the paper in his hands and he felt it squirm. He tried to drop it, but he felt the letters pop out of the paper and wiggle around like ants. The lights inside the train came back, but all he could see out the windows was darkness. Sitting on the edge of a single seat was the mysterious woman.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWho are you? Where are you from? When-ā said Alfred, pushing back his frizzy grey hair and attempting to find his smartphone buried somewhere in his bag.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The mysterious woman had her legs and hands crossed, resting her forearms gently on her raised knee. She looked at Alfred from head to toe, shooting him a weak smile that caused her dimples to show. Alfred remained frozen, waiting for an answer. The letters crawled around his hand slowly creeping beneath his fingernails. He felt them, but the pain wasnāt enough to warrant a reaction.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWhy bother asking questions to answers you wonāt understand? Iām sure your dog was as satisfied with your answer to his questions as you will be to my answers. Iām curious to see how much of the pain you will take before it happens,ā she said, her voice remained consistent and soft.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āItās happening now?ā he hesitated asking anything else. His heart rate was rising; he felt the letters of the paper push themselves further inside his fingernails. The pain started to compound and his first reaction came when he felt the letter āIā enter his body through a cut in his cuticles.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThe pain is really not necessary. I could gently move you, like youāve moved caterpillars from your clothes using a leaf, but why bother. To spend an extra second moving vermin out of your way is nothing but a waste of effort,ā she said, standing up and straightening her dress.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Alfred felt it burn. He tried to get rid of the paper, but his hand wouldnāt let go. The woman approached him with her low bounce and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. The letters all perked up like meerkats, even those inside his fingernails. The pain was excruciating. He felt the āTsā lift up the top right serif in unison, making tiny holes in the nail from the inside. Blood started to flow and he felt the letters coursing through his veins. The letters ripped him internally. Each letters slowly rotated inside him like tiny circular saws. Some letters followed the beat of his heart while others moved like the arms of a clock. Regardless of how they behaved, the pain they all caused was excruciating. Ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The man screamed so loud it made him puke. The letters ripped through the skin from the inside of his face and he felt them multiply inside his throat until he couldnāt scream anymore. He saw āDsā, āXsā and āMsā swarm over his eyes like killer bees. The woman placed her hand gently on his chest and pushed him back.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā For an unperceivable amount of time, he experienced what he had theorized, a break with reality so powerful and profound it pushed through to other times. He expected that with the right combination of exposure, timing, and data he could use the wandererās leftover energy like a tunnel and follow them to wherever or whenever they went. The moment was fleeting. Like a condensed dream in which he saw an infinite number of slides that were all just slightly different. When he snapped out of it, he fell flat on the ground of a packed station.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā He stood up and a punkish teenager snatched the paper from his hands.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThanks for the DXM old man,ā yelled out the teenager as he ran away and got lost in the crowd of teenagers.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWhatās going on? Where am I?ā he asked, seemingly to anyone who would listen. He looked around for familiar sights. The first thing he noticed was that the subways lines were not identified by colors. He was still in North Station, but there were no escalators. He climbed the stairs and noticed how each step lifted his leg somehow.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āLoose change newsletter, homeless publication. Support the homeless honest work,ā said a middle-aged man with an unfamiliar accent and dressed up like a security guard. āLoose changeā¦ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Alfred hyperventilated and fell to the ground after he heard the man speak. When he opened his eyes, he saw the mysterious woman. It was unmistakably her, but she was dirty and disheveled.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYou canāt go home, thereās no home for you here,ā she said pulling him up and helping him get on his feet.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWhat do you mean?ā he replied.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThe traveler, he must have pushed you here too. I can see it,ā she replied, waving her hand around his shoulder and chest without touching him.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Alfred grabbed the womanās hand and it triggered a vision. His wife was running through North Station looking for him. She searched every train and every boxcar until she found him. He was sitting on a single seat alone with a box of papers at his feet. She screamed at him, worried more than angry. He handed her a piece of paper, and ungraded test. The vision blurred and he remembered the more than twenty-year-old dream that launched his crusade. It happened but he wasnāt there. That wasnāt him.
