Lost Ticket
Angelica Beltran graduated from CSI in May 2023. She was born and raised in Hazelton, Idaho. Since she was a child, she has grown to love art and other creative endeavors.
The white numbers on the clock hit 2:36 the second the Silas City train arrived. I know because I could only count the minutes since I left the hotel suite. The green-toned light inside the train warned me of the odor from the inside.
In the middle of the train, a man slept buried in his layers of clothes where the smell radiated from him or one of his jackets. At very the back, two blurry shapes stood close next to one another. I’d have been able to see them better if I hadn’t broken my glasses, but the tape on the frame just felt like an invitation to its story. The pitch of the voices sounded like a man and a woman and by the tone, they were happily unmarried.
My damp shoes squeaked with each step, silencing the couple, and possibly waking the rotting man. My face flushed in heat, clenching the twist of my gut. I took the nearest seat beside the exit, trapped in the radius of the smell. A cold touch shivered down my back as soon as it touched the seat. My backpack (which was really Richard’s, not mine, because nothing was ever truly “mine”) thudded onto the floor, held between my knees. My head rested against the humid window, looking to take my mind off the inside, but the train moved faster than my gaze could focus. A reflection covered the view of the distorted lights out.
Turning from my agitated expression, I rediscovered the discoloration of my sore knuckles fading into my skin. I couldn’t draw out a future with a past still scribbling out. The train whistled, and the couple giggled—each sound echoed behind my memory of the hotel before I could realize I had fallen asleep.
Holding still in my mind, the memory replayed where I sat in the suite while my parents’ voices bled through the wall between us. They reassured each other of their decision with each muffled word I couldn’t translate, but I heard it all before. The last sound of their murmured voices faded in my head, haunting my future with the thought of life in California. Every path I could take came to mind—a decision came between mine and theirs.
Still lost in my nightmare, my eyes opened, flashing quick blinks to repaint my memory while I recoiled at the seats filled with the working class. They all wore their dull grey suits, carrying their busy brown suitcases. None could be acquainted with another. A feather from a red hat pointed down to a short old woman with a purse shaking in her arm. Dragging my backpack across, I stood up to offer the woman my seat. She thanked me as I smiled an easy silent “you’re welcome.” Hiding inside the old woman’s purse, a fluffy brown chihuahua revealed its face as it flinched in every direction with fear reflected in its dark bulb eyes. The pitiful thing didn’t know what it was doing or where it was going but could only act as an accessory to its owner. With hands shaking more than her dog, the woman scrambled through her wallet to take out a folded-up map. Coins slipped out and onto the floor along with a rectangular piece of paper, slipping down under the seat.
The train shrieked to its stop and the woman bounced off through the exit beside her. I swept down back to the seat and arced towards the quarters under, meeting the dirt from the train floor onto my fingers. Three silver Benjamins met inside my hands as the rectangular paper cried from aside. Curious, I found what appeared to be a train ticket to Chicago from San Francisco taking off at tonight at 5:30 p.m. Propping my bag over my back, I slipped through the exit doors before the train took off again.
Above the crowd inside the station, the feather of the woman’s hat bounced among the crowd along with her steps. She soared through the escalator, so I rushed up the stairs with people pushing past me. I cut through a path until I could catch her attention at the top. The dog flinched at my sight once the woman’s wrinkles around her eyes met the dark circles of mine.
“You dropped this,” I breathed out, holding out my hand with the quarters and my other hand behind me with the ticket.
“Oh...” she observed me until she fully smiled, “You can keep it.”
She probably took one look at me and saw the shot of my eyes, the rip of my jeans, and the mess of my hair and decided who she thought I was. The dog’s eyes possessed me.
“Uh, also...” I cracked before giving it another thought, “do you happen to know the time?” I snuck the ticket into my back pocket.
She revealed her gold watch on her wrist: “Eight o’ four.”
She drowned herself in the sea of the city without another chance for me to tell her about the ticket. I almost felt guilty, but it took off in a city two hours away and she seemed to be traveling anywhere today. The poor woman probably forgot about it anyway.
Searching for a way out of Silas, I followed the sidewalk north beside the busy lanes of the morning. I stuck out my hand for every passing taxi just to be met with rejection again, again, and again. By my fourth taxi, I found my fraudulent savior in a skinny man with a yellow smile taking over half his dragging face. The rat of a taxi driver had taken me in circles through Silas before I realized it could not have that many post offices. I had almost grown fond of the place before remembering I had gotten there by a dirty trick then; I could recollect the ugliness.
As soon as the taxi found the way out of the city and onto the freeway, I asked him to drop me off. He charged me for the trick of an hour which I obliged. The man was not worth more of the time, not even for argument.
Over the naked sky, the sun traveled from east to west as I stood stuck less than a few miles away from the city I escaped. The backpack stood up behind me on the side of the road.
I stuck out with my hand with my thumb out like it was what I was supposed to do. Though it did not feel right with every car passing me by as if I were some sort of potential risk or burden. The everlasting view of road, cars, and dead grass left me with only my thoughts to entertain.
If only I had been stronger, maybe I could have shut the kid up for good. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but it was the first time I felt like Richard’s son. Maybe it isn’t my fault, and the guy shouldn’t have left an open target on his face. Was something wrong with me? Did I get this from my biological parents?
Heat attracted my deep brown curls which Sonya never liked. She preferred the bleach-blonde from the year before when she thought I had gotten too tanned that summer. I had matched her and my so-called sister, Vanessa, like a part of the matched set even if it was forced. It was never going to happen naturally, but I always tried. I even joined the debate club which Sonya was thrilled about because it brought nostalgia to her years in law school while I was just a kid, still their son. She believed I had taken it from her as if I could take anything that wasn’t money from her.
Awaking me from my memory, a honk blasted while a semi-truck pulled over to the side as I ran towards it. Sweat washed down my face with the little energy I had left. The passenger door swung out, revealing the truck driver who opened it with the sun shining behind his head, hiding the face in a shadow.
“Ahm headin’ north. Where ya headin’ tuh?” his baritone voice boomed over his country rock.
“San Francisco,” I yelled back.
He revealed his large hand towards me as I held up my backpack with both arms. Taking the bag, he threw it behind the seat below his mattress covered in tangled blankets. I climbed up onto the passenger seat, sinking into the cushion and swinging my feet above the floor. The smell of black coffee exuded through the cool air blowing off my sweat. I checked the clock on the radio —2:19 p.m.
The truck driver’s brown hair stuck out under his raggedy red cap that displayed the logo of his truck. He turned toward me as I met pinball eyes that hid in the shadow of his forehead. He claimed his name as Frank, asking me for him as I quickly tried to come up with the name “Cisco” before I could realize the rhyme—Cisco going to San Francisco.
The fat on Frank’s face sagged down, jiggling as he dumped every word from his lonely drive with a speech that followed the speed of the highway. He spit out his story about his marriage, his divorce, and his newfound love for his job. I felt as if I were doing him a favor as much as he was doing for me.
Eventually, he began to ask me questions in common courtesy—or something in that nature. Avoiding the topic of my family, I took the liberty of talking about my accomplishments in school.
“Third in the whole class?” he said.
I waited for a What happened? Why not first?
“That’s quite impressive, good job!”
Sonya wouldn’t agree.
Frank opened the palm of his bearlike hands for a high-five. The palm of his thick hand anchored like a brick as I slapped it with my skinny fingers creating the embarrassment of a high-five. The movement from my limp wrist replaced any hotel memory. It haunted me with the thought of what I could and should have done for a better, more successful high-five—one that could really smack.
Once Frank exited the Interstate, the lack of knowledge I had of this man, or his intentions hit me. My body turned tense as my face became solid. The truck turned towards a truck stop as Frank reached his arm toward my side. I forced his arm back off to himself with and the knuckles from the other knocking his arm and to his cheek. My elbow knocked over his coffee, spilling onto his mattress. His face hesitated towards me as his eyebrows pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a sharp flared breath.
“Can ya hand me my wallet in the compartment?” Frank gritted through his teeth. He failed to confront the punch.
I restarted with deep breath.
“You don’t have to worry about that. It’s on me” I took out Richard’s wallet from a pocket in my bag.
Without a response, he grabbed it and jolted out.
Grateful he didn’t yell or hit me back, I observed the sting of my knuckles until I questioned his reaction. Did it not hurt him? Should I have hit him again—show him some real strength? I resisted.
Coffee on the mattress dripped onto my bag. The clock flashed “3:57” in red. Everything inside the truck just stared at me, waiting for the next move of my aimless plan. Through the window, the side mirror just mocked me. On the other side, Frank stood by feeding his truck with his face still scrunched up. Other semi-trucks and other Franks filling their tanks around the truck stop. From across the dry road, a little gas station stood by weeping.
I couldn’t take the tension in there, so I took it to the restroom inside the truck stop. I took a deep breath in the tainted air inside while facing the mirror above the sink as the dark blue walls of the restroom collapsed into my reflection. My hands numbed from the heat of the water; I inserted my face into my cupped hands to wash off any lasting guilt. As I pulled away, I met my eyes in the mirror, envisioning Sonya and Richard inside my expression of dismay. The impossible resemblance I once searched for appeared in their absence, along with their voice of judgment. I clasped my rage into my fist until my knuckles met my face in the mirror as the reflection divided into two.
Outside of the restroom, the aisles of various chips and candy options waited for me. The distaste from the situation disturbed my appetite but I knew I needed fuel to stay alert. I grabbed a bag of beef jerky and an energy drink. I made it to the register by the time I reached my hand down into my pocket with only quarters—too short for a purchase.
As I walked back, the spot by the pump appeared empty. I walked around through the few trucks nearby that each seemed to replica each other from afar until I found their logo—none from Frank’s hat. The back of my head throbbed in my state as it all felt familiar to the day before.
“You guys are leaving me here?” I asked.
My parents looked at each other until Sonya looked back at me with a blank expression.
“You’re leaving me!” I yelled out the confirmation for them.
“This is a nice area — nice school, nice kids,” Sonya tried justifying her decision.
“I get into a little trouble, and you’re just going to get rid of me?” I turned to Richard.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he replied.
“We can talk now, I’m not staying!” I yelled out.
The words used as a plea were treated as a threat.
“You slipped, okay? You’ve been acting...hostile. Emotional. Cruel. And I look bad? I’m the bad father with a violent boy,” he signed “Just...why would you hit him, Devon?”
A range of emotions flushed down my mind as my eyes searched for a decision. I looked back at the truck stop, dropping it as an option out of embarrassment. I showed up with nothing but quarters; I couldn’t go back with much less.
I glanced across the street at the gas station with walls made of rust and shelves carrying dust as it cried for action. I brushed past the entrance as a small copper bell rang above my head. The sound of my steps on the floor clinked through the shop. I squinted above the counter at the clock with both of its hands pointed at four. Behind the counter, a raisin of a man acted as a cashier. His hunched skeleton held up his wrinkled skin with a yellow shine reflecting on his freckled head. The heat trapped itself inside the building, suffocating me. I simulated a customer strolling past the aisles. The candy bars lined up in overflow, awaiting their expired destiny. I grabbed a Hershey’s, opening it to find the chocolate inside cracked. Desperate, I bit into the bitter taste of the dry crumbling chocolate.
At the register, the cashier disappeared, leaving his money unsupervised and free to take. I set the chocolate back, hopping on my toes towards the counter. I reached in with my hand free from any bruising. My eyes and ears focused on any signal from the man while my hand snatched the bills. With money in my pocket, I proceeded through the exit. The sounds of the man’s footsteps followed. Out through the door, my legs began shooting out wide steps. The copper bell rang as the man followed. My body acted in crisis with my legs taking over all movement with a shot of adrenaline pushing my body through the path draining any energy left. An indistinct distant yell from the gas station man echoed.
The building had become a blur from my sight as my feet raveled in each other, causing my body to collapse onto my legs in front of a grey Prius shrieking to a stop. I shut my eyes with my upper body covering my legs as a shield from any view. I listened to the sound of at least one car door opening and closing. Losing my breath, my voice could only find a harsh whimper.
“Oh, my goodness, are you okay? I am so sorry,” a young woman’s voice exclaimed. The voice softened to a terrible attempt of a whisper “Did I hit him?”
“No- I don’t think you did,” a low monotonous voice answered.
“I think I did,” she whispered, then her volume rose again “I am so sorry.”
A light touch grazed on my shoulder as I turned to perceive a woman with a short black bob. Behind her, a stocky man stood with ears that stuck out under his hair pulled back by his forehead. The woman appeared younger than the man—or at least prettier.
I held my leg in one hand and my ribs with another as I let out a forced cry. The woman’s eyelids opened in shock while the man arced down to examine me.
“You don’t seem to be bleeding or anything,” the weasel of a man pointed out, scratching the stubble on his jaw.
“Oohh, I think it’s broken...it’s broken,” I whimpered, clutching my leg in a cradle with my bruised hand on top.
The sham of a leg injury and the sight of my hand triggered the woman to react in sorrow and speak in apology. Clutching her hands together, the woman promised to help. I expressed my need for a ride to San Francisco which the woman offered without any question as the weasel man looked at her with a distasteful look.
After they introduced themselves as Ramona and Trevor, I introduced myself as Frank. Ramona took my arm over her shoulder, pulling me back up while I limped with each step toward the car with an occasional grunt as credibility. She led me into the back of their vehicle that carried disorganized bags and boxes piled onto one another. The radio clock displayed 4:26. With an hour left, we were a little less than half an hour away from San Francisco.
I began asking questions about their life before they could begin with mine. Ramona found herself distracted in her own words, while I took out the money from my pocket. She continued to blabber as I began to count.
“Today’s the big moving day over to Sacramento...” Ramona gushed.
Five. Ten.
“...but don’t worry—we’re have time to take you to San Francisco”
Sixteen. Seventeen. Ones? Why are they all ones now?
“Do we, now?” Trevor mumbled.
Twenty.
“Yeah, we can stop by to see the Golden State Bridge for a minute!” she exclaimed.
Twenty-four.
“Golden Gate Bridge,” he corrected her.
Twenty-six. I patted down the pockets of my jeans to find them empty with nothing, but the quarters left with me.
“Right. Right. So, Frank, where exactly do you need to get t --”
“Doesn’t matter, we’re taking him to a hospital,” he interrupted her.
“No -- I don’t have time. I need to get to the station,” I expressed.
“You are hurt, right?” his eyebrow rose with his expression appearing in the rearview mirror.
“Uh, yeah, of course but I got somewhere to b --.”
Pop! Bumps disturbed our ride as Trevor pulled the car off the road near an old, abandoned motel across from a telephone booth. Ramona led me out as a crutch as I continued my act. We faced the flat tire, stuck on the highway with the endless view of cracked roads and dead grass. Sitting over the loose gravel of the side of the road, I zoned out Ramona and Trevor organizing their options on whether they should call and who they to call. Taking out my ticket, I observed what waited for me until overhearing Trevor insisting he could fix the tire himself. My impatience dispersed as I stood up from the ground and aimed towards the two.
“See, he’s fine,” Trevor pointed at me “You! You lied to us.”
“Okay, sure, I lied but I need to get to San Francisco. My train is going to Chicago tonight. I don’t have much time!” I showed my ticket to Trevor.
Trevor took the ticket before letting out a laugh, “I thought you were actually going to the literal city of Chicago for a second.”
“I am going! Once I get to San Francisco, I’ll be out of your way. You see, it says Chicago...” I observed once more over Trevor’s shoulder, reaching to point at the words.
“Yeah...the musical. Chicago...the musical,” he laughed again, tossing the ticket back, “You’re not leaving to go anywhere but a theatre. You got scammed.”
Staring at the ticket, my face halted in naught. My feet paddled back until I collapsed into the rocky side of the road. Trevor and Ramona rattled with strong whispers hissing back and forth. My breath staggered as it searched for its original pattern while Ramona walked towards me.
“We can still help you,” Ramona reassured as she took a seat beside me. Her words dissolved into the sound of my harsh breath, “I’m sure your parents are looking for you.”
My body lost movement except for my head shaking left and right, “They’re not.... they’re not looking for me.”
A confused expression overcame her face.
“They’re gone,” I swallowed my last bit of guilt, “they were leaving me at a boarding school.”
Ramona stared, waiting for my next word.
“I don’t mean to be bad person,” I broke out.
“I don’t think you are. Despite...everything, you seem nice, just a bit...” her voice softened “...scratched up.”
“I don’t want to be anything, anymore.”
Ramona patted my back.
“I just wanted a choice.”
“Well, where are you going now?” she asked.
Her voice replaced my thoughts from before. Suffocating in the air, I pushed my body up with my arms. Ramona extended her hand out, offering assistance, which I refused. I moved across the road to the telephone booth with metal that stood alone as the glass shattered off long ago. Shining in red, the telephone projected from the sight of dead grass as my hand grasped it while I inserted my quarters from my pocket. After my finger dialed with each satisfying press, I waited for the signal from the answering machine.
“Mom, it’s me, Dev—it's Devon...” my words collapsed as I tore out the rest of my message.