M02-Full Fare or Half

 Albert kicked the empty can across the dusty alley to his friend Andy, his laughter louder than the rattling of the tin "ball", which the two were using to play their game. Their six-year-old legs propelled them around their playing field, as they chased the can and tried to score goals.  The heat of the Midwestern May afternoon did not bother the playing boys any more than the dust their scurrying feet raised.  Their goal of making goals eluded the two, as they spent more time crashing into each other than getting the can to the designated scoring zones.

"Albert!" his mother called from the back door.  "Time to come eat something. Andy can come too."

The boys did not have to be summoned twice.  Their growing bodies needed sustenance!  Kicking the can to the side of the alley, Albert and Andy both headed for the door closing behind Mrs. Wilson. They did not get there before it banged shut, but they did get it open again by the first bounce.  Storming into the kitchen, which was full of the aromas of fresh bread, and maybe pie, they plopped into chairs at the table where sandwiches had been laid out for them.

They set to, eating the sandwiches with alacrity, but not forgetting their manners.  "Thanks Mom!" and "Thanks Mrs. Wilson" were said around mouthfuls of the tasty dinner.

"You're welcome boys," she responded with a smile, as Albert's Dad and Grandma Wilson, used an old cane to help herself get around now, came into the room and took their places at the table as well.

The table, situated on one side of the small kitchen was a little crowded once the three adults and two children had taken their places.  The checkered red and white tablecloth was covered with their porcelain plates, dinner ware and glasses of milk for the boys and tea for the adults, as well as a plate of extra sandwich halves. It would probably be more accurate to call it cozy than crowded.
 
Once Mrs. Wilson had finished setting things out, she joined everyone else at the table, and asked her husband, "Are we still planning on the trip to Chicago tomorrow, dear."

"Certainly," he replied.  "Should be a great adventure!"

"Not for me," interjected Grandma Wilson.  "These old hips won't carry me all that way."

"We're taking the train, Grandma, not walking," Albert snickered behind his glass of milk.

Giving the boy a beady eye, Grandma Wilson continued, "I know that lad, but after the train, there will be plenty of walking to be had, and these hips will have none of that, I tell you."

Albert started squirming in is chair as a thought came to him. "Hey Mom!" he said.  "Do you think Andy can come with us?"

"No, dear.  I talked with his mother already, and she told me that she did not think it would be a good idea."

The two boys looked at each other and said simultaneously, "Aw shucks!"

"I could watch the boys here, if you married people want to have the day to yourselves," Grandma offered.

"Thanks Mom," Mrs. Wilson said. "But we really want to show Albert some of the sights."

As the sandwiches disappeared, Mrs. Wilson cleared the center of the table for what indeed turned out to be a pie, apple to be precise. Some days, there would be ice cream to go with a pie, but not this day.  Everyone got some of the pie and it got quiet for a moment as they showed their appreciation to the cook.

"Speaking of trips on the morrow," Mr. Wilson eventually spoke up.  "Boy, you had best say goodbye to your pal, and head up to get some shuteye so's you will be ready for the big day."

"Yes Pa," Albert said, as he and Andy took their dishes to the sink and walked to the back door to say their goodbyes.

After the two boys had departed, Mrs. Wilson asked her husband, “You are sure that we can afford this, Joe?”

“We have enough,” he replied. “We may have to make choices about what we buy, but we will be able to make the trip.”

With that assurance, the adults followed the precedent set by Albert and headed to bed, so they would be refreshed for their trip.

A Tale of Family Adventure

The day had finally arrived. My family and I were catching the train to Chicago. We were on a family adventure to the great city that I had heard so much about. This was a huge deal for a six-year-old boy from South Bend, Indiana. 

We were all dressed in our best clothes. My father wore his tweed jacket with his Sunday pants. My Mom had her new purse, a flowered hat, and a print dress that matched. I had my best clothes and my new shoes. 

When we got to the station and my father was purchasing the tickets, I was only mildly aware of him discussing the fare with mom. They seemed to be standing at the ticket counter for longer than it should take, but my attention was not on them.  The sight of all the people and the way that they all moved to and fro like they had somewhere to go, knew how to get there and wanted to get there quickly, had me mesmerized. 

“Why would we pay full fare when the half fare tickets get us on the same train?  Maybe we wouldn’t be able to sit in the best seats, but this would not be such a problem,” he was telling her.  “The ride will not be so long.” 

“Whatever you think is best, dear,” she answered. The transaction was made, and with tickets in hand, we all trooped down the tracks toward our train. 

Passing the large, warm, hissing locomotive, we entered the first car and found a group of seats together near the back.  There was no sign warning of a fare problem, and there were plenty of open seats for whoever else wanted one, so we all settled in. The benches were made of a polished hardwood with leather padded seats and backs and metal frames to hold it all together. The seats were large enough for both of my parents to sit comfortably on one side of the carriage, but I could squeeze in too, if it got too crowded, which I did just to be ready. 

Other passengers took seats around us. Everyone was chattering with excitement as we waited for the train to start up and the trip to the fabled destination to begin. Some people were standing up to push all manner of sacks and cases into the metal racks over our heads, while others exchanged information about what they planned to do when the train let us off at our destination. 

Finally, the moment arrived, and the locomotive shuddered as it puffed loudly, emitted a great amount of steam, and lurched forward. We were on our way! The din of voices, which had seemed quite loud before became deafening for a few minutes before it finally started to subside. Trees and houses started to pass the windows faster and faster. 

The conductor, a kindly, portly gentleman of greying years, slowly made his way down the aisle. He stopped to talk to each group, punching their tickets and wishing them a good trip and a happy day in Chicago.  

When he made it to us though, things changed. He took our tickets from my Dad. He frowned as he studied them for a moment. He looked up into my Dad’s face and then my Mom’s and then back down at the tickets. He eventually handed them back to my Dad without punching them and with none of the joviality that he had been showing others. 

“I’m sorry sir, but you have half fare tickets,” he said, like this explained something. 

Dad took the tickets from his hand mechanically but was obviously confused.  The conductor added, “Half fare rides in the last car.”

“Oh. Sorry. We didn’t know,” my Dad stammered. 

“It's not a problem. Happens all the time,” the conductor replied. “If you and your family would just get your belongings and move on back.  The conductor back there will take your tickets.” He accompanied this directive with his outstretched arm indicating the direction to take. 

Of course. we did as we were instructed. Walking with our heads slightly bowed, I was so embarrassed. I was sure that every eye was on us as we made our way out of the offending rail car to where we were supposed to be. 

Passengers refused to make eye contact as we shuffled through three passenger cars until we finally came to the last car. This car was a much quieter place. Missing were the happy sounds of people looking forward to an exciting day in the big city, to be replaced by…nothing. 

As the doors closed behind us, the conductor slid the lock into place and blew into a small whistle. The shrill sound was followed quickly by several increasingly distant whistles and a slight jerk which made us all stumble into the people in the front seats. 

Looking out the window leading back to the car we had just left, I was aghast to see that car and presumably the entire train pulling steadily away from us. I pulled my Dad’s sleeve and pointed wordlessly out the window, but he was too distracted to pay attention. 

I could feel our car slowing down until it finally just stopped.  I did not understand what was going on and it was starting to make me more than a little nervous. I tried to ask my Mom but she looked around like she did not understand either. 

None of the people in our car seemed concerned or surprised, but my parents clearly had no idea what these strange events meant. 

“Joe?” Mom said to my Dad. “What is happening?”

My Dad did not respond. He just looked around blankly. 

The passenger in the front seat that we had just jostled into tried to explain. 

He said, “This is the half fare car.” He acted like that explained everything, but my Dad just looked at him uncomprehendingly. 

“Now we wait for the next locomotive,” he continued hopefully. 

Mom and Dad just looked at each other and then back to the man who was trying very hard to be helpful. 

“You really should take a seat,” the Good Samaritan added. 

It seemed as though there would be no additional explanation forthcoming. Our family shuffled down the aisle and found some open seats in the rear. Everyone just seemed to be waiting for something to happen. It was a little scary. I was getting more and more agitated, looking from the window in front of our rail car and then switching to the one at the back, hoping to glean some hint of what was happening.  The less I figured out, the more nervous I got. 

I was on the aisle edge of the last seat in the car. My parents were just looking at each other as if they were exchanging unsaid words. Then, I noticed a glow from across the aisle from me. 

Looking over I saw a beautiful little girl about my own age glowing slightly and smiling at me. Somehow it was not unusual that she did not seem quite solid. Her lacy white dress was festooned with pink ribbons which seemed to defy gravity. 

“Fear not,” she said quietly. “Everything will soon be okay.”

“Who are you?” I whispered, mimicking the volume in which she had spoken. 

“I am Samantha. I am a Messenger. I help other children who are frightened,” she continued.

I looked back towards my Mom and Dad to see what they thought of this, but they did not seem to have noticed the girl. 

“They can’t see or hear me,” she assured me. “When I do not become completely here, I glow like this and only one human can see me. I have only appeared for you.”

“Why don’t you want to let everyone see you?”  I asked somewhat lamely. 

“Well, first off, I am just a little girl, and adults do not respond well to child Messengers. Secondly, they really freak out about the whole glowing Messenger thing. Young people are much more understanding.”

“You seem a lot older than you look,” I said. Her choice of words were more like what my mother would say, rather than anything a girl of my age would say. 

“True. I died of the Spanish Flu a hundred years ago,” she explained. “But this is the only form I know, so this is how I appear.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage. 

“Hold on tight,” she instructed me a moment later. My hands complied by quickly grasping the back of the seat in front of me. 

No one else even seemed to notice these strange events. We had conducted the entire conversation in a whisper which did not seem to have gained any attention. I looked back at the glowing girl but she was no longer there. 

I did hear a quiet whisper, “When you grow up, you won’t remember me, but you will remember that it will be your turn to help someone else.”

Just then, the train car bumped forward. There were several smaller jolts and shortly everything settled into a ‘normal’ rhythm, even though nothing was truly normal at this point in our trip. 

I looked out the back door of our car. There, only feet away was the front boiler plate of a large locomotive! 

Taking our tickets out of his pocket, Dad looked them over again. Nothing odd was on the front, but when he turned them over, we all read the words written there in block letters. 

This ticket entitles the bearer to one trip on our train. Should the train be overloaded, the conductor will, at his or her sole discretion, release the half fare car or cars to be caught up by the next train on the line. 

It turned out that we were very lucky that we were not on the last train of the day. We could have waited all night for the next one!

Epilogue:
Albert would have probably grown up to be a good man anyway, but as the Messenger had predicted, he found that he was truly interested in helping others.  He started a social work group in South Bend and eventually attained national standing for his work.

The Messenger never again put in an appearance.