Raya pulled the blindfold off and squinted. “That was incredible.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Before I go, I was wondering if—”
“Oh, the exhibit isn’t done yet, Ms. Sia.” The usher smiled, taking a silver key from around his neck. “There’s a special section that’s closed to the public. Mr. Philips left specific instructions that it should only be shown to you.”
Anticipation was the best part of happiness. Raya read the name of the private exhibit that was painted over a shiny black door.
Locked Doors
Raya slipped the key into a keyhole, turning it until it clicked.She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The scent of rain, the fresh kind that came in April and made flowers grow, welcomed her. Darkness hid the rest of the room.
The door shut behind her.
Butterflies that glowed in the dark flew across the room and vanished as suddenly as they appeared. A full moon revealed itself over a twinkling night sky, bathing an exact replica of her train compartment in its pale light.
Raya took off her shoes and strode across the grass carpet, smiling as it tickled her toes. A lamp on the nightstand came to life and shone over an incense stick. Raya sat on the bed and took a closer look. She wondered if the stick of incense could tell bedtime stories too. It stood silent and unlit, showing no sign that it had anything to say.
Raya pulled the nightstand’s drawer open and looked for a match to light it even as she doubted that it would make any difference. Sometimes incense sticks were just incense sticks and that was okay. The exhibit had already told her the only story she cared about. Q had fallen from a train, picked himself up, and built a beautiful dream that people lined up to see. A pair of earphones sat inside the drawer along with a small note. Raya picked up the note and read it.
On the count of three.
Raya smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. She put on the earphones, closed her eyes, and got ready to jump. Q’s voice clasped her hand.
Hello, Raya. How have you been?
I’ve thought about what I wanted to tell you for a long time. I even made a script.
But as you know, words and I, well, we don’t always get along. And so I built this exhibit instead. I didn’t plan for it to be this massive, but somewhere along the way, it took on a life of its own.Thoughts, as it turns out, enjoy building things off the train too. Who knew?
You can probably tell from the exhibit that I no longer create the kind of art that I used to. The Elsewhere Express did not allow me to keep my sight. I can’t say that I was happy about it, but in time, I realized that I had brought home a much better souvenir. I thought about the old paintings I had made of the train and why I was never completely happy with them. They only captured what I saw and never how they made me feel. When I had my eyes, I made pictures you could hang on walls. Without them, my paintings allowed you to walk through their world. I wish that I could have been there to see your face when you took your first step inside this one, though to be honest, I feel that I already have.
You were my companion in the dark even before I knew your name and have been present every second of this journey. Even if we no longer share the train’s map, I swear that sometimes, I still feel the tug of our little snitch. Maybe it’s because I’ve left a bit of myself on the train, or perhaps I’ve taken a part of it with me. I suppose it could also be heartburn, but I have been trying to be good at avoiding things that are too spicy. Whatever the case, I think that it was this pull that led me to the train’s back door the day I boarded, a moment when time decided to stop pretending that the past, present, and future were not happening all at once.
Today, as I record this message, I am keenly aware that time is back to its old ways. I am a voice from the past, desperate to reach your ears in the future. I’m profoundly grateful for all the dreams you sent my way and beyond happy that tonight, I’m finally able to share one of mine. I hope you like it even if it’s not quite finished. It seems that it’s my curse to run out of time and this was a project that I couldn’t complete without you. This place is merely a rough sketch of a fading memory without your songs. I tried to wait for you as long as I could but our stations were just too far apart. I could not find any trains that stopped in the future. I built this exhibit in the hope that it would travel where I could not and left my estate with instructions to find you based on the details I hadglimpsed on your ticket. I’ve done all this to share a last wish, a single petition that I have borrowed from your songs.
Live, Hiraya.
Breathe.
Be.
Your friend
or something stranger,
Q
Raya pulled off the earphones. They slipped from her hands and bounced on the grass. She walked over to the dresser and sat down, watching her reflection weep. It watched her cry too. One of them shed sad tears, the other, a deep and quiet joy.
It would be a long time before she could say that she truly understood what purpose was, but whether it was a dream, the pursuit of it, or the detours people took because they chose a path of kindness, she knew that Q had found it. She took a purple notebook out of a small purse and left it on the dresser. She scribbled a letter to Q’s estate on stationery embossed with a gold eternal knot.
Her songs and Q’s dreams would meet in a world where their owners could not, continuing a story that had ended inside an old elevator.
Live. Breathe. Be.
—Hiraya Sia
