The Journey Home

Fate shone. I badly needed to get away and there it was, a business trip to New York City. It had been a rougher few weeks capping a rough couple of years. Family, money, relationships. Neverending and on and on. The details are tedious but suffice it to say the train to New York was a welcome relief, a blessing really. Board that sucker and never look back! Like a whisper in my ears, "You can never go home again". Maybe I never would.

It was the day after Labor Day and the train platform was packed. Some were returning from summer's wane, some heading back to the work-a-day grind. For all of them it was a journey back to a colder place but today the sky was a brilliant azure, cloudless and perfect. Warm still, dry and calm.

I absolutely craved the trip in front of me. Couldn't wait to sit by the window and go. Boarding is called and I make my way through the lineup. Although my ticket is scanned, security is non-existent as usual but at least the crowd moves quickly. I snag a forward facing window seat in coach and consider myself lucky. Remarkably, although announced as a full train, the seat beside me remains open. I close my eyes and drift off.

My mind is instantly filled with concern, worry. It grows. The darkness behind my eyelids engulfs my brain. I sink under the weight. But this particular ride is not all tunnels and I know deep in my soul there is only one thing I need do. Recurrent thoughts of escape prevail as they always do. I open my eyes. The sky is as blue as I've ever seen it. Then, a voice:

"Excuse me. Is this seat taken?"

The train had been moving for at least forty-five minutes and now all of a sudden this guy shows up. I surmise that he must have been wandering the entire train all this time looking for what may well be the only remaining open seat. Or perhaps he was seated next to some nut case and was inevitably forced to move. Either way, he looked clean and sane so I took pity on him and gestured to the seat.

"Please take it," I said.

"Thanks so much."

"No worries."

Now I normally do not like to involve myself in small talk conversation with strangers but something in his polite demeanor hit me a certain way.

"New York for business?" I ask. His suit and briefcase a dead giveaway.

"Actually returning. I'm from there."

"Very cool. I love the city," my enthusiasm obvious. "It's a great escape for me every time I go. This trip is for work but I'm thinking of staying."

He smiles broadly, "New York City bound!"

His manner is gentle and friendly. He has a kind face with soft features and short dark hair. The eyes are even darker. Deep set eyes. Windows to the soul. His appear careworn like someone who has seen some serious things in his life. Yet he seems sturdily built, not frail or rundown. I am thinking maybe ex-military or perhaps built for battles in the boardroom. Strong for whatever the war and perhaps a bit weary, but ultimately resigned to his calm disposition.

I guess we've all seem some things, I think to myself.

"Paul C. here. My last name is too difficult to pronounce or remember," and I offer my hand.

A strong shake back as expected, "Aaron. Aaron Adam here."

"Nice meeting you Aaron Adams."

"No it's Adam," he corrects. "There is no s. But actually my nickname is Z, like the letter Z. Call me Z."

"Z, huh? Interesting nickname. How'd you come by that?"

"I actually came up with it myself. It was an act of defiance. I was always called on first in school, front of the line. Forever alert, on top of things. That gets old fast. So I made myself last, Z. Like someone who is sleeping, you know?"

"Ha! Good for you!"

We laugh and chat on about things, the usual stuff, the weather, work, a great old restaurant in the East Village. At a lull in our conversation he asks, "So what about family, Paul?"

I wince and he laughs nervously.

"Ah, gotcha. Sorry man. Listen, I ought to know better."

"Hey no. Don't worry about it," I reply half-convincingly. "Things are just tough right now. Trying to get away from it, forget about it a while. You know?"

"I do. Trust me. It's probably just that I miss my family," a melancholic touch to his voice.

"Well then, at least you're going home to see them, right?"

A pause then, "Not so much. It's a long story. Suffice to say, that's a big no."

"Hey Z, now I am sorry!"

"Oh, don't be. Please. In pace requiescat."


I may not be particularly well-versed in Latin but I knew what that meant and I knew to leave it be. Rest in peace. Now I was certain he had seen things.

"You can never go home again," I offered softly, my life's mantra.

He laughed more heartily than I expected, "Indeed. Indeed."

As the train arrived at Penn Station Z and I agreed to meet that night for a drink at his favorite bar downtown in the financial district. I scrawled down the name and address. Before he walked away he told me if I were really serious about escaping to NYC that I should first check out where he lived. The building was decent, relatively affordable and had some recent vacancies. I jotted down the info.

"Come by some time and see for yourself. Maybe it was meant to be," he said with a wink and a pat on my back.

"See you later," I said as he walked away and waved.

A funny thing about New York City is that in so vast and populous a place a positive connection with just one person can seem so profound. It really was a gorgeous day!

That evening as I headed downtown in the cab I rolled down the window as we sped towards our destination. The air was a bit cooler now. You cannot keep autumn off for long. The cab slowed, the driver searching for the address.

"Exactly where did you want to go?" he asked me.

When I told him the bar's name, he turned to me puzzled as he stepped on the brake.

"Um, sir that bar is gone since, you know, nine-eleven."

Shocked, I sat there a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Oh certain sir, sorry. I mean you can look around if you like but I tell you it's gone. "

"No, no. I believe you. Just take me to this address please."

And I told the cabbie to deliver me to Z's building. Unsure whether it was an honest mistake or some sick joke, I needed to see Z, to ask him what the hell was going on!

Fortunately I remembered his apartment number, 1A. He joked about it. "Still first in line, " he said.

I pay the driver, jump out of the cab and bound up the stairs. No name on the buzzer. I ring. A few moments pass then a young woman's voice, "Hello?"

"Ah yes, is Aaron in? Aaron Adam? Z?"

"Um, no mister. I think you have the wrong information."

"So he doesn't live here? Damn!" I am getting exasperated now.

"Sir, I'm sorry but I think maybe you're looking for the man who lived here before me. I'm not exactly sure of his name but it could be the name you mentioned. It's been a while."

"Oh you've got to be kidding! You mean he moved?! He doesn't live here?!"

A long pause, a cleared throat, "Um sir, he's um, he's gone. Nine-eleven."

Now my brain throbbed and my heart beat so loudly I thought she could hear.


"Oh, okay thanks," I muttered as I staggered away.

The streetlights were burning like fallen stars, hovering in place all around my reeling head then stretching to infinity and beyond. Along the darkened avenue each car and tree and trash can glowed and sparkled from the light but the surface of the street was complete blackness. My feet moved me forward though my body felt outrageously heavy.

That very night I boarded the next train back to Boston, express. And I never looked back.

Dedicated to the memory of Myra Aronson. 

© 2009 Paul Caracciolo. Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.