The metal leviathan screeches to a halt, backed by a cape of white smoke. The beast bleeds people, pouring out of grand rusted doors. As the mass of travelers exit, those at the station enter, revitalizing the steel goliath. Among them: a boy. The boy frantically wanders through the tight halls, peering at the numbers of each passing cabin, searching for his own. Finally, he spies the 32 by the door of his solitary cabin. Only after entering the cabin and shutting the door does the boy see him.
A Man; angular and lanky. Shrouded in a pristine, plike navy blue suit, hiding a bright yellow shirt and a white-on-black polka-dot tie, his head topped with a white panama hat wrapped in a black stripe. His spindly arms cross below his chest; his legs, by their heels, while his fedora tips down his face, nearly touching the brown cigarette in his lips. He seems to be sleeping.
“Uhm…Excuse me,” the words barely muster out of the flabbergasted boy.
“Hmm? Oh by the stars in the sky!” The man exclaims, springing to life as he untangles his sprawling limbs. “You’re Jimmy O’Seal! Unless I’m mistaken, though I dearly doubt I am.”
“How do you know my name?” Jimmy questions, taken aback by the man’s mystery and insight.
“Why, how wouldn’t I know your name Mr. O’Seal? This is your cabin after all. Everybody who comes in here must know your name. Your name’s on it for heaven’s sake Mr. O’Seal.”
“What do you mean my name is on it?” Jimmy beckons. The man points to a golden placard above the sliding doors.
“See? This cabin is under the proprietorship of: JIMMY O’SEAL” the man reads.
“Wh…Why is that there? I’ve never seen a cabin with that before. Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“Mr. O’Seal, allow me to formally introduce myself.” The man pauses, the boy’s suspense growing palpable. After nearly a minute, the man remarks: “Hmm…I seem to have forgotten my name. Forgive me Mr. O’Seal, I go by many titles of varying extravagance and dignitas. It seems my memory has finally gotten the best of me. Perhaps I’ll throw something together from what I do remember…I suppose, if it pleases, you may call me Mr. Polkadot Botheldrop-Mazzledot III, or just Polka. I play mambo on street corners in the day, and smoke tobacco through the night.”
“Why are you in my cabin? I’m supposed to be the only person here.”
“Oh how lonely that would be Mr. O’Seal. I’m here to keep you company.” A smile lurches across Polka’s face.
“I’d prefer if you left,” blurts Jimmy dispassionately.
“No can do Mr. O’Seal; this isn’t my stop.” Suddenly, the mechanical behemoth screams into motion, Jimmy hastily slides into his seat.
“Fine then. But if you turn into a headache, I swear—”
“Cards?” Polka offers, a full deck sliding out of his sleeve. Jimmy shoots him a snide scowl.
“Fine.”
“How’s Go-Fish sound?”
“I’m not five, we can play a real card game.”
“Mr. O’Seal, in my long and hardened time in the world of card games, I have found none other kills time quite like Go-Fish.” Jimmy stays silent as polka deals them out. Five minutes of silence separates the two. Finally, Polka asks, “Mr. O’Seal, if I may, what exactly are you heading for?”
“You don’t have to call me Mr. O’Seal.” Jimmy responds, dodging the question entirely. The two return to silence.
“Mr. O’Seal, I know you may have your reservations about me, but I think you may find my worldly wisdom most beneficial.”
“I don’t know you,” Jimmy bluntly retorts.
“Oh, Mr. O’Seal, I beg to differ. You know I forgot my name and have taken the title of ‘Polka’ in my true name’s stead. You know I play mambo on street corners in the day, and smoke cigarettes through the night. You know I’m here to keep you company until my stop.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Mr. O’Seal, my heart shatters with the words you speak. But, I’d remind you, the trust of a stranger is a uniquely special thing.” Polka leans in toward Jimmy, peering into his eyes, “You’ll never see me again. Find freedom in the momentary nature of our relationship! We’re bound by no shared history nor any joint future. All we have is here and now. Now, forgive me if this comes off as overly presumptuous, but I think this cabin might be the free-est place you’ve ever been in.” Polka’s words give Jimmy pause. In his mind, Jimmy was vollying the idea around. The man had shown no malice thus far, and what’d Jimmy really have to lose?
“I’m going to my Father. I’m going to live with him now.”
“What an exciting adventure! Yet, you seem so sullen.”
“Well…I don’t know. It’s complicated,” Jimmy’s conflict seering in every word.
“I see…Have you ever met your Father before?”
“Not that I can remember. He left when I was young. Him and my mom…stopped getting along.”
“Mmmm. Mr. O’Seal, why are you going to live with your father?”
“It’s just part of the arrangement. Spend a couple years with mom, then off to Father for a few more.”
“Well Mr. O’Seal, this sounds like quite the journey! I do believe that your stop is about two away from mine, the town by the port, yes?”
“That’s what I was told.”
“Oh, Mr. O’Seal, Mr. O’Seal! What a lucky man you are. I’ve been there myself, it’s got to be one of the most beautifully lucious places I’ve ever seen!”
“So people keep telling me.”
“You’re still not excited Mr. O’Seal?”
“Why would I be? They’re making me leave my home for a place and a guy I’ve never seen. I had people back home. Friends I cared about, and what happens when I come back? If I come back at all. What if I never see them again? Or worse, I do and they’re different. What if we won’t get along anymore. And for what? Some time in some stupid port town with some nobody I don’t know?” Polka chuckles. “What are you laughing about?”
“Oh Mr. O’Seal. You worry and worry and worry, forgetting about what’s right next to you.” Polka points to the window. “See how green it all is? It stretches for miles, just like this. You wouldn’t know it now, Mr. O’Seal, but in a few weeks I reckon it’ll all be covered in flowers. Something about the air of the bay breezing out here makes the poppies bloom with grace. Oh, Mr. O’Seal, see the sky as well. Pure baby blue, with little clumps of cupid white. It’s like that almost year round. Even when it rams this place is pretty. Mr. O’Seal, have you ever seen anything like it? Any grass that green? A sky that blue?” Jimmy didn’t answer aloud. “Now I know it’s unfair Mr. O’Seal. You didn’t choose this change, but it’s not a change you can stop. But, on your end, the contract’s open ended past that point. When I get told to leave when playing my mambo on street corners, I find a new corner and play a new song. What’s more Mr. O’Seal, no matter how the melody starts I keep playing along till the end. I don’t like a note? I switch to a different one. I want to try a rhythm? I do so to the best of my profound ability. Change itself isn’t good or bad Mr. O’Seal. The only thing good or bad is how we react. Remember Mr. O’Seal, no matter how hard we try to slow down or speed up, time makes our tempo. All we can do is stick to the beat as best we can—play and dance along as we see fit.” Polka checked his watchless wrist, “Well would you look at that? Time for me to head out.”
Almost broken from a trance, Jimmy asks, “What do you mean? This isn’t a stop.”
“Not your stop, but it is mine. I bid you the most humble and grateful adieu Mr. O’Seal.” Polka tips his hat.
“Jimmy. You can call me Jimmy.” A warm smile grows on Polka’s face. Though he wasn’t sure what he saw, Jimmy could’ve sworn he saw Polka’s eyes grow glassy.
“Jimmy. It has been a true pleasure.”
“Will I ever see you again?” the question escaped Jimmy’s lips, his voice cracking.
“I severely doubt you will. Does that sadden you?”
Jimmy paused, “Yest, I think it does.”
Polka’s smile grew even wider. “Good,” he said, “That’s how you know this was real.” Polka pulled an unseen, oversized saxophone from under his seat. In one hand, the mysterious man held the oversized brass horn, with the other, he opened the window, then perching himself atop it, before jumping out. Jimmy rushed to the window, engulfed in fear, only to see the man souring atop the humongous saxophone, which seemed to have doubled, maybe tripled in size. “Goodbye Polka!” Jimmy shouted. The man took his hat off and waved it toward the boy.
“So long Jimmy!” Off the mysterious man flew, in his plike navy blue suit; his yellow shirt; his white-on-black polka dot tie; his white panama hat with a black stripe. Off he went, to play mambo on street corners in the day, and smoke cigarettes through the night.