Full Fare or Half(Denise Arnault) The Messenger: Full Fare or Half

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 we had heard so much about. This was a huge deal. I'm Jonathan, a six-year-old boy from South Bend, Indiana.

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

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.

“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. 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.

Finally, the moment arrived, and the locomotive puffed loudly, emitted a great amount of steam, and lurched forward. We were on our way! Trees and houses started to pass the windows faster and faster.

The conductor 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, things changed. He took our tickets from my dad. He frowned. 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.

“No worries. 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.”

Of course, we did as we were instructed. Walking with 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 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.

With no additional explanation forthcoming, our family shuffled down the aisle and found some open seats. Everyone just seemed to be waiting for something to happen. It was a little scary.

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 for 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.

“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. 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 DESCRETION, 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!

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