The Sole Passenger of Kyu-Shirataki Station
This is how the sole passenger of Kyu-Shirataki Station, Sora, starts her day.
She fumbles around her bed to turn off her phone’s alarm — only to remember that she placed it on her desk to force herself to get out of bed. The trick works.
Rubbing sleep dust from her eyes, Sora staggers out of her room and into the bathroom. She stares at her drowsy face. Her round face. Her sickly pale face. If only it were more V-shaped and healthy-looking. If only she were cuter. Perhaps she possesses other qualities. But she’ll only know which they are after they disappear. That’s how it works.
She applies blush to give color to her face, eyeliner to make her single-lidded eyes appear larger, and light lipstick to make the sausages she has for lips blend in with her face. The makeup is subtle so she won’t get in trouble with her homeroom teacher.
Next is her high school uniform. She slides on her white blouse, then her navy-blue knee-length skirt and matching blazer. Finally, she knots her maroon tie.
“Breakfast is ready,” Mom announces when Sora wanders into the dining room.
Slumping onto her usual chair, Sora says, “Okay.” Even though she knows that breakfast will always be ready in the morning. Even though she knows that Mom will be here every morning.
Mom puts breakfast on the table: grilled salmon, tamagoyaki, and miso soup. The steam rising from the soup makes it look like a mini-hot spring.
“It’s freezing today,” Mom says. “This will keep you warm for a few hours.”
Sora gives her a smiling nod. She enjoys these little moments.
This will be the only human contact Sora will have in the next few minutes.
After finishing her food, she wraps her plaid scarf around her neck, sits at the entrance to put on her black boots, and shoulders her backpack. Saying goodbye to Mom, she pulls open the door and ventures into the glacial cold outside.
This is how the sole passenger of Kyu-Shirataki Station takes the train (or how she coexists with loneliness).
Sora stands at the train stop, surrounded by bald trees and dim morning mist. Powder-like snowflakes caress her hair and tickle her cheeks. The tip of her nose, fingers, and toes are anesthetized.
At last, a rumbling shakes the air and her bones. The train is approaching. In the distance, it resembles a whale swimming in a sea of mist — the tiny front windows its eyes, the green-and blue-stripes its mouth — coming to swallow her.
When the train stops, with a bow, Sora says, “Thanks for coming to pick me up.” Then climbs inside.
She transfers her backpack to her arms and takes her usual window seat, where she’s surrounded by rows and rows of empty blue seats, surrounded by nothing but the humming of the train. It wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, other high school students rode this train — but because of Shirataki’s remote location and harsh weather, their families migrated to more hospitable places in Hokkaido. Her family stayed because Dad had a stable job as a station master.
To pretend this is solitude and not loneliness, to pretend this is a precious time with herself, Sora gazes out of the window. The sides of the tracks hold little hills of snow. Leafless trees cover the real hills; she can barely see the snow. Behind this scenery, the sun is emerging, its golden glow turning the snow into lemon shaved ice.
Eyes sun-stung, she straightens her head to engage in one of her lonesome pastimes: to pretend there are people on the train and try to guess what stories they carry with them.
Next to Sora sits a girl with a puffer jacket. She travels twice a week to visit her boyfriend. His company transferred him to the other end of Hokkaido. Secretly, she enjoys the trip more than she enjoys meeting with him. That’s why she takes this train despite being in a relationship estranged by distance.
In front of her, sits a man in an office suit. He’s deep asleep. Something he can only do in this one-and-a-half-hour train trip since he finds it impossible to slumber next to his wife. It’s not that he doesn’t love her. It’s just that he can’t fall asleep with someone lying next to him. Breathing and shifting next to him.
Behind her sits a woman hugging a grocery bag. She’s just pretending to shop. She rides this train every day so she can sit with other people, so she can dust off the loneliness she gathers in her one-bedroom apartment.
The echoing voice announcement snaps Sora from her fictional world. She is here. She has arrived.
When the train stops, she swings on her backpack and saunters off the train. Then, turning around and bowing slightly, she says, “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Far ahead stands her high school with white walls and white snow. Inside her classmates wait for her, warm faces and smiles that will melt the loneliness freezing her heart. No matter how hard she tries, though, she’ll never be able to convey how she feels while riding the train. The thought makes her feel even lonelier.
This is how the sole passenger of Kyu-Shirataki Station talks on the phone.
“Don’t worry, there’s no one on the train,” Sora assures, holding her phone beneath her chin. “How was your day? Right, the day has just begun.” She chuckles. “So why are you calling? Because you feel alone? No, no. It isn’t a stupid reason. I think you don’t need any reason to call someone, just like you don’t need any reason to want company or to want to be understood.”
Sora switches her phone to her other hand. “So what do you want to talk about? What? You want to talk about what I like to talk about? Let’s see … about anything. Happy things, sad things. Things that make you think. Thoughts about things. Guess I like to talk as long as I’m talking with a person I enjoy talking with.”
Sora listens silently. “What? Am I good at being alone? I wouldn’t call it being good. It’s more like I got used to it. Come to think of it, getting used to something is almost the same as being good at it. Things get easier. You can just let yourself be carried along.”
She giggles sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m talking too much. Talk to you later, okay? I enjoy talking to you.”
Sora presses the Stop button on her phone. After seeing the Recording Saved message pop up, she sighs and slides her phone into her blouse pocket.
This is how the sole passenger of Kyu-Shirataki Station talks on the phone with herself.
This is how the sole passenger of Kyu-Shirataki Station meets another passenger for the first time.
While staring out the train window, Sora’s ear catches what sounds like a radio signal from space. Faint, scratchy, indistinct. It takes her a few seconds to bring her head down to earth. To realize that this is a sign of life on the train.
Hugging her backpack, she slides off her seat and takes tentative steps along the aisle. The further she walks, the stronger the sound grows. But she doesn’t see anything or anyone — which means the source must be in the other car. Stretching up, she peeks through the door’s window. Vacant seats. Vacant aisle. Like in this car. Sometimes it’s difficult to see something if you don’t know what it looks like. Anyhow, she should investigate.
Sora presses open the door, tiptoes into the car, and glances to the left. Empty. Then to the right. Also empty. However, the sound is getting louder — loud enough to be recognizable. People are talking. Joking. Chuckling. It’s like music to her ears. The song of hope.
She spots the girl behind the back of a window seat. She has pale skin, a round face, and a navy-blue uniform. Her narrow eyes are glued to her smartphone, probably watching a show or a movie.
Sora eases onto the window seat at the far end of the opposite row. She should say hello. She should say, Do we go to the same school? Where do you live? Can I sit next to you? There are hundreds of questions bubbling up inside her — but she can’t bring herself to ask a single one. Why is that? Fear? Shyness? Embarrassment?
It’s all of the above. What if Sora talks to her and the girl dislikes her? Finds her annoying? Then Sora would lose her only chance to have a commuting pal. To have someone who understands how it feels to ride a train alone.
How about sitting here until the girl gets used to her presence? Superb idea. This way Sora won’t have to do anything. Just wait. Wait and wait and —
The train comes to a halt. This isn’t Sora’s stop. It’s the girl’s. She tucks her phone into her blouse pocket, shoulders her backpack, and ambles out of the train. Without glancing at Sora even once.
The next day, Sora asks her classmates if another girl travels to school by train. All of them say no. As far as they know, Sora is the only one who does.
The next day, the girl doesn’t show up on the train. Nor the day after or the day after that.
Could it have been a ghost? Or Sora’s imagination? Or a girl who, on a whim, decided to ride the train once and never again? Sora has no idea.
She only knows that she’ll continue riding the train alone.
This is how the sole passenger of Kyu-Shirataki Station rides the train for the last time.
Turning away from the train window, Sora takes her phone from her backpack and rereads Kyu-Shirataki Station’s announcement.
We regretfully announce that our station will close on March 24 due to low ridership. We also want to take this opportunity to thank all our passengers for using our transportation services.
Sora smirks. By passengers, they’re referring to her (at least she wants to think so). And by low ridership,they mean one passenger — or none if they know she graduated today.
When the train comes to a stop, she straps on her backpack, stands in front of the automatic sliding doors, and steps off the train. Then, turning around and bowing ninety-degrees, she says, “Thank you for all these years. Goodbye.”
As Sora trudges toward her house, she awakens the memories surrounding — and living inside — the train. Waiting for it in the chill of the morning. Feeling a glint of contentment and gratitude when it finally arrives. Thanking the train for coming to get her. Gazing out at snowy scenery from one of its windows. Creating stories for ghosts that never existed. Speaking with herself on the phone. Meeting an elusive passenger.
Thanking it one last time and saying goodbye to it.
She should do it another last time.
Sora looks back, but all she sees are empty tracks, empty snow. Empty emptiness.
With a long sigh, she turns around and resumes her way home.
This is how the sole passenger of Kyu-Shirataki Station says farewell to her train.
