Unperson

I am there, in the city, standing between trains as they rush between stations. Besides me is a man, much taller than I, and he pauses, looking out past the buildings and streetcars. In the distance there is a valley where water once flowed past the residents, and rested in the lakes that have been drained over the years. The wind rushing between us is scented of oil and steel, the trains rushing by ever faster, casting the light breeze in an otherwise warm day. But I don’t mind. I hear the old wheels cry as they push on, farther and farther, until they descend into a tunnel underneath the city. Left in their place is a busy road, paved with red brick and overlapped with white markings, guiding the morning traffic into the downtown district. 

In the distance are large towers, cathedrals of capitalism and American might. Behold the splendor of glass, scaling hundreds, maybe thousands of feet. Buildings I have seen before, but hold no meaning. Twelve years past and gone, in which I lived there, a history with no textbook, and a legacy with no legend. All that exists is a thought, living only in the human mind. The warm wind billows past where the train cars once were, and carries me with it as I travel farther into the city. There used to be people here. Live, fruitful beings full of meaning and of purpose, but now there is only one. The man, besides me. In him are memories too- many of the same- from the same realm and time as mine. Memories of a town, not far from the city, where life was practically non existent. It was that small town we lived in. Grew up in. Attended school in. And ultimately rebelled against. 

In a fictional world there’s a specific word- only used in a certain context. Unperson.  That is, a person who had once existed, and was full of life. They were of flesh and bone, and inhaled air just the same as you and I. They had a reason for existence and a passion God had given them for a destiny he had set for them, an eternity that was rapidly approaching.

But those people no longer exist. They are fragments of time that nobody, and everybody seems to know about in some form or fashion. Boyfriends, girlfriends, best friends, bullies in the lunch room that took that last bit of food from you, that you needed to last the day. No- they did not exist- nor did any memory seem too particularly remarkable. But they once had a role in life. They were as real as the flesh on your hands. They were connected to you, and you to them. But to be in that place, where they once were, without them, is to feel the presence of people who are no longer real, yet your heart aches for them just the same. You wish, over and over, and beg for reality to restore itself, but the hallowed winds that rush from the trains return again- and the realization that they’ll never get off those rail lines hits you in the head, and you bleed on the inside for what feels like forever. You feel them in your heart, which aches and throbs. You can hear their voices in the crowd, and your head twists and turns, searching for just a hint of them.  

They are unpersons, misguided ghosts trailing through my head, along the rails in the city. In their place are crowds- clusters of people who’ve never meant anything to me. Passerby’s and weary pedestrians crossing the rail lines, homecoming heroes of their own resolve, who now replace the unpersons. They fill the void- resting in the park benches and walking through the slightly faded grass- the only patch of green in the middle of the concrete jungle of the city. I look at them and smile before carrying along my way. The man besides me nods his head- for him there are no unpersons- there are no homecoming heroes greeting him back to a world he had left behind. No- he was a real man, and the only reason that the unpersons ever had weight in my mind- only because he was there. 

We come to another train station at the West End of town and rest in the shade of the pillars next to us. In front of us is a long, beautiful train, full of vivid bright and red colors- with the overwhelming smell of rail oil that has long been familiar to me. I sit there, practically alone. The man besides me is resting, just the same as I am. Nothing is said. Nothing needs to be said. But I stare into the open doors of the double decker train cars and watch as men and woman pile in to be taken to a city only a few miles away. They’re so happy- so content with the world. They can’t see the unpersons, because they don’t exist.

They never have.

Their unpersons have yet to exist.

How I wish to be aboard that train to another town, where the unpersons can’t reach me any more. How I wish to be taken from them. Just than a man approaches me- an older gentleman, with a tooth missing and his skin rough and coarse. He had been out of prison nine days, he says. He was so lonely, so tired. Hadn’t seen the light of day for a decade. And all he needed was a dollar to pay his fare, to be taken to a world where his unpersons can become real people again. Where the blood can return to their veins and the breath to their lungs, and what scientists have always said is impossible would be done- that is- something fabricated in the mind could become real. He asks, can I do the impossible? Can I bring the unpersons to life?

I nod at him and smile- who am I to deny that miracles exist? I am not God, deciding what is real and what is fake. I wish I could tell him yes- I long to bring the unpersons back to life. I wish with every ounce of strength in my heart to breathe life into the man. 

I believe in the impossible, I tell the man, But I am not the impossible. I open my wallet, showing him I have no cash, and he leaves shortly after. I can see him from the train, crying. Something very interesting happens as I stare at him. I see the unpersons, the people who don’t exist, becoming real in my mind. They’re hugging him, embracing him, telling him how much they miss him. But he can’t see them. Can’t feel them. He cries, eventually getting up and walking away, becoming an unperson himself.