Watch Your Step
It started on a train, back when trains reigned supreme and important things could still begin while riding them. A suitcase had come loose from the overhead bin; the man it belonged to hadn’t secured it very well, and it hit the floor with a seismic thud. A neighbor looked over, curious about what was inside, as did every other passenger aboard. This was the event, a break from the rolling of the tracks beneath them and the intermittent whistles from the front that floated over them.
The car was quiet inside as everyone took in the suitcase that had so abruptly landed on the floor. Fine brown leather, unassuming, but treated roughly despite the exquisite craftsmanship and delicate stitching. The latches, once a proud, sturdy metal, were dinged and tarnished beyond any hope of returning to their splendor. Oh yes, the passengers thought, now something is happening.
The stewardess rolled her cart through the car, her path to distributing tea and biscuits blockaded by the offending luggage. As she stopped the cart to come around and inspect the luggage, the passengers waited, their eyes fixed eagerly on the scene.
A man stood up from a seat just under the empty overhead bin. Until now, the suitcase’s owner hadn’t revealed himself, and the passengers drank him in. The man was thin, close to reedy, with a brown suit that, like the suitcase, had seen better days. His hair was thick, working hard to fight back against the styling gel that held it in place. He was a pleasant-looking fellow, almost handsome, except for the stench that rolled off him as he stood up. A horrible, bright, sickly smell, sweet in undertone and yet thoroughly repulsive invaded the train car so immediately that it was inconceivable how he had been able to mask it until now.
“Sorry, miss,” said the man to the stewardess. “That’ll be my bag there. I must have been asleep when it fell out.”
The stewardess smiled politely, a little strained from trying not to gag at the smell. “No worries, sir. Here, let me help you stow that.”
The man’s face paled and he laughed intensely. “Ah, you don’t need to do that. Let me just put it in there. I don’t need the assistance, really. It’s quite heavy, I couldn’t ask you to lift that.”
The stewardess had her smile fixed firmly on her face. “If you’re certain. Anything special in there?”
The man chuckled as he hoisted the suitcase up from the floor, foregoing the handle to pick it up from the bottom. “Not particularly. Just some souvenirs. I’m meeting a lady in Chicago and I think she’d love to see them.”
Unfortunately, the suitcase was determined to set things in motion, and resisted the man’s attempts to stow it back in the unassuming quiet of the overhead bin. No matter which way it turned, a corner stuck out, slamming against the opening of the compartment. It toppled out of the man’s hands and hit the floor of the train car with another mighty thump.
“Sir, if you like, I can store this in the main luggage car for you. You can retrieve it when we arrive at the station.”
The man looked around and found everyone looking back. “Thank you, miss. I just might have to do that.”
The stewardess reached her hands out to take the suitcase, but the man quickly retrieved it from the floor. “I’ll help take it there. I insist. I’ve been such a nuisance.”
“Not at all,” replied the stewardess as she took a hold of her cart and wheeled it into the little corner from whence it came, her mission of passing out snacks thoroughly thwarted.
As the two made their way to the back of the train car and disappeared behind the door, the passengers suddenly found themselves breathing more easily, their noses significantly less offended.
❧
The coupler between the train cars had been worn down over the years, the fit loose, and the knuckles ground against each other.
“Watch your step here. If you’re not careful, you’ll lose a leg!” laughed the stewardess as they strolled into the luggage car. Inside was devoid of all life, overwhelming in its silence. The only sound came from the rushing and clicking of the tracks below and the soft collisions from the rows of suitcases. The sparse light filtered between bags and valises, casting thin lines across the room.
“Here, I think this shelf has enough space on it,” the stewardess said as she strolled up to a sparsely filled rack. “What do you th—”
Her voice died off as she looked back to the man, crouched on the floor and rummaging through his suitcase. The interior was facing away from her, denying her view of the contents. The smell coming from the man was amplified, tangy like sour cream, sweet like rotten meat. She turned back around, spinning on her heel to face the racks of luggage.
“W-what do you think? Sir.”
“I know you want to see. Take a look. It’s all right,” came the man’s voice from down low and behind her.
The stewardess didn’t want to turn around and look, not particularly, but she was also dying to know. Dying to know what was in there, what was so heavy, or so important, and what could possibly be making that God awful smell.
So she looked. She turned around, took two steps forward, and bent her head to look at the floor.
Inside were at least six feet, still wearing shoes. All pumps, all slender feet with delicate ankles. Not one was a pair. The only other thing in the suitcase was a small hatchet, dark with rust.
The man was smiling at her from next to his suitcase.
“Would you say you’re a size seven?”
❧
When the door to the car opened, the passengers found themselves looking back to see what the disruption was. The man had returned with his suitcase, as thin and smelly as ever. The stewardess was nowhere to be seen. He took his seat, and held the suitcase on his lap tightly, like he was wary of it falling again, like it contained treasure. What they couldn’t see was the underside where the bag met his thighs, the red droplets that stuck in the fine crevices and slowly melted into his trousers.
Stephanie Howard is a senior at Rocky Mountain College in Billings, MT, double-majoring in Literary Studies and Creative Writing. Her writing has previously appeared in Sink Hollow and The Rock Mountain Review. She enjoys gardening and being bad at video games.
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