Train to Nowheresville

Sheng Chen

No one anywhere had ever heard mention of Nowheresville. Especially us, and we were supposed- or perhaps doomed- to go there. It was an uncomfortable train ride in who knows what direction. Though, 'uncomfortable' is quite an understatement. So, what direction was it? North, South, East, West, it makes no difference. Nowheresville could be an urban legend. I would never have guessed. You see, I am not from America, so I did not know my way around as it was. Nowheresville might not exist at all. At the time, it never crossed my mind to consider it. I was caught up in other things. Here, let me start from the beginning.

There was a store in this quiet town- a town so quiet that you might just think it's a ghost town- that I found myself in while traveling with a friend. Her name was Sophia, and she could translate things I did not know. I wandered off from her, looking for a souvenir or maybe a snack. I just didn't want to stand around while she took her time thoroughly examining the jewelry and clothes. I had no interest in those things. I found this cute, small, squishy toy and I placed it in my palm, studying it's soft, cute features. It was some sort of animal, probably a bear or a cat. The colors of the squishy toys were all pastel, and it gave me a happy feeling, one I didn't cherish. I decided I wanted to buy the small, pastel animal. It was only $1.00. I looked around some more, shortly coming upon a small, yet long brown box. It held flower-print chopsticks. It was a little slice of home for me. So, I picked up the American chopsticks as well.

I wander around in search of my friend, more than ready to pay and leave the store. Just then, I bump shoulders with this man. He looked to be about nineteen to twenty-two. The man scoffs, taking a look at me. "Watch it, chink."

"Sorry?" My accent was still quite heavy back then. I wonder what he thought of me when we crossed paths for the first time. Our first impression was the worst impression, and it doesn't get any more complex than that. Anyway, I knew enough English to get around, but I didn't have a clue about all the slang America had, especially racist slang terms used to insult people that weren't from here. The slang could also be used to insult people from here that appear to differ in ethnicity. It always puzzled me why some people are quick to insult race instead of establishing the actual problem and trying to work through it. From what I've experienced, the racism is not very high (at least where I have been). However, it never ceases to exist. There will always be those people. To make matters worse for myself, I did not know what he meant by 'chink' at the time. So, working through the problem was not an option for me, because there didn't seem to be any problem that 'sorry' wouldn't be able to fix.

"I said watch it, chink. Do you not know English?"

"I do not know chink," I reply softly, trying to remember my English, praying to whatever could hear my troubles to let me say the right things.

"I thought Asians knew everything."

"No, that is a... stereotype?"

"Well, damn. I am disappointed."

Suddenly, the calm atmosphere was shattered with the sounds of armed, combat-ready men barging into the shop. There were ten guys, I soon figured out. It happened so fast that I couldn't tell for sure, in the beginning. I see one grab my friend in the distance, pairing her with the woman behind the counter and marching them outside roughly. "Sophia!" I yelled, about to run after her. Just then, my arm was grasped by a guy behind me. If I had to guess, he was at least twice as strong as me. He pulled me back and grabbed the American with his other hand, marching us out together.

       In pairs, everyone was mercilessly ripped from the store. There were men and women screaming, and even crying. We all had no idea what we did wrong. Some complied, just out of fear, and some had to be dragged, just out of fear. We were heading to these large crates. The boxes looked big on the outside; however, the inside was different. It was such a cramped space. The crates were organized within a train. They confiscated every single phone and item on everyone in the group. Two by two, they shoved every last one of us into crates. I must have the absolute best luck, because I ended up in a crate facing the American boy who just called me a chink, our legs intertwined like a horrible game of twister. It seemed we were fit for the box, because we had just enough space to see each other and move our legs a bit. However, there was no such thing as us not touching at all.

       There were screams from the women outside of our crate, ready to be shoved into their own new homes. A man began to shout, trying to attack one of the armed men, slinging his body in the direction of the guard. This got him nothing but a bullet to the skull, and it all went quiet. The guard began to speak. His accent, I couldn't pinpoint it, but it wasn't American.

       "Everyone in this train will be quiet and cooperative. If not, you will be put down. Is that clear?"

       Everyone eventually managed to cooperate. Well, everyone who survived day one on that wretched train. I didn't realize it at the time, but most of us would end up dying off sometime during the trip. Surprisingly, riding in a crate with a complete stranger for forever seemed preferable to immediate death to the civilians we were traveling with. There is no fear without pain, whether that be emotional or physical. They go hand in hand. We should have been so lucky as to have our brains blasted out before the journey began. We weren't the only batch of unsuspecting townsfolk the mysterious men had rounded up. We were few among dozens on different carts.

       Light crept into the sturdy, wooden box through the open slot, only openable from the outside, which I learned was for food. I could see the previous conflict through the rectangle. We were no longer in control anymore, and this is how we were going to live for quite a long time. Everything we had was ripped from our worlds in seconds. I was no longer Sheng Chen. I was a man in a foreign country, stuffed in crate with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back. I wonder if he felt the same. The American, I mean. Did he realize the truth of the matter? Did he realize the reality of the situation we were in? Did that long-term realization set into his mind when it did mine? Together, the American and I were C20. So, our crate number was twenty. That lead me to believe we were in the twentieth crate in the train. If so, that amount is staggering alone. Who knows how many crates were on the entire train... I wondered how that group of men managed to pull that off. Apparently, there were ten men in charge of each cart. They surely had enough men to control this operation. I didn't know how long it was that we were going to be traveling, but it was the longest time stretch I've ever faced, whether it be months or years, it all felt like an eternity.

       Every person that had previously been enjoying their day in the shop was now sealed in a crate with someone else. The train roared as we began moving. One by one, they shut the slots, leaving only darkness to bathe us. We were the last crate to be shut.

       The American looks out the slot, calling out to one of the guys. "Can you at least tell us where we are going!?"

       I could hear the smirk on the guy as he said. "Ah, just going to Nowheresville." Then, he shut our slot, his footsteps fading away with his deep laughter as seconds passed.

       So, Nowheresville... Was it some kind of joke? Was there really a Nowheresville out there? I didn't know much about anything then. Only time would tell. The American didn't take it seriously. Though, I kept wondering why we were going to Nowheresville. What was there that needed us? As I said earlier, most of us didn't live long enough to know the truth, to know if Nowheresville was a real place, to know if we'd ever be okay again. There was a difference between me and that American boy, though. I had hope.