I met you on the train.

The first time it happened, I didn’t know what to do or what to say to you. I just saw your patches on your backpack. And they were from the same TV show that mine were from. So I spent the whole time staring.

You left at the next stop.

I rewound the day.

I tried again.

I’ve been able to do this since I was a kid. It used to be just a few minutes, like redoing a mistake in a dream. Fix bad things I said to people that hurt them more than I thought they would. Make a change to a food order. Give someone an extra hug.

Now I have it up to a whole day and night.

So I met you on the train again.

This time, I was ready.

I had put all the people back in their places, so we could have another shot. Superman did this once in a movie, to save Lois, and he was a hero. They got to be together. And I turned back time for you.

There we were a second time on the train and I forced myself to squeak out, “I like your backpack.”

You didn’t hear me, the train squeaked at the same time I did, and then your stop came and you walked away.

I didn’t wait to go back home this time; I rewound the clock and we were at the beginning of the ride and I was thinking and hadn’t had a chance to think and then you were gone again.

I slept on it.

And then I rewound the world again.

To change one thing you have to change everything. It couldn’t just be this train. It had to be all of it. Even the places I can’t see. Everyone has to relive this morning until we get it right. They don’t know. No one knows. You don’t know. And that’s okay, it’s better that way. The person who dies this morning doesn’t want to remember dying a hundred times, and the person who stubs their toe, etc.

It’s better to get it right and then be on our way.

This time I’m going to get it right.

This time, I smile at you. You hate that. You turn away.

Noted.

I start again.

This time, I ignore you. It does nothing. You leave.

I start again.

And something in the back of my brain tugs at me, that maybe someone out there a thousand miles from where we are, is playing out the same worst five seconds of their life over and over again so we can get this right. And I know that I am not a complete monster, because I do realize this. I do acknowledge that pain, honoring them, as I try again.

This time, we speak to each other.

“I love that show,” I say.

You turn to me. “Huh?”

“I love that show, on your backpack.”

“There’s a lot of pins, dude, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“The uh…”

The train is over.

I start over.

The waves go backwards, somewhere in the Pacific, and I get more specific.

“I love Help I Died and All I Got Was an Afterlife as a Sponge.”

You look at me. “Oh my God, me too.”

I rock on with another great question. “Where’d you get the patch?” All the words come out perfectly, no tripping or stuttering, and you smile.

“Oh, Anicon,” you say. “Last year. Did you go?”

The train stops. And I guess our conversation wasn’t enough to keep you here. You give me a wave, and you’re off.

But you did smile at me. I said the words so well. I just need to make the conversation more compelling.

So we do it again. And the world waits for us to get it right.

I feign a fainting spell and you come to help because I knew you were that kind of person and I was right.

I get more time with you. And that’s all I want, more time. I’d turn back the tides and rewind the clouds to hear that laugh, to have a chance to hear that laugh for the rest of my life.

You help me to my stop. You give me some of your water. We chat a little. But then you ask me if there’s anyone I can call, and I pretend to call someone and no one picks up. I ask if you want to go to the diner down the street and sit with me.

I learn your name. It’s Natalie. You learn mine is Jake. And we chat for a half an hour, but you are looking at your phone and I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong. So I ask.

“Is there something I’ve done wrong?”

You shake your head. “No, not at all! Seriously, don’t worry about it. We all need someone sometimes. It’s just getting late and you seem like you’re better? Here, I’ll get you a refill and I think you’re in good hands here.”

“You’re leaving,” I say. “Again.”

You cock your head. “I mean, I’m sorry, what?”

“No,” I whisper. And we start over again.

Back to the train.

I have no plan, other than to watch you stand near the doors with that backpack full of patches, and you look around, like you smelled something weird and then it’s gone. And I say, “Natalie?”

You look at me. “Hi,” you say in that voice that people give someone when they do not recognize them.

“Jake,” I said. “Anicon.”

“Oh right,” you say. You’re lying. But you’re polite.

And we chat, and your stop goes by. And my stop goes by. And we’re getting somewhere. I knew that if I just kept trying, we’d make it. The right steps to a dance we were meant for. And you are laughing and not checking your phone and I feel this warmth in my heart.

“Oh, shit,” you say. “The end of the line! Oh my God, all the way up on Howard. And it’s getting dark.”

“Want me to help you home?”

And something in your eyes stop. And you shut off from me, because men are scary, and I get that, but I’m Jake and you’re Natalie and this is the beginning of our story. I wish I had said something different.

I rewind just a little bit.

“I can Venmo you some uber money?” I say. “I feel like this is my fault.”

Natalie, your smile can light up a room. And you say, “Oh, no thank you, that’s okay. I’ll just call my wife to come get me.”

I stare at you. Wife. I look at your hand. How did I miss the ring? All of these details I’d memorized in all these scene takes and I didn’t see your ring? There is no ring.

“Oh, you don’t have a ring,” I say. Awkwardly.

You look at your hand. “Yeah, I’m not really a jewelry person. Sensory stuff. But yup, just celebrated five years.”

“How old are you?” I say.

“I know, we got married young,” you say. “Wanted to make sure we could do it while it was still legal and all. Anyway, it was good to see you again, Jake.”

Liar.

I spin back the clock.

We were so close, Natalie.

I did everything right, Natalie.

We may never get off this train again.

I am sorry to all those waking back up on their death beds, to all those who skin their knees again today, who lose their houses again today. Their pain weighs on me, it really does. But something in me drives me back to you and that’s immediate and everyone else feels theoretical. Let me be selfish.

This time, when I say, “Natalie?” You turn around and you still smell something off. You look at me, like you actually recognize me.

“Hi,” you say, not being able to grasp my name.

“Jake,” I said. “From Anicon.”

And when the end of the train comes, you bring her up again.

And when the end of the train comes again, you bring her up again.

And no matter what I do, it’s going to end like this.

I can’t go far back, beyond the years to when you met her (if she even really exists). I can’t change your whole life. If I could go back, back, back, to when we were lonely kids and wanted nothing more than to find one another, to when this story could be ours. It will be ours.

I wish I could. But I just have today and yesterday and hopefully that’s enough to build a tomorrow. Even though it’s not. We just have now.

I’m stuck. But you’re stuck with me.

“Natalie?”

You turn around. And your face freezes. “Jake,” you whisper.

You know.

Déjà vu is setting in all around us.

The way you look at me, like I’m a monster. Fine, so be it. But I will hear you laugh again.

How many years have we been on this train?

How many more years will you keep us here?

Natalie, look what you’ve done.

© 2026 J. R. Dawson