The Tourist: A Short Story

The train tracked through vast expanses of nowhere and nothing. The cart had grown quiet as the tourists enjoyed their complimentary dinner that came with their Southwest Train Adventure package. Only $279 for a 2 day weekend of sight-seeing, culturally inspired meals, and 3 drink tokens a night. Tonight’s dinner included trout, a locally sourced fish from the Animas River, which they would be passing by shortly. 

The youngest tourist in the car had no interest in the trout or the miles of desert country they had traveled so far. He would periodically annoy his parents (and fellow passengers) with whines asking if they were there yet, and when they would get off the train. For those of a certain age, a leisurely train ride through miles of forgotten country was a picturesque way to spend a weekend. For a child under the age of 10, it was miles of unending sameness and nothing to do. 

The passengers were told that up ahead was the beginning of the mountains and canyons they would soon be passing through. The tourists looked through the glass and their screens at the giant rocks jutting from the ground, leading into more mountainous terrain. One could make out the green at the peripherals of a river, and the start of increasingly lush landscapes ahead. The length of the river became more evident as the tracks curved towards the new horizon. There were a variety of trees climbing down the rocky faces of mountains, seeming to need the closeness of the river, as the treeline became denser towards the valley.

Forgetting for a moment to be perpetually dissatisfied, the boy gazed long and curiously enough to notice the color of the river. It reminded him of the orange powder drink his mom made him after he got home from school. The color seemed wrong there among all the wildness. Like it didn’t belong.

“Why does it look like that?”, the boy asked out loud, unaware he had actually spoken. His father, who had been consistently barraged with questions by the boy for the last hour, was in no mood for questions. He was in no mood for anything other than enjoying his $40 meal in peaceful silence. He sighed tiredly,”Do I look like a tour guide boy? If you’re not going to eat, just take this and be still.” His father handed him old faithful...the sure-fire way to quiet the noise of the day for a minute, but more likely for hours. The man liked to spend time away from it all more than he liked to be present in it. All the gadgets and devices became welcome allies in the father’s quest to continually check out.

The boy knew this was only a gimmick for his compliance, but he was too bored to press further. He indignantly grabbed the screen and turned on his favorite game. One where he built the world exactly as he wanted. Where the trees came down and buildings came up. Where he bent and shaped hills and rivers to his liking. The boy forgot about the yellow river through the glass. He forgot about his untouched, locally caught trout dinner. He forgot about looking up again until the train arrived at the station. “Can we go home yet?”, he whined, out of habit more than genuine curiosity. His parents sighed, carrying packages under arms, and heavy bags in hand. “Yes,” said the boy’s mother. “We were just passing through, boy. Time to go home.”

The boy, pleased with this answer, looked back down to his screen and continued to build the world in his image, until that too, no longer satisfied.