Alright, then. Do you remember when I rode that train? You were sitting on the roof, right over the void between two cars, and the train was hurtling at eighty miles an hour. You were on the second car. On the roof. Right where the cars couple up. And you laughed, looking me in the eye. Maybe you were just in a good mood. Or was it the wind doing weird things to your face? You were beautiful, like the sky that fell on you after every tunnel. You were bathing in yourself, and I also wanted to. But I went the other way. Not towards you, but away from you. To the very front of the train. To where its roof ended. Looking straight ahead, I stood directly over the engineer’s head. My plan was simple. I didn’t know physics back then; my school notebooks did it for me. I was going to jump a little bit forward and take a breezy ride, pressed against the engineer's windshield by a soft cushion of air resistance. God, thank you I didn’t do it. You made me look back. You were in a skirt. You were laughing.

Rocks, sky, iron. Inhale, hold, exhale. What’s the odd one out? Hey, remind me. I just want to confirm. How was it? How Was It?

I didn’t step. I placed my foot on the windshield, to the right of the support bar. The partition. The frame. I stepped onto a vertical surface. The wind bent me, turned me into the prow of a ship. I spread my arms and caught the cotton of the wind with them. It tangled in my fingers and made that same high-pitched sound. My left foot was still on the roof, and I felt myself starting to tip over. I wanted so badly to fly to you on a gust of wind! But I knew I’d end up on the railroad ties, and the best thing doctors could make of me was a salad. So I hurried to put my left foot on the left half of the window. I stood firm. I had the most ridiculous pose. If the windows were turned horizontally, I’d look like that phallic idol all girls get introduced to at fifteen in some African tribe. My arms slowly became wings. My head was buffeted by the wind, and I saw forest, then field, then rocks, then sky, then river, then…

Ties, sand, rails. Nauseous, nauseous, nauseous. What’s the odd one out?

When we entered the next tunnel, I almost fell. I was sure my head was aimed straight for the top edge of the arch at the tunnel entrance. But I got through that trial, barely: I stood on the windshields, rooted to the spot, in a stupor, and didn’t move. That saved me. But once I realized my head was still attached, my legs relaxed, and I almost…

Ties, sand, rails. Dark, dark, dark. What’s the odd one out?

I flew as if on a cape through the tunnel. I didn't feel the train beneath my feet; I didn't hear its whisper. I heard that high-pitched whine the cotton was making. I was covered in it. And the worst part—there was nothing else there, basically. Then I saw the end of the tunnel. The sun shone right through the opening. A red, setting sun. It seemed to me then that we’d exit the tunnel, and the exit would just be a hole in a monolithic stone wall, and we’d simply be outside—you and I.

Ties, sand, rails. Void, air, granite wall. What’s the odd one out?

The sun was getting closer. We were moving at the same speed. I was counting the ties below. Something was flashing in my eyes, though it couldn't possibly be ties. Then we exited the tunnel. I was scared I’d lost you. I looked back. And you were sitting there, laughing. Or was that rascal wind playing with your face? I looked back, and I started to tip, seriously. I braced myself and pushed off. Only, I didn’t spin vertically, like I wanted. I wanted to fly to you. Again. I was a desperate guy back then. You remember?

But I spun like a mad vinyl, horizontally, and the train went its way, and I flew and spun, knees pressed to my lips. I was a cannonball. I thought about your eyelids, which I wanted to kiss like lips. I was so clumsy. I was flying. I was losing altitude.

Rocks, sky, iron. Fate, destiny, it-all-depends-on-you. What’s the odd one out?