Find

Find Brittni Garms

I never liked seeing the train house so sad all the time. It was the one thing that kept me coming back. — It was 2007 when I first passed through Ijamsville. I just got my license and I was driving back from a local cafe with homemade brews. I was there because they had a new flavor to celebrate the end of winter, so, of course, I had to get my dirty hands on it. My rusty, used car had a hard time faring over the unpaved, makeshift road that led to the small town of Ijamsville. I never knew the town existed until I drove through it. I wasn’t at its heart, but I could see a small row of houses, some old and some new, in the distance. Right before them was a railroad. I groaned as the conveniently-timed railroad crossing gates closed and I slowed to a stop. I put my car into park; I was going to be here for a while. Lazily, I pulled the lever to make the chair seat go back and I relaxed. I tapped my feet on the dashboard and folded my arms as I watched the freight train go by. I flipped my phone to check for any messages. I had none. What was I expecting?

The train tore my attention from my empty inbox with a loud whistle. I groaned again. Just then, as if God actually heard me, the last train car passed me by and the gates let up. As I reached to put my car into drive, my eyes followed the white and red gates to the right. I left my hand hanging in midair. I was caught having a face-off with an old, ugly, red brick building. It appeared to have two floors, but there was no glass in the windows. Half of it was collapsed, probably from years of rain and earthquakes. The gates lifted all the way up, and I put my car in drive but pulled off to the side of the road to investigate. I grabbed my bag, left the car, and locked it. Stepping on bricks, I observed the lonely little structure.

Inside, the floor was overgrown with brown grass and covered in scattered clay bricks. Above me were exposed wooden beams which were green with age and looked as if they would melt off the ceiling. The top floor was slanted downwards in my direction, like a frown of disappointment. I backed up to see more of the second floor, but it was completely devoid of anything besides rotting wood and crumbling bricks. Despite all the red, the building was empty of color; I felt the need to add some.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a can of green spray paint. My eyes sneakily crept through every empty window and I put my hood over my head to block my eyes. I shook the can eagerly and decided I would write something to literally make my mark on history and the fully intact brick wall. I sprayed on:

EM WAS HERE I smirked at my creation and made

sure the calligraphy on it was refined and smooth. In the corner of my eye, I saw movement. I ducked out of the drooping doorway, unlocked my car, got in, and started up the engine. I hid my face under my oversized shirt and started to drive away. Before I left, I gave the train house one last pleased look. —

At my friend Caitlyn’s place, we finished our 20x20 foot canvas piece. It was a lighthouse by the sea, but with a monochromatic blue scheme. “What should we name it?” I asked her.

“I dunno,” she replied, her voice apathetic. She turned to me in hopes of hearing something good, but her tone told me otherwise. “You got any ideas?” I felt the dried paint on the lighthouse. “Maybe, ‘Stormy Lighthouse?’”

“That’s really stupid, girl.” “‘No Sun Here?’” “That’s even worse.”

“Uhhh,” I paused to think, “how about...oh! ‘Light Ends Here?’”

“Damn,” Caitlyn muttered, wiping some paint off her forehead, “all your ideas are stupid.”

“Shut up!” I pushed her playfully and she knocked me down to retaliate.

We laughed for a minute before she picked up half of the canvas and said to me, “Let’s hang this somewhere where Mom will see! Maybe we could put it by the front door for now?”

“That sounds good,” I agreed and picked up the other end, helping her carry it through the house. “You know, I was thinking about it—‘Light Ends Here’ would make really edgy graffiti art.”

“You’re the only person I know in this whole town who thinks graffiti art is cool,” Caitlyn replied with a snort and a laugh.

“It is!” I attested. “I found a really cool train house to write it on, too! You won’t be making fun of me when I’m famous.”

“For graffiti art?” “Exactly.” —

A week had passed since we finished our biggest project yet and I came back to the train house with more spray paint. I wore my black hoodie with a blue facemask. Again, I pulled over to the side of the road and crept into the building. I went to view my last, beautiful piece of art. It was still there, but I was taken aback when I saw a new addition to the wall. It read:

WELCOME HOME

I had no idea how to react. I was scared, but I couldn’t move. I was worried, but I didn’t feel threatened. I gathered myself up and took to the neighboring space next to it. I breathed in and started to compose my piece. I sprayed on all sorts of colors: reds, blues, greens, and yellows. I worked meticulously and quickly so I could get out before I got caught. In under twenty minutes, I decorated half of the brick wall with fancy lettering spelling out:

LIGHT ENDS HERE

I sighed and happily gazed upon my best graffiti yet. I took it all in before I left to go back to my car. I drove away to brag to my friend about my art. — “That’s creepy, Em.”

“I think it’s kinda cool,” I responded after telling her about my encounter. “It’s like having a pen pal without the pen!”

“I wouldn’t go back,” Caitlyn tried to reason with me. “You don’t know if whoever wrote that was a rapist or convicted murderer!”

“What if he’s just an artist like me? That would be kinda cool, admit it.” I slouched back in the recliner, dirtied with years of spilled paint and passion projects.

“Well, if you end up dead in a ditch somewhere, don’t come haunting me; I warned you,” she said, half-seriously and half-jokingly.

I brushed off her worry and joined her studying. I spent the rest of my day at her place. —

Three weeks later, I was almost done with my junior year of high school. My schedule had been packed with studying, so I was itching to make more art; I was never on artist block’s hitlist. I finished my homework early that day, so my parents let me leave the house. I decided to visit the train house to see if my pen pal left me anything. The sun was about to set, so I had to move fast. I performed my usual train house routine: pull to the side of the road, grab the bag, hide my face, get into the train house. I gasped at the sight before me. From the bottom of the wall all the way to the crumbling ceiling above me, there was colorful graffiti. The once muted building was alive with pinks, whites, purples and blues. My eyes tried following the abstract art from the wall to the ceiling. I walked backwards to look at it until it finally came into full view. It spelled out:

WHY?

I blinked, both admiring of and bewildered by this modern Monet. The word resonated within me. Why? I didn’t know why. I couldn’t answer it. Why does the light end here? I didn’t know; I thought it would be cool to write. I reached into my bag to reply, but I felt no spray cans in my bag. I groaned angrily and stomped my foot on the ground. Now I was left with this unanswerable question. I shuffled away, ducking my head under the wooden beam and got back into my car. I considered going home to get my paints, but I did not want my parents to find out what I was doing, so I drove away.

Cut to two months later and now I was out for summer. With Caitlyn’s help and creative mind, we completed three pieces, including painting a model train. This summer, we decided we wanted to create a miniature train set to match our train. All this locomotive talk reminded me of the rickety brick house by the tracks. It was a hot summer, so I figured the train house was miserable, crying all by itself, despite having new colors to cheer it up. I thought that with all the shimmer, the house would have a quirky personality, even if its exterior looked depressed, like a surprise-inside ordeal. I missed experiencing the excitement of returning to it and finding that my pen pal wrote something new on the wall.

The word resonated within me. Why? I didn’t know why. “

“

I waited for the perfect day to return. Finally, my parents were out of town for the weekend.

After passing through Ijamsville, I saw the train house at the end of the road and I could also see that the empty windows were now boarded up with ugly, brown slabs. I was disappointed, but I wouldn’t let boards hold me back. As I approached the old home, I saw that a large chunk of it was gone. The bricks along that wall were on the ground, as if something had knocked it over. Luckily, that was my way in. I stepped over the destroyed wall and looked inside. Even though the windows were blocked, it was even brighter than last time. The ceiling above me completely caved in and was on the floor. All of our graffiti was still there, as if it was put there yesterday. I searched it for anything new. I was distracted by the giant “WHY?” which was now half gone with no ceiling to show the rest of it. Nothing looked new on the walls, but to make sure I was not missing anything, I did a second take. Carefully, my eyes scanned the interior. I walked in my old footsteps, under the once-existing ceiling, out towards the end to look at the once-there second floor and up to the covered doorway. To my shock, I saw something graffitied in red on the old piece of wood that hung above the doorway. It was not as decorated as the other graffiti, but it still looked like my pen pal’s handwriting. I squinted to read it:

FIND

I backed away from it. The word faded from my sight as I distanced myself. What a strange word. Maybe there was treasure somewhere in the train house? I kicked around the bricks, hoping to find something under them, but nothing was there. I was intrigued, so I scoured the rest of the building. I looked under old beams and up where the roof would have been. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. What was there to find here? I had no idea what to do besides write a reply in spray paint. I wrote on the board covering the doorway:

WHAT?

I decorated it a little. I lost some of my creative drive to the mystery that hit me suddenly. After, I sat against the wall and took my time in there alone. I let the personality of the train house soak in as I heard the friendly chirping of birds and leaves rustling in the wind. I had no desire to leave, but I knew that if I stayed here long enough, someone would find me—dead or alive. I stared at the “FIND” for what felt like two hours. When I felt that I spent enough time in there, I got up, brushed myself off and headed back out to my car. However, before I left it behind, I turned around to face it up close, something I dared not to do before. With loving care, I put my hand on the softly crumbling brick exterior. I knew it was going to go

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. What was there to find here? “

“

away with time, but I wasn’t sure when, so I figured I could share one moment with it before it was gone. I got in my car but didn’t drive away immediately. I wanted to give it one final smile; I knew I wasn’t returning for a while with the family vacation coming up. Slowly, I drove away, waving at it mentally with my grin. —

Autumn came. I was in the car with my parents after completing a back-toschool shopping spree. The car came to a halt at the railroad crossing. A train was coming by. My mom, driving the car, groaned irritably and threw her head back into the car seat. I sat up straight, excited, since I knew where we were. I went to look at the train house, but the freight train passing by was blocking my view.

“Em?” my dad called from the seat in front of me. “Do we need to get anything else that we forgot? There’s a little store up the street.”

“Not that I know of,” I replied, still looking out the window. This freight train was short, so the crossing was cleared quickly. My eyes were set on where the train house was, but there was one problem: the train house wasn’t there anymore. —

When we got home, I immediately ran back out of the house. I told my parents that Caitlyn needed me, so I had an excuse. I drove like a maniac through Ijamsville to get to the tracks. I got there and pulled over one last time, only to be met with nothing but an outline of where the building used to be. I walked into the middle and sat down. I began to process everything. All of my art, as well as my pen pal’s, was gone. The excitement of finding out what my pen pal wrote was gone. The charm of the old building was gone. All it left behind was a few bricks. There was no mystery to solve anymore. It only remained in my memories. I would never know who it was, but I knew my pen pal kept it in his memory, too. Worst of all, I would never know what there was to find. I sighed and got back on my feet. There was nothing to do here anymore except mope. I left for the last time. I wanted to smile at the remains but felt that there was nothing to smile about. I drove away and I never came back. Only a few memories soon to fade away haunted me:

LIGHT ENDS HERE. WHY? FIND.