The Train Ride

A Story by Seth Durham

We're all headed somewhere...

The Train Ride

Thump...thump... thump... The rhythm is consistent and precise as the train speeds along the tracks. I stare out my window, watching telephone poles fly past in a blur. There's a three-story farmhouse in view, surrounded by acres and acres of harvest-ready wheat. The sun casts its sacred rays upon the fields, transforming the land into a sea of shimmering gold. The snowcapped mountains in the far away distance crawl across the landscape as the train travels down its predetermined path.

I put my hand to the sheet of glass that separates me from this picture-perfect world. It's warm to the touch. I envision myself running through the fields on a summer's day, not a single worry on my mind. I head for the front porch of the farmhouse where I come to rest on the porch swing. As the swing sways gently back and forth, I sip on a cool glass of lemonade and watch the sun drop behind the mountains. It's a beautiful dream.

I feel as if I've been on this train for an eternity, but of course that isn't so. Like everyone else, I embarked at a specific moment in time, and I will disembark when I reach my destination. I only wish I knew where I was headed. Will it be someplace as wonderful as what I see on the other side of my window?

My thoughts are interrupted when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a young girl standing in the aisle next to my seat. She's staring up at me. Her auburn hair is pulled back and braided; a large red bow holds it in place. Tiny freckles decorate her porcelain cheeks. Her little dress is bright red and her sparkling shoes match it perfectly. She smiles at me with the kind of genuine smile that only children are capable of, revealing a mouth full of gaps and half-developed teeth.

"Hi, Sweetheart," I say, and I smile warmly back at her.

"Hello," She says.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Susan," she replies.

"Hi, Susan. I'm Philip."

"Mommy says we're going to California where it's always sunny. Is that really where we're going?" she asks.

I ponder her question a moment before answering. She seems puzzled by my delay.

"Well, Sweetie... I don't know," I say. I try to maintain my smile, but I can feel it slipping away.

"Oh," she says, "Okay, bye." And with that, she turns and skips blissfully down the aisle. I run my fingers through my hair and scratch the back of my head. Then I sink back down into my seat. I love kids, but don't have any of my own. It's probably too late now. I don't really want to think about it.

I turn my attention back to the window. The landscape has changed. The train is now moving through a forest of tall evergreens and giant ferns. It's beautiful, but in a different way than the farmland. Here light and dark commingle. The sunlight fights to penetrate the canopy, and the trees stubbornly refuse to allow it except in short bursts. I feel struggle and peace, sadness and joy as I watch the woods fly by. My imagination takes over, and I find myself hiking through the forest. I feel insignificant as I weave my way through the giant trees that seem to go on forever. The trail I choose is difficult, often steep and narrow, and every hill I encounter is a challenge. But each time I reach the crest of a mountain I'm greeted by a breathtaking, panoramic view of the valleys, rivers and mountains through which I have traveled. I wish for a moment that I could stop the train and get out here; that I could forever enjoy the challenges and rewards that come with exploring an unknown wilderness. But there's no stopping this train, and it continues onward at its unfaltering pace.

I break from my thoughts to look around the passenger car at my fellow travelers. I see people of every age, race, creed and tongue - a smorgasbord of humanity. We're all so different, and yet we're all the same, like individual raindrops that fell into different streams. Somehow our streams have merged into the same river, and that river now carries us all toward the same ocean.

Some of my fellow passengers are gazing out their windows, lost in thought, no doubt daydreaming as I have been, but most are engaged in conversations or other diversions and seem scarcely aware of the outside world, or even the train itself for that matter. I envy them.

As I scan the cabin, my eyes come to rest on an older gentleman sitting across the aisle from me. He looks to be in his late seventies, early eighties. His skin is wrinkled and spotted. He's got clear plastic tubes running from his nostrils into an oxygen tank that rests beside him in the aisle. I can see that he's reading a book, but I can't tell which one because I can't see the cover. We are separated by generations, he and I, and I know his life experiences must be quite different from mine. We probably have very little in common, and yet here we both are - on the same train, at the same time, headed the same way. Perhaps we're not as different as I imagine.

A shadow falls across my lap and prompts me to once again look out my window. The train has entered a deep valley, spoiling my view of the beautiful forest. The sun is little more than a sliver hovering over a mountain peak, and in a flash it disappears completely. I touch the window and feel the warmth it held moments ago fading away. The mountainside is barren and ugly with only scant vegetation. It has been scarred by both man and nature. The mountain wall seems to be closing in on the train. I feel uneasy. Inch by inch, the mountain creeps toward my window. There's a tunnel up ahead, I know it. I can feel it. I close my eyes and lay back in my seat. Soon the mountain will swallow the train whole and plunge us into darkness. I wonder what waits for us on the other side? Maybe Susan's mom is right - maybe we're headed to California.

The End