The Silver Meteor

A Story by Evan Walker

A short story I wrote about relocating and love. Could be a chapter, but right now it's just a story.

The New York-bound ‘96 Silver Meteor’ moved lazily through the unknown towns that lined the East Coast. My shoes were removed and placed neatly under the seat in front of me, leaving my feet vulnerable to the rolling friction of iron on iron that ascended through the floorboards, vibrating through the base of my feet and into the nerve-endings that led up my spine and to the crown of my head. Across the aisle, to my left, was a sleeping man that hadn’t changed his socks in a few days and the woman with whom he shared a seat with had either become accustomed to the odor and fallen asleep, or decided that death was the only alternative to confronting the man about his stench. People hate confrontation. 
The old, black couple in front of me shared a laptop that displayed pre-recorded church services and the sounds of shouting ministers and booming choirs could not be contained in their headphones. All I could see was the back of their heads, but I knew a pentecostal congregation when I heard one. They were married for a very long time, because from Savannah to New York, they mostly enjoyed the silence of each other’s company. She laid her head between his neck and shoulder blade, sometimes raising up to kiss his temple and he would respond with a kiss on her graying hair"a simple, yet meaningful dance that they had mastered after decades of practice. Words were no longer necessary and I watched and yearned for a love that needed no words. 
The window to my right was cold to the touch. Through it, I could see small towns peddling backwards that had learned to ignore the Amtrak trains that passed through every day since the tracks were laid. I wondered about the people in those small towns and what they were like. I was sure that every town had a diner and every morning, as the sun came up, the diner would open and the hard-working men of the town would sit in the same seats that they sat in when they were young and the future was bright. They would order their coffee black, some with cream and sugar on the side, accompanied by some combination of eggs and toast and meat. They told repetitive dirty jokes and stories of their younger years, laughing and teasing like when they were young, and then they would part ways, returning to the local mill or their own fields, surely to return the next morning at the same time. For the most part, their routine was adequately fulfilling and the men were happy, but there were days when they looked out the window and saw the New York-bound ‘96 Silver Meteor’ and they wondered what life would’ve been like if they ever boarded that train. Then, the thought scares them, and they go back to their coffee.
 An old black man walked down the aisle and sat next to the couple in front of me. His calloused, sweaty palms were clutching a leather bible that was worn from years of studying. He looked distraught, nervous, and after a few moments of looking at the couple he said, like he had practiced the line a few times before he walked over, “Excuse me," his voice cracked, "My name is Robert Fulton and I just wanted to say I admire the love you two have for each other.” They looked at each other and smiled. “Thank you,” said the woman, “God has blessed us in many ways.” She spoke like an angel. Her voice was easy and soothing and her response made it seem like they got those compliments every day. Then, Mr. Fulton revealed why he had really come over. “My wife passed away six years ago, and"” That was all he could manage to say before breaking down in tears. The woman immediately got up and kneeled next to him, rubbing her hand on his back, only saying “God bless you. God bless you…” and as she did this, her husband stayed where he was and simply prayed for this man whom he had never met. I sat there, maybe a yard away, watching an old man grieve the loss of the one he loved, being consoled by complete strangers that shared nothing in common with him but deep, unwavering love that can tear your heart out and make you sob on a crowded train. I thought about the girl I loved and I wondered where we went wrong, why we weren’t capable of loving like these people in front of me. I wanted so badly for us to be together, headed towards a long and healthy life. I dreamed of settling down and finding a nice, safe house in a small town with a good school where we could raise kids. I would find a steady job in that town and make lifelong friends and maybe my friends and I would find a diner that we all liked and make a tradition out of going to it every morning before work. We’d tell dirty jokes over breakfast and laugh about the days when we were young and our futures were bright.