Picture this, by Tess Wenderski

Strapped in, safe and sound, in my fading blue car seat, the rumbling bump is only a jiggle that makes me giggle. The black and white gate is up, the bright red lights are not flashing. Mom turns around and smiles, her brown eyes crinkling with happiness. She says, “What does the train say?” “Choo-choo!” I reply with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old.

Walking hand-in-hand with Dad, I see the tracks extend in the distance. The steel rails shine in the setting sun. I can’t see the end but I lean out eagerly, trying to see farther out. Dad grabs my hand and tells me to be careful around trains. We turn around and head back towards town, and my seven-year-old self is suddenly concerned with ice cream, not train tracks.

Independence Day and there is a parade! The red and blue floats wobble as they go over the uneven tracks.  The costumed people on board sway with the motion and wave back to the crowd. Eleven-year-old me fears for them. What if they fall? Don’t they know they have to be careful around trains?

It’s finally summer vacation and I am officially a sophomore in high school. The sun is warm but there is a nice breeze cooling my face. My friends and I start walking towards town, crossing the ever-present train tracks. Looking down, between the rails, I see a glint amongst the stark coal. I bend down and move the rocks aside. There is a white rock surrounded by the black. I grab it. That fact that it remained so clean among all the dirt confuses me. I drop it back down with the coal and we keep walking.  

The middle of fall and the rain is pounding down on my car. I can’t see very far in front of me. Only the taillights of the car in front of me, which suddenly light up. I brake quickly. I can see flashing red lights to the side and up. A bell begins to ring. Rumbling rushes past, accompanied by a clacking. The train moves by without a care, as I sit in my heated car, worrying about being late for school.

The summer, three weeks before college. I’m leaving this small town for months. I’ll be on my own. I walk with my friend along the tracks. I lose my balance and step down. I step back up and continue walking. The setting sun is on our left as we head north. The trees cast shadows and the wind causes them to move and shake.  Not far, just a stroll, really. But the tracks keep going. Where do they end? Where do they begin? A bird flies overhead and keeps going, seeming to follow the tracks. I wish I could go with it.

I am walking through a new town with new friends whom I met in a new school, new ideas to think about, new thoughts to discuss, new memories to share. The old buildings have ended abruptly and train tracks run along to the right and left of where we stand. Different tracks, but still the same. Maybe they connect to the ones back home.

“God, train tracks are everywhere, aren’t they?” my friend says.

“Yeah, I remember this one time when my parents and I went to town during a parade and...”