Photo Courtesy of C.E. Ayr
It had been fifty years since he’d taken the train, since their honeymoon, and he was equally parts excited and scared. What if it wasn’t the same? What if he didn’t get that same feeling of wheels on the tracks? What if…..
There were no good ‘what ifs,’ in life. He’d learned that after his wife died. What if he’d insisted she go to the doctor sooner? What if he’d known something was wrong? But they didn’t bring her back, those what if’s, and they didn’t salve the pain of his loss. In fact, they increased the pain, thinking he might have somehow saved her.
Within minutes, the train pulled up to the station and he boarded, finding a seat in a mostly empty car. As the train pulled out of the station, he relaxed back into his seat, the click-clack of the wheels lulling him towards sleep.
“What do you think the Plains will look like?” she asked, bouncing in her seat. “I can’t imagine flatness forever.”
He was buried beside her on a rainy day in November, train whistle raw in the distance.