The Journey.

The Journey

It stood above the platform, not level with it, like modern trains. I always felt that you should climb aboard a train, not just walk onto it. Climbing up made the transition from everyday life into an adventure and took you into a world of possibilities.

A skinny arm reached, grasped the rail beside the door, and he stretched up his leg onto the step. “Are you okay? Want me to help?” I asked. “No. I’m fine.” He said, not looking at me, focusing on the effort to get on board. He heaved himself up, then turned and looked triumphant. “See?” he grinned.

The carriage was a moment in Time. Varnished wooden windows with chrome catches to raise and lower them. Vinyl bench seats, facing each other, that were just comfortable enough to tolerate, but you wouldn’t want to live with them. The scent of wood, and oil, and a vague sense of decay. A moment in Time.

He sat facing back, claiming the window on that side, legs swinging, face towards the glass. I sat opposite, remembering myself at his age, excited and expectant. Carriages like this had not been antique back then. “Are we going soon?” he asked, all impatience and smiles. I smiled back “Yes Hunter, we’re going soon.”

The carriage filled up quickly, adults and children, jostling and chattering. The kids talking too loudly, the parents smiling apologies and shepherding excited offspring. Realising that space was becoming scarce, I motioned for him to come and sit on my lap, freeing a seat for someone else. He hesitated, unwilling to surrender his prime position. “O.K. How about I sit over there, and you sit on my knee?” He considered for a moment, then agreed. I moved, positioned him facing the window, and watched as the world began to move backward.

He was remarkably quiet, fascinated with the scenery, the movement. Then he suddenly asked, without taking his eyes from the countryside, “Did your Grandpa take you on train rides when you were little, too?” I shook my head slightly, “No, little man, but my Dad did. He worked for the railway, so we used trains a lot.” I could see the wonder in his face, “Wow! How cool is that?” Grinning, remembering, all I could say was “Yes, Hunter, it was pretty cool.”

Noticing where we were on the journey, hearing the warning whistle from the engine, I leaned forward; “Get ready, we’re going into a tunnel.” His face lit up. Then Darkness rushed about us and the magic rose to a new level. The wonder, excitement, and adventure overcame him, and he threw his arms around my neck in delighted fright.

In that moment, in the dark, I caught our reflection in the glass. An old man, my father’s face, with eyes saddened by time, and a small head nestling into my shoulder.

Frozen in Time.

Etched in Memory.

Hunter and Me.

K.C.C

6 July 2019.