Train Tracks

Days like these ought to be remembered. They are beautiful in their simplicity. We drove to that place we used to go. Do you remember? We went once, and talked for hours about stars and God. That, too, was a night to cherish. But this time, we didn’t talk, not really. We just drove. The roads there are dirt and rocky. Today there were patches of snow making some of the roads unsafe. We laughed a bit, but not as much as we used to. It felt like a little bit of the old us was coming back, but that may have been my feminine-romantic imagination. The sky was fantastic up there. It reflected in the lake making it shine silver. “I should have brought you up here when we were dating.” you said. I would have liked to hold hands and kiss you with the silvery lake and gold mountains in the background. I try to hide it, but secretly I’m a romantic sucker. You took me somewhere new today. You used to do that a lot. I would ask “Where are we going?” You would reply, “It’s a secret.” Then you would take me to such astounding places and we had wonderful, ordinary adventures. It’s been a long time since you brought me somewhere new. I’ve missed it so much. The new place was a bridge on an exempted railroad track. I’m sure you know that I have an unexplainable connection to trains. I’ve never been on one personally, but maybe that is why I am so fascinated by them. Still, I don’t think you were thinking of that when you brought me there today. I think you were thinking that you were bored and it was a cool place to explore. I don’t think that you think of me that deeply. Regardless of your intentions, I am grateful. I can only describe the place as immaculate. The tracks stretched on into the distance with the browning over-grown weeds creeping between the railroad ties. I had to jump, skipping every other tie to keep up with your long strides. Occasionally, I would forget to pay attention to where I was stepping and I would land on a sharp rock instead of the soft wood. At one time, you would be concerned every time I gasped in pain, even if it was just a simple stubbed toe. Today, even though I hurt myself three or four times stepping on rocks, or tripping, or twisting my ankle a little awkwardly, you didn’t ask if I was okay. You didn’t worry or even turn to wait for me to catch up. Perhaps you didn’t notice. Still, back then, you would have noticed. I sat on the bridge looking down through the gaps in the railroad ties. Beneath was the new railroad. You told me that your friend and his girlfriend brought you there. You said, “Arielle told me they were here when a train came once.” I would have loved to lie on that bridge and feel the rush of the train passing beneath me. You left for a while. I decided it would be best not to ask where you went. While you were gone I listened to the river nearby. The sun was setting and the sky was a beautiful orange and purple. I felt like I was above the world and from where I lay between the rails of the train track, I felt like I was hidden from everything but God. When you came back I said, “If I were a homeless person, I think I would live right here.” You laughed at me. I guess it was funny. Still, I live and work and go to school in a city. Occasions to be unseen in the open outdoors are few. There is so much pressure to be with people, to make friends and learn from new people. Often I don’t have time to get to know myself. Thank you, Michael, for giving me a moment for me. Today was a perfect romantic scene which could have been produced in any number of chick-flicks. But the reality of it was the only romance was between me and the scene. At one time I would have taken advantage of such a beautiful scene and tried to make a childish move on you, even though I insisted I wasn’t into that sort of girly crap, but now, I think love isn’t about romance. That’s just the way it gets started. Love is more about everyday life. If I only loved you when you brought me to beautiful places and told me romantic lines that would be superficial love. You know, even though you don’t love me back anymore, I still think about you every day. You don’t give me a lot of attention, but it seems like when I’m finally ready to give up and let go of my love for you, you give me a tiny taste of what you used to feel for me. The memory of it keeps me holding on. Perhaps, someday, you’ll stop giving me those tastes, and I’ll move on. For now, though, I’m simply grateful. You’ve given me a good life.