She was so beautiful. Her fuzzy little hair shot in every direction. It seemed as though she could smile with her eyes, her big, brown beautiful eyes. The baby girl could smile with her eyes. Her skin was so soft, I felt as though simply touching her with my rough hands would hurt her. She fit right into the curve of my elbow, and the warmth of her little body radiated off of her as she slept soundly against me.
What was it about her? He thought, as the train came to a steady halt. What made her so beautiful? Was she that beautiful now? He could feel the three cups of black coffee starting to kick in, his heart progressively pounding faster as he began to break a sweat. His eyes glossed over the control panel as he stared into the emptiness of the black terrain in front of him. The all-too-familiar feeling of exhaustion and boredom sank in, but this time was different. This time he had a racing pulse, and a restless mind. Two more stops to go. Two more stops before he would see his daughter for the first time in 30 years. Thirty years old now, she had a child of her own. Her child had a father.
He did not know if the child was a boy or a girl. So disconnected from his family, he was only given a single landline number to call “in case of emergencies only.” Even in an emergency, I don’t think that number would do anything, he thought. He supposed that’s what he deserved for being absent from his daughter’s entire life. He missed her birthday parties, her communion, and her high school graduation. He missed walking her down the aisle for her wedding.
And now, 30 years later, he would meet her. Thirty years of torment, depression, and guilt had passed, but none of that mattered now. All that mattered was in less than twenty minutes he would see her. As he solemnly sat in the tarnished faux-leather conductor’s seat, he watched the bare trees and the humble suburban homes flicker past. Through the murky tinted window, the flood lights on each porch looked like tiny flashing lights; hypnotizing him, almost to the point of unconsciousness. An alarm went off, the warning announcement of a closely approaching arrival, and he was jolted back into the somber reality of his inadequate existence.
Five more minutes passed. He began to prepare the breaks, identifying each control slowly, allowing the train to come to an elegant stop. The steel monster came to a halt, followed by two monotone electric bells signaling the opening of the doors. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen… He counted to himself, knowing the exact amount of time for each passenger to exit, until finally, the same two bells subsequently chimed. D14, red button, yellow button, A1, A2, lever, he thought, as the train picked up speed.
He again left the real world, entering his own imaginary time capsule. The little orange bulb on the upper right side of the control panel clicked in a rhythmic pattern. He tapped his finger in unison with the flickering bulb, creating a beat. The beat began to occupy his attention, sounding much like “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.” Tricia Davis, the prettiest girl in high school, agreed to dance with him to that song. Awkward and uncomfortable, he danced with her for a few songs before she invited him back to her house for a post- dance party. Tricia was far from beautiful now, or at least since the last time he saw her. Any woman would be after raising a child since they were 18.
The sky seemed to have gotten darker, as if the train was aimlessly speeding into an alien tunnel, with only the out of date mustard-colored headlights to guide the train into oblivion. His mind began to race again. I did make the reservations, didn’t I? I hope I said 8:30. He felt the moisture on his palms return. He could feel his receding hair-line start to collect droplets of sweat, reminding him of where he would be in an hour.
He had rehearsed the conversation in his head for days. He practiced the conversation with Anthony, the 22-year-old ticket collector who shared the same shift as him. He would begin with a simple hello, and light conversation. Step one: ask about husband and baby. Step two: tell her about my newly floored kitchen. Step three: somehow find a way to apologize for missing her wedding. It was simple really, and he tried to ignore the nagging fact that the elephant in the room would be big enough to kill them both.
The familiar automated voice filled the speakers once more, warning of the swiftly approaching stop. He turned back to the window, becoming mesmerized by each wooden plank that lay before him. Each piece of wood, perfectly aligned, passed under the train every instant at a nauseating rate. He found himself unable to look away. There was an odd sort of perfection in each beam of wood, all equal in length, all evenly spaced to perfection. Nothing but 12 foot wooden planks, and the steel rails they followed.
Nothing was on the tracks, besides a body. The next series of seconds were paralyzing. His arms lost the ability to move, as if his muscles had evaporated. The train was mildly unaffected, and although slight, he felt it. He felt the soft impact of an adolescent, flinging his body into escape. Finally his right arm, automatically, made its way towards the on-board phone, which connected to the dispatcher. His left arm, reached for the emergency break, and just barely had the strength to pull it.
The train had stopped. The police were on their way. The ticket collectors were making announcements to the passengers, suggesting they find alternative means of transportation. His stomach sat like a rock in his abdomen. His heart beat like a mallet against silk. Suddenly the fear of the dinner was irrelevant, nonexistent. He reached into his back pocket. 8:17 pm, read his phone.
The artificial ring repeated itself twice before the other line answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey there, it’s me.” His voice sounded like a 12-year-old boy’s, asking a girl to the school dance.
“Oh, sorry I know I’m running a little late, the traffic is terrible. It looks like some sort of accident happened.”
He presumed he should have known. Yet he decided, for once in his life, to be honest with her. He knew what she would say, but he told her anyway. And most importantly, he knew the baby girl, with the beautiful brown eyes, would never appear again in his life.
“I don’t think we should meet anymore. I don’t want your influence in my or my baby’s life.”
Just as she came into his world, she left his world. Her arrival and exit were both quiet and desolate. And still, he thought to himself, I will never know if I have a grandson or granddaughter.