Going Home

Going Home

By: A.P. Nielsen

In the early morning light, the dingy train station seemed oddly like a church sanctuary. The sunbeams streamed through the dirty windows, the grime creating a stained glass effect, complete with brown streaks reminiscent of Christ’s blood flowing down his tear-stained face. 

There were two women sitting quietly, side by side. One could barely be considered a woman. Her small bony shoulders shown through her thin t-shirt, and her long legs curled beneath her as she stared at her cell phone. Her toes were once painted. Now they were chipped and her flip flops showed the neglect. 

The other woman was well into womanhood. You might say she was working her way out of it..or just life, itself. Her grey hair was curled carefully. She wore a pink sweatshirt, the kind with a collar sewn in for added effect. There were cats frolicking on the front, a ball of string their main objective. Her nails were painted pink, also. She wore a gold watch, tasteful and expensive. A gift, perhaps? 

They sat in silence for a long time, having both arrived very early. The young woman was anxious to be on her way, so she bummed a ride from her roommate as he headed to work at the meat packing factory. The older woman had traveled far and pulled in during the middle of the lonely night, a sad homecoming of sorts. 

The conversation began over a small breakfast the old woman had placed on the worn, wooden bench. First, she laid out a checked cloth napkin. Then, she placed rusks, jam, and her thermos of creamy, sweet coffee on the napkin. Before she began her small feast, she gave thanks. The older woman’s head bowed for so long that the young girl thought that she had fallen asleep. As her head finally rose, the old woman looked around and found the questioning eyes of the young woman on her. The old woman felt a strong desire to look away, not engage. However, she knew that was not what the Lord intended. So, taking a rusk in her hand, she spread the jam slowly, methodically. She placed it carefully on the napkin for safe-keeping. Taking the cap off the thermos, she poured the warm liquid into it. When she had finished pouring, she found her voice, quiet at first but growing stronger. 

“Coffee and a rusk, dear?”, the old woman asked, kindly. 

The girl looked up, startled. She peered at the woman’s outstretched hand, questioningly. Tentatively, she picked the rusk from the woman’s fingers and murmured a thank-you. When the coffee was offered, the young girl drank it thirstily. The old woman was thankful that they needn’t have an awkward conversation over a refusal.

They ate in comfortable silence, the crunchy rusks, sweet and tasty in their mouths. They shared the cup back and forth, the coffee warm in their bellies. 

Eventually the food was gone, the napkin and thermos packed safely in the old woman’s purse.  They young girl fiddled with fringe on her jeans. 

“Thank you, ma’am, for being so nice to me.” , the girl said, her eyes downward. 

Placing her gnarled hand the young girl’s, the woman replied. “Once, darling, I was like you. I was young, quite pretty. I was anxious to leave this little town. I sat on this very bench, many years ago. You remind me of my younger self.

The girl looked at the woman and for the first time, she saw the beauty in the old, wrinkled folds. She saw the twinkling light in the deep blue recesses of the old woman’s eyes and saw the wide smile of a much younger woman in the old woman’s open expression. The young girl could imagine a much younger version, someone with hopes and dreams like she had. 

“Why are you here?”, the young girl asked. 

The woman chuckled. 

“Well, I am coming home. My traveling years are done. It appears that I will be living at the senior home for my remaining years.”, the old woman admitted with a bit of sadness in her words. 

The girl immediately felt sorry for the old woman, for many reasons. First, they both knew the senior home was no more a “home” than an animal shelter is for a homeless dog. Second, she felt that the woman was at the end of a journey that she, the young girl, had just begun. She wished they had more time, to talk about all the adventures the old woman had experienced. Somehow, the young girl guessed they were a multitude. Finally, she worried for the woman. Why had she sat at the train station, with no family to fetch her?

“Where is your family?”, the young girl asked. 

“Oh, they’ll be by shortly. They couldn’t be bothered in the night so they told me they’d pick me up in the morning.”  The old woman didn’t seem the bit upset about this turn of events. The young girl guessed that the road was narrowing as they spoke, why speed it along?

“And where are you going, my dear?”, the woman asked, true concern in her eyes. She guessed the young girl was more running than heading somewhere. She knew that feeling...somewhere in her past, she has run from the same small town. 

The girl thought for a moment, trying to decide if telling the truth was worth the effort. Finally, she decided that it was. 

“I’m going to live somewhere that isn’t here. I have $100.00 dollars, enough to go down the line, find a job and not look back. I’m sick of this town, the same people, the same problems, and the same lack of solutions.”  She looked open to gage the old woman’s response. 

The old woman looked at her, a mixture of recognition,acknowledgement, and wisdom in her expression. She could talk for hours of her own escape, many years ago, from this very same train station. Instead, she pulled a wad of bills from her wallet, unlatched her watch and handed them to the young girl.

“I can’t take these. I never meant to sound like a charity case!” the young girl said, indignant. 

“You can and you will take them.”the old woman said in a motherly voice that couched no disagreement. Handing them to the girl, she felt as if she had done something, at least, to help stop the inevitable pain ahead. Was it her pain, or the young girl’s, that she feared the most?

They ended their exchange when the train whistle blew in the distance at the exact time that a harried woman and her husband rushed through the station doors. They looked around, their eyes landing on the old woman and young girl. 

With understanding, both women, young and old, clasped hands. They knew that this would be their last moments together. Somewhere in the last hours, they had connected during their journeys. One would go on. The other would go back. They both knew not what the future held, and they walked away from one another, glancing back, and wondered. “What will happen to her?”