Locomotives

The little crease in his brow was there again today. It sat just between his eyebrows, a little valley with some stray hairs falling in. It seemed to be deepening the past few weeks, and I briefly wondered at the cause for this single, premature furrow before he handed me my ticket. He didn't smile this morning. He looked far away. I flashed a tight-lipped acknowledgement as I took the little paper from his hand and moved aside. I knew his funny little crease would be the first of many lines to come, and I found myself feeling strange as it struck me that today would be our last exchange. As I turned away from him, the train hurried into the platform, screeching alongside the usual flurry of latecomers, and my thoughts of him were swept away in the bustling tide.

Sitting in the rocking carriage, I quickly placed my earphones

in my ears to avoid the dreaded ritual of strained conversation with the other commuters. I had learned the hard way that even feigned interest in a novel did nothing to dissuade the expectation of polite chit-chat on the city train. After hearing my lengthy lamentations on the topic, my daughter had gifted me the

earphones for my seventieth birthday and they were fast becoming a most treasured possession.

Now, I silently thanked her a thousand times, as a particularly outgoing young banker from my building squeezed into the seat opposite me. He raised his hand in a silent greeting, opening and closing his mouth once, his eyes searching mine for permission to engage. I smiled sweetly and raised my hand in return, before gesturing apologetically to my earphones. He nodded his understanding and spent the remainder of the trip gazing out the window at the fields rushing by. It occurred to me that this would be the last time that he and I did this dance, and my heart smiled.

I closed my eyes and let my thoughts settle into the journey. In my mind, a familiar reel began, the same well-worn film flickering to life behind my eyelids that I had allowed to intoxicate me every morning commute for a month, since I finally given my notice. Today, on my last ever ride on the city train, the picture was vivid as ever.

In this dream I was at home; the grass was long and green, and the lawn was wild with tiny pink and yellow weeds that were just as beautiful as if they'd been sewn by loving hands. Breathing in the air, I watched my grand-children chase Marcie, who received their affections in typical feline fashion, by ducking and weaving gracefully between their outstretched arms before retiring to higher ground in the lower branches of one of the shady gums. As the children laughed at her, the magpies warbled their morning songs, and there was no train to catch, no rocking carriage. In the filtered morning light here at home, there were no busy city crossings and no ringing phones. There was only the morning mist to rise with, and the smell of roasted coffee to meet.

***

I had noticed a change in her this week. It wasn't only that she

had been arriving later than usual, but her tightly composed manner was lighter somehow, and her face, criss-crossed by the many lines of age, was soft. This morning she flashed me a smile as I handed her the ticket and the crinkle of her eyes caught me by surprise. A smile was a gift she gave so rarely, and I was glad that she seemed happy today, as I knew I would wonder after her and

other regulars from time to time. Before I could return her smile, she was gone, and soon so were my thoughts of her as she disappeared into the throng of the platform.

As the train heaved away for the city, the platform soon stood

still and silent again. I turned my attention back to the application sitting open on my desktop and massaged my brow. The application was complete, but somehow, so difficult to let go. Sending it out into the world was seemed to solidify my decision to leave this life behind and embrace whatever fate had in store for

me. A familiar, pulling feeling of fear and excitement rose in my chest and I found my mind turning over never-ending questions, hopes, and expectations. For the hundredth time, I pictured what life could be like beyond this sleepy town.

I imagined how it would feel to wave goodbye to my parents and leave the weatherboard home that had always been mine. Rocky would bark as he ran to keep up with me for the length of the fence line. He’d be expecting to see me again that evening, not understanding that this was a different goodbye than every other morning that had come before. This time, the important figure on the platform would be me, waiting for the train to take me into the world, and for the rest of my life to begin. I imagined the never-resting pulse of the city; the momentum of the crowd and the pull of the unknown. In my mind I gave faces to the people that would surround me and gave life to the ideas that I was sure would fill

my senses with new purpose. Out there, in the world, I was sure, the rest of my life was ready to meet me. It was just waiting on me to begin my journey.

I glanced over the application once more, closed my eyes, and

pressed submit. For a moment, I had terrifying sensation that I had reached out my hand and invited this unknown future to take hold of me. It settled over me for a second, but the familiar sound of the grinding train and the busy chatter of the crowd soon came into focus, and there was no room left to daydream. The

next train was about to arrive.