Train Ride Home

Train Ride Home

By Halle Giannelli

It had been years since Ellen’s last train ride. An Amtrak from Birmingham to New Orleans, and a quick trip home from boarding school. She’d only taken a few short days for her father’s funeral and then returned to her studies. She’d associated trains with death ever since. Her only comfort on that trip had been Bill’s company. He’d insisted on escorting her, though her mother disapproved, as they weren’t married yet. Those types of things used to matter, but not so much anymore. There was a time when Ellen would never have dreamed of travelling alone, especially on New Year’s Eve, but she was an old lady now. No one cared much what she did or how she did it, and even if they did care, they couldn’t change her mind. 

This train was just as cold and colorless as the last. Ellen was alone as alone could be, which didn’t surprise her. Given the choice, she wouldn’t be travelling on New Year’s Eve either. She would much prefer to be in the company of her sons and their families. Of course, her beloved Bill was gone two years now. Perhaps he’d be watching their boys and the little ones from up above as they celebrated. She hoped so. Ellen liked the thought of Bill keeping an eye on all of them from whatever paradise he called home. She had no preconceived notions of an afterlife, just a vague sense that life went on somehow, even after death. Surely, Bill’s paradise included an eighteen-hole golf course, and flat screen television with all the sports channels. 

What would Bill think if he could see her on the train all alone, and on New Year's Eve no less? She'd never spent a holiday alone, until now. She counted herself lucky for that fact. No, he wouldn’t like it at all. He would understand though. Ellen couldn’t quite remember why she’d gotten on the train, but that was par for the course. Memories slid through her fingers like sand these days. It was best not to panic when she couldn’t remember. She would get where she was going, and everything would come back to her. She would see something familiar, and everything would sort itself out. 

She could call her granddaughter when she arrived at the station. Perhaps that’s who she was going to visit. Afterall, Lilly’s baby was due any day now. Yes, Ellen remembered now. Her grandchildren weren’t toddlers and babies anymore. They were old enough to have their own babies, Ellen’s great grands. She could feel the excitement welling in her chest. Ellen loved that new baby smell, and holding their tiny fingers and toes. So small but somehow still so strong. 

Ellen stared out at the vast nothingness. The world was blanketed in soft sheets of unmarred snow, only lit by a yellow moon. When was the last time she’d known such peacefulness?

The door at the end of the aisle opened and closed again, suddenly drowning out the clattering noise of the train which had slipped inside along with the new arrival. The male attendant smiled as he approached her, holding out a champagne flute. 

“Happy New Year, Mrs. Ellen. I thought you might enjoy a toast.”

“Yes, please,” she told him, surprised, but also pleased for the company.

He took the seat opposite her and masterfully uncorked the bottle with a pronounced pop. Ellen quietly clapped, and he rewarded her by filling her glass, not quite as full as she would have liked, but she was grateful, nonetheless. 

“Pardon me, but have we met before? I don’t mean anything by it, but I’ve become forgetful in my old age.”

The two clinked glasses in toast, and Ellen took the first crisp sip of her champagne. It was dry as can be. Just the way she liked it. 

The man nodded. “I like getting to know my passengers. I’m a people person.”

“You don’t meet many of those these days.”

“We’re around. You just have to know where to look.”

The two sat in companionable silence, sipping from their glasses in turn. Ellen looked to her window once again. The scenery was unchanged. Snow and silence.

“Remind me where we are going? Did I mention my plans to you when we met?”

“You’re going home.”

Ellen studied his unremarkable face, hoping that he might have more to say on the matter, but he merely waited for her response.

Finally, when she didn’t answer, he said, “It’s the best destination, don’t you think?”

“Home is where the heart is, that’s for certain. Where do you call home?”

The man sighed and turned his attention back to her. It wasn’t a morose sound. More wistful than sad. 

“I think of this train as my home. I leave a piece of my heart with each passenger I care for, and in that way, they become my home. Their hopes, their dreams, their memories. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You don’t have a family of your own?”

Ellen tried and failed not to show the pity she felt for the man. She couldn’t be sure how old he was, but to think that this train was his entire life, was incomprehensible. He had his passengers and perhaps his co-workers, but that could only be part of his story. She was being nosy. Bill always said she could be nosy. In truth, Ellen cared for people. She’d always felt things more deeply than most. Her granddaughter called it being an “empath”. 

“You’re very kind, but I promise you don’t need to worry about me.” 

“I shouldn’t have pried.”

“You were just making conversation. Tell me about your home.”

“My home?” she asked.

“I know where you’re going, but if home is where the heart is, then tell me about yours.”

Ellen peered out the window thoughtfully, and was surprised to find a golf course, now lit by the soft light of day. Not a snowflake in sight, only the gleam of dew on the green grass. She must have stayed up all night. How long had they been talking?

“My Bill and I used to play every Sunday. Eighteen holes and sometimes an extra nine in our younger years. We loved it.”

“Golf?”

“Yes. We were always so competitive. I think it’s why we were drawn to one another. What I wouldn’t give for one more Sunday with him.”

“Do you think you’ll play again when you get home?” he asked.

Ellen started to correct the man, and inform him of Bill’s passing, but then she remembered Bill’s paradise. Of course, she would play again. They would play from sunup until sundown, just like they did when their boys were young. She would hit a bad shot and get flustered. Bill would playfully pinch her side and tell her it was just a game. Then Bill would lose one in a pond, and she would remind him of the same. She missed their teasing. 

“Will you see your mother and father while you’re home?” he asked.

“I hope so.”

She told him about her Mother's New Year's feast. How the heavenly smells permeated every room in the house. How the food warmed not just their bellies but their souls as well. She told him about how her father and Bill would argue about football and car repairs, but somehow always managed to hug and make up before the day was done. He father's hugs couldn’t be beat.

She told him about lazy afternoons spent reading aloud with her sister on the dock by the lake. Traversing the world through their shared stories and only closing the book only when their voices became too hoarse, and the sky too dark to continue. Turning out the lights but feeling too restless to sleep.

“And your children?” he asked.

“My children are grown with children of their own. Even my grandchildren have children now. My heart will always be where they are, but they don’t need me the way they used to. They have their own families now. Their own hearts and their own homes.”

“Will you miss them while you’re away?”

“Of course, but I feel secure in knowing that they are surrounded by love.”

The wheels of the train strained against the rails and the brakes screamed. Ellen and the attendant stood. He offered her his arm as they made their way to the platform. 

“Welcome home, Mrs. Ellen. Welcome home.”

Ellen thanked the attendant and stepped out into the bright light of New Year's Day. She remembered why she’d gotten on the train.