Two Trains
by
his_response
by
his_response
There were two trains, carrying two people.
Separate tracks, different directions. Thus life goes, people passing in a flash of light, momentary pictures like frames from a film, edited by a mad man, flying past our eyes.
Then one day the schedule changes for both trains. Now, they stop at a station, for a moment each day. They sit, side by side, the passengers from both mostly just sit, read, work. But some look out the window. Some look at the person opposite them, in the other window.
And some smile.
He saw her first, busy, typing. She looked peaceful. Intelligent. She lifted her head, sensing... something. Turned to look at him, across the gap between trains. Normally he would turn his eyes, lest he be thought strange, but not this time. And she smiled. Then, with a jolt, the trains began to move. Each returned to their thoughts.
The next day, the same stop. The same seats, same window. Same smiles.
This time, windows lowered. Talk began. Friendly, interesting notes on life, observations about the day. Comparisons of family. His children, hers. Her husband, his wife. Friendship grew.
One day, while talking, he sensed she was sad. She opened to him, he understood her pain, and reached across the gap. She reached too... fingers touched. A spark jumped between, in that moment before contact. His fingers slid around hers, squeezed gently, and she felt his concern through that touch. Her words resonated in him. Touched him, inside.
After that they talked every day, only their fingers ever touching. They secretly longed for that moment each day when they could make that connection, that simple contact, fingers over fingers. And each day the trains moved, the contact breaking... but the touch lingering afterwards.
Then, one day, she wasn't there. The seat was empty, the window remained closed.
He was surprised, even shocked at the feeling within him. Feeling lost, he reasoned her illness, a missed schedule, something. He steeled himself, then, forcing reason to assert in his mind. And the next day, she returned. Just the flu. But by the look on her face, he knew she had felt it too. He reached out to her, as before, and she saw the tremble in his hand. Grabbed quickly, the pressure reassuring him, and the shaking stopped. The truth could not be denied, however. They both knew that something had grown. Something unexpected. The trains jolted, fingers sliding apart, but his hand shook no more.
And so it went.
And so it goes.
The wheels turn. The passengers are swept away to their homes, their lives, their loves.
And at one station, two arms reach out. Two sets of fingers link. A momentary touch, that carries the world.
And as the trains begin to move, and the windows close, tears form in the eyes of the man in seat 35A, Northbound, and in the eyes of the woman in seat 14D, Southbound.
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Sun, 2nd May, 2010
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