Today, she is waiting for the train.
She woke up with that heavy-headed feeling that settles in after a good cry. Only she hadn’t had a good cry. She had taken a Tylenol PM two nights ago, and that usually knocks her flat for days, so maybe it was that.
Today, she is pondering how exactly she will fill all this time left in the waiting room. American women have ridiculously long life spans, so she’s figuring she’s got a solid 50 years to fill. There are long-term things, like having a baby or getting a Ph.D., and short-term things, like taking a trip to South America or mastering the art of driving stick.
All of those things seem like decent things to do to break up the time, she thought.
She can’t stop thinking about that picture, the one taken when she was five, in front of the fireplace at the white-house-with-the-green-porch. That’s the first house she remembers living in. It was a good house. Her mom used to spray down the green porch with a hose and let all the kids play slip ‘n slide on the slick concrete. This was clearly a major head-injury hazard, but that was back before the days of helmets, kneepads and car seats for five-year-olds, so it probably didn’t seem so like it would offend CPS at the time.
In the picture, she’s wearing her favorite Strawberry Shortcake dress with the blue ribbon that tied in the back. Her mom put her hair in pigtails and tied them with hair bands that had big red plastic marbles on the ends. She has on her white frilly socks and black patent leather shoes. It’s all topped off with a grin full of gaps where her baby teeth were falling out.
She hates that picture, but really she loves it. It’s her favorite picture, because everything was perfect. She had long pigtails and she was sure she was the prettiest girl in all of kindgergarten. She wonders if things would have been different if they had stayed in that house.
But she is who she is, so it doesn’t matter. Wasted energy.
Her father had a book called “Waiting for the Morning Train.” He had her read a passage from it at his funeral. She didn’t know which one he wanted her to read, just that he wanted her to read a passage. She figured it was the last two pages. That’s the part about the train. It says that the train comes to get you when it’s time, and the conductor says, “all aboard!” and that it takes you to where you belong when things are finished. He dad liked it because it talked about a train, and he loved trains. He liked that instead of the Grim Reaper or St. Peter, all he had to do was wait for a conductor to say, “all aboard!” and he could take a train ride. That’s what he liked best. Riding trains.
So now she is thinking about the train, and wondering what she should do until it gets here.
She’s just trying to pass the time.
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My dad is my role model. My mom is my role model, too, but for how to act. My dad, on the other hand, is my role model for how to be, which is cool.
He doesn’t know it, but I’m slowly writing his eulogy because I want to be prepared when the time comes. I worry, though, that I won’t be finished in time and that my eulogy won’t be good enough.
I hope he has the common sense to leave instructions.
But again, it’s my mom who’s the role model for how to act. Dad is just the role model for how to be.
so well written….thanks
Agree with maybe. Really great writing Mela, thanks for sharing.
Mel, your Dad is still like a breath of fresh air. I picture him and Schindler, hanging at the back of the train, breathing in all the fresh air, and drinking highballs.
Please fill some of your days with Avery Suzanne and loving me as I love you, Sugar Pie!
Huggers,
Mom
How is that baby girl by now?
It would be so nice, to go back for just a day or even a few hours, to when everything was safe and our Moms did our hair and kept our clothes ready to wear. Back when I accepted myself as a pudgy girl with some sort of food smeared on her face at all times. Moms loved us so good, and of course, Dads did too.
Mela,
Its has been a long time since I have gone on here and read, and posted anything too. I went to Berlin to celebrate my 40th. I saw people I had not seen in 7 years. I mean it when I say it felt like 7mos pasted not 7yrs.
I spent time with a women that I deeply fell in love with. She has a live in boyfriend of 5 years (she recently told me in a email that it will be over with soon because there is no love just friendship). While I was there, I stayed my ex and her husband. I am happy for the loves in my life.
It was the best week of my life so far. I was truly happy. The week after I got back I called my bio-father to thank him for the card and the typical check. His wife answered and thought I was him. I stated who I was and she hung up. It was weird and uncomfortable, plus it made me pissed. I called and and told her “Thanks for fucking hanging up on me.”
The following week HE called me and we briefly talked about my trip and how my life is. We than talk about the ‘phone call’. In short we got in an argument and, well…frankly, that is it. I will never hear from him again. I am sure that the next time I see him will be at his funeral. The best week of my life is now a struggle to remember.
I love riding trains. Watching the metamorphosis changing landscapes and the feeling that you are always going somewhere.
hey. Whatever happened to the Platinum Blonde? Where is she. We liked hearing about her.
Mela,
Several times I have thought of replying to your writing about your father. I have not done so, as both my parents were still alive. I didn’t feel I had the right.
I recently, as in last week as I write, lost my mother. Anticipated, but still a real loss. I now can write you.
The waves of sorrow, loss, remembrance continue to wash over me. I know that they will wash over me for some time to come. I think one just lets the waves wash, and then lets them go. Grief and remembrance just are, you have to just let it be. It is what it is. Sometimes, you just have to sit on the couch in your living room and do nothing. But, you then do need to get up, eat dinner, take a shower and return your phone calls, e-mail, etc.
You will be all right, with parents, friends, relationships, and all else.
Now, if I could just find someone who will ride the range with me, as I carry my trustworthy laptop into the sunset.
Ray
Hey Ray, sorry about your loss. Sincerely.
Ray, they will never stop washing and that’s a good thing. It’s what makes us human. I’m so, so, so, so sorry about your loss. Blessings to your family-
hey ray: good luck out there on the range ( i think we’re all looking for some company as we meander through the great game of life … )
take good care …