I have always found comfort in these long, tall yellow wood, worn seats, waiting for trains. They never came until late at night and I would sit in the echoes of the station, in the underside of time and consequence, curled with my father. Forgetting I would chase down the Denver skyline along his train, wondering if he would reach his destination and where he might get off and slip away to.
We are all sitting in an old pizza joint. I jeep on fixating on the mural by the bathroom, sinking into the red booth, I keep on tracing my eyes over the silver squares of a city skyline. My father is sitting across from me. My sister sneaks glances at him. My mother looks tired, she sits too close to my father, as if keeping him in, as if trying to keep us all in place.
“I’m sorry”
“Girls I’m so sorry:
“It’s okay Dad”
His large hands reach out to mine, they are worn and callused, but warm, and my hands are easily cupped inside of them.
“I still love you,” I say, but I can only hold his hands
“It’ll get better, I promise”
My mother interrupts, her stern voice, “So your dad is going to California, you understand that?”
“Yes” my sister and I reply.
“This is the last time you will see him for a while. Do you have anything you want to say?” She turns to my sister.
My sister is wearing a large black hoodie and dark eyeliner. Her hands are in her pockets and her knees are propped up against the table.
“How long will you be there Dad?” I ask
“Not long,” and then he adds, “I’ll write”
“Write from where?”
“The place” my sister replies. The place, the place, I am looking at my father trying to find him somewhere else, in a cold room with dusty blinds, and a view of the ocean.
“Can I visit?”
“No.” My mothers sharp reply.
My dad grips my hand.
“I’ll write you loads of letters, I’ll send you all my stories.”
Mother is slightly rubbing her eyes. She smiles at me. Her lips tight and small.
“It’s time to go.”
“But the train doesn’t leave for an hour.”
“We have to get there early” She never looses her practicality at times like this.
We arrive at the train Station. Its large empty space, I could lose myself to hours in a place like this. My mother leaves us to wander the building with my father. To run up the large staircases, going to closed offices, to the large empty room where my parents once had their wedding reception. I still hold my fathers hand, resting my head against his arm as we walk. My sister lags behind, running her hands up and down the rails, and walls. Next to the baggage claim are a few video game machines.
“How about one game girls?” It is a video game of heroes and werewolves skiing and snowboarding down a mountain. He pulls a few quarters out of his baggy black jacket. The permanence of his ribs, and carved out cheekbones make his clothes like sails hanging on his body. His dark green eyes are eager.
“Angie, when I get back I will take you snowboarding for real”
“You always say that.”
“But this time I mean it.”
Mom has found us. The train is leaving soon.
My sister and I hug my dad. my mother too, stiff and quick. My father kisses me on the cheek, prickly, and takes his black backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and walks up to the platform. The train starts to churn, and he is slowly being pulled away, his window fading off into the lamppost of downtown. My sister is the first to run. Her small skinny legs leaping through the air. Like the sprinting fox in the park at night, the rush of meat and fur and bones, so primitive in her act of running towards something, too late. I am chasing her, watching the way she stole through the night. To the end of the platform, just as the train has already snaked away.
There is no one to say goodbye to. The train station is empty, it is morning, and swallowed with light. I sit waiting, waiting for a train, waiting for someone to leave again. Sit at the doors that open up to the platform, as if he will come back. I have not yet gotten past this train station, this moment when I lost something. Lost it to movement of metal and empty plains, that ability I once had to see past why he left.
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