age – 7
I grumbled as hands found me in the dark. The roughness of them caught on my bedshirt as I pulled away.
“Hey, wake up . . .”
It was my father. His order, though cloaked in the softness of understanding, hit my system like lightning – I didn’t dare say no.
I rubbed at the wetness in the corner of my eye as I sat up. His hand was heavy on my leg. I could not see anything in the dark but the weight of him atop the blankets comforted me. He still wore his flannel shirt – he’d not been to bed yet – and the spice of tobacco enveloped us near the pillow on my bed. I couldn’t help but smile as I felt small beside him.
“Do you hear it, Fauna?” His voice was low but quick; this was an important thing, but not an urgent thing.
My heart thudded against my chest as I realized I hadn’t heard anything but him. I turned toward the chilled outer wall and listened. After a moment I could hear something, a rhythmic rushing.
“What is that sound?” I whispered back. I felt him recoil and immediately clamped my lips closed and pulled away. Now he knew I hadn’t brushed my teeth. My tongue flailed around my mouth as I awaited the anger, the disappointment . . .
“Can you hear it? Whoosh, clack clack. Whoosh, clack clack.” His voice melted into the foreign sound and soon we were both just sitting there, listening to it together.
The sound made me feel like laughing, and crying. Like I was vibrating. It was a scary, big sound. A giant was coming . . . I listened harder. There was a sound-fence; the big thing wasn’t getting closer. I felt jumpy. Like being free and running through grass but also something else: We had gone bowling, for New Years, and I played on a lane with bumpers. Somehow this sound felt like that.
“What is that big sound?”
“It’s a train.”
“It sounds really close.” I eyed my bedroom window, sure I’d see some sort of evidence of a train there.
“It is really close,” he confirmed. “We saw the tracks earlier, do you remember?”
I did but I didn’t. I knew what train tracks were, but had I seen any? There had been so much to see in this new town.
Now the black of the room had leaked enough through the window glass and into the evening sky, replaced with moving shapes of navy. Like smoke, shadows tumbled in on themselves as I tried to find my dad’s face, tried to see if he was smiling or if he thought I was an idiot. I shook my head, unable to give him any answer. I felt like any answer would be wrong.
“That’s okay. It’s taking something from somewhere far away to some new place that is far away.”
“Like what?”
Whoosh, click click.
Whoosh, click click.
“Like anything. Food, animals.”
“Coal?”
“Coal,” he said with a genuine laugh. “That’s smart thinking.”
My cheeks burned as I smiled.
Whoosh, click click.
Whoosh, click click.
“Why’d you think of coal?”
“Don’t they use coal to move?”
The navy blob of my father leaned over me. I snuggled my face against the small buttons of his shirt. The cellophane of the Marlboros in the pocket crinkled.
Whoosh, click click.
Whoosh, click click.
“You’re so smart, you’re amazing, sweetheart. My Fauna. My daughter, the only one I got.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too.”
written 2/12/2020
This collection of blog posts will include poetry, retellings, introspection, and train-of-thought additions until I decide I have got it all out and can breathe. I recently published a poetry book that coincides — My Father, the Mountain — you can find more information and follow the blog at http://www.faunalewiswrites.com
Fauna Lewis Writes 