Tracks

I watched her finally pick the purse off of the bench and take two or three hesitant steps forward. As the train screeched to a stop, so too, did she, waiting anxiously, eyes darting past each scarred window as it raced, darted, slowly snaked by, until the Metra stopped a foot or so away from where she stood. She held her ground, in this foreign territory. You could tell this was her first time in Chicago- you could always spot them, the visitors, the passerby, vagabonds, and such. You could tell, because all she had was that purse, and she wore a pair of flat slip on shoes.

No one from the Midwest would walk around The City without a messenger bag, or a leash in hand- a token of some sort, or a motive. No one from Chicago would wear flats, because most people here didn't take the cabs from place to place- we would simply walk.

She stood high on the pads of her feet, slim legs arching beneath a modest blue skirt, as she attempted to better her view, biting her lip as the doors of the train began to slide open with routine clatter and hiss. Hurriedly, she swiped away a piece of tousled auburn hair as the harem of travelers began to stir, some boarding, some leaving the station's latest arrival. At this time of morning, those entering the city were mostly business men in suits, coupled with an assortment of haggard young men and women, heading to universities.

My eye lost her for a second, among the press, but only for a second, and as the crowd began to clear, as a dozen or so fresh travelers boarded the train, I found her again. And as I did, I saw that priceless glint in her eye, as it struck upon the one she had been searching for. He stepped toward her hesitantly, tall, almost fawn-like and slight, glistening eyes scanning her once, and holding her own. They came to face each other, as the train pulled away, silent, still and cautious. Until all in one fluent motion the few feet between them were gone, form pressed to form in a tight embrace. And I saw a glaze of tears in her eyes, and his dark locks cover his own as he bent to kiss the top of her head.

When they pulled apart by inches, she said his name, though I couldn't hear it because by now the train was gaining speed, slipping away with the preen of steel against steel, but I believe her mouth formed two syllables: Al-lie. I gave a small smile. Perhaps I was mistaken, but Ginger (or so I had been thinking her as, I had no idea really) had just muttered the name Allie. Allister. The name of my own brother. Ginger and Allie held each other at arm's length for a second or ten, and as the metal beast's tail rounded out from the station, the two of them walked together along the tracks, and not back into the streets, as would've been expected, but only further down the embankment, waiting together for the next train, it seemed.

If I knew correctly, the next train was heading north, north where things got cooler. North, where the city would eventually fade to suburbs. North, where if you hopped enough trains and drove long enough, you ended up out of the former US. I believe they were heading such a stretch north. Or maybe they were going past that. Maybe they were going to keep going north until the roads turned away and the world became arctic.

I watched them for a few seconds longer, stopping only to light another Pall Mall and glance at my own ticket. As my own car pulled to a stop a few moments later, as I lifted myself into the cabin, bags first, I spared a final glance at these two lovers, these two who were heading to the ends of the earth. They were still standing together yards away. And as the doors closed and the train began to lurch forward, as I found an empty seat for myself, something occurred to me: no more trains would be going north today, because of a record-breaking storm that was supposed to have formed a few miles more toward Section B Michigan. The same reason I myself would be leaving the city,meeting with my Allister in Indiana and heading west, because if it were anything like the storms over Tuscany last year, there wouldn't be anymore Chicago by the week's end.

The train gained momentum, now churning onward, and Ginger captured my gaze on passing, eyes bright for an instant through the Plexiglas, and she smiled as the wise one smiles to the idiot sabot. Her Allie placed a hand on her shoulder, and I knew before the announcement of arrival time, that had I looked back they would've been gone.