The Train to Bordeaux
The railway station was mostly empty, perhaps not surprising for a weekday afternoon after the tourist season ended. Wyatt ordered two espressos at the outdoor cafe on the way to the platform. "Do you want sugar?" he asked his partner of seven years. Lucy made a face and thought a second. "Normally I would, but I think I should cut back. No sugar for me." He put up one finger and said, "one sugar for me and none for her," to the man behind the counter. "I'll take our luggage to the table while you wait for the espressos."
Lucy settled into a chair opposite Wyatt at the table nearby. "Do you ever think what might have been?" she said. "That baby could have had your brains and my looks"
"What if it had my looks and your brains?"
"Hey, you're not that bad looking."
"And you're not as dumb as you look."
"Hey, is that supposed to be a compliment?" she said slapping his wrist.
"You already have 3 kids. Isn't that enough?"
"I don't have any daughters."
"Everyone knows girls are a lot harder to raise than boys."
"How would you know? You don't have any kids."
"And that's why I don't have any gray hairs," he said, lowering his head.
"I'm running out of time. Can you believe I'll be 45 soon?"
"You're still a kid. Wait till you see what 50 is like."
"What time are we getting to Bordeaux?"
He took the train schedule out of his pocket. "We leave at 3:52 and get there at 6:32. Hopefully they have some good restaurants walking distance from the station. Our hotel is close enough to walk to. Good thing we travelled light."
He looked up as the sun was waning in the Parisian sky. "They said there may be showers but I don't see a cloud in the sky. In fact, we have had perfect weather since we left Michigan 5 days ago. Nothing to complain about there."
"It's funny how you always change the topic to the weather when I bring up a serious topic. Look, what happened in the past is something we can't change. We weren't ready before, but there is still time for us to have a baby of our own. I have a few good years left."
"Lucy, I'm 53 years old. It's not for me at this stage of my life. Why can't you be happy with what you have? Besides, vacations aren't the right time for these heavy conversations. We are supposed to be having fun."
Wyatt took his last sip of espresso, put his Stetson hat back on and stood up. "I better bring our luggage to the track in case the train gets here early. You know the French are surprisingly efficient when it comes to transportation. They are just late when it comes to everything else," he said with a chuckle. "Finish your espresso and I'll meet you on the platform," he said while picking up the suitcases.
Wyatt climbed the steps to the platform slowly, put down the suitcases under the clock that read 3:45 and an neon sign below that said "Train to Bordeaux arriving in 7 minutes. In a few minutes he felt a tugging on his trench coat and looked to his left.
A girl of about 7 years old looked up at him and said, "Daddy, when are we going to get to the hotel?"
Wyatt looked down at her sad eyes as she looked up at him. "I'm not your daddy," Wyatt teplied. "Where are your parents?" He looked around but couldn't find anyone who looked like they might be her parents.
"Let's go downstairs and see if we can find someone to help you," he said.
"Daddy, why are you acting so strange? You are my daddy."
Wyatt escorted her downstairs and noticed the table where he sat only had one espresso cup and Lucy was nowhere to be found. He went back to the man behind the counter at the cafe.
"I'm sorry," said Wyatt. "But do you remember I was here with a woman a few minutes ago and I bought two espressos?" "I can't find that woman now."
The man behind the counter said, "There was no woman. You came in with your daughter and ordered only one espresso."
Wyatt looked at the clock which now showed 3:52, and he raced back to the platform with the girl. Just as he reached the top, a train was pulling out, and Lucy had her head out the window. Wyatt raced to her, but he could not reach her. "Goodbye Wyatt," she called as he waved and faded into the distance. Wyatt looked down at the little girl and crouched so he could look her in the eye.
"Did you see the woman with her head out the window of the train calling to me?"
She looked down and said softly, "Daddy, there was no train. You were imagining it. The train did not get here yet."
"Listen carefully," Wyatt said as he drew her closer. "Who is your mother?"
"Her name was Lucy," she replied. "You told me she died in a train crash when I was two years old. A train from Paris to Bordeaux derailed. You told me it was very fast and she didn't suffer." She paused as tears streamed down from her eyes. "You always say that part. That she didn't suffer. Every year since you have taken me to this train station to remember."
Suddenly the memory came flooding back to Wyatt as he covered his face with his hands. He was there. He could hear the sound of the wheels squealing, the sickening sound of metal crashing in the tunnel. He survived. Lucy did not. Wyatt looked at his daughter closely for the first time and recognized that she did have Lucy's chiseled features, the twinkle in the eye, and silken dirty blonde hair. He held her close and sobbed uncontrollably as the announcement came on the PA speaker, "The next train to Bordeaux is arriving at the station." The announcement somehow made him feel calmer. Maybe it was the realization that he had not missed the train after all. And he finally had the closure that he sought for the last 5 years. The opportunity to see Lucy wave goodbye to him one final time so his grieving heart could begin to heal.
Lucy settled into a chair opposite Wyatt at the table nearby. "Do you ever think what might have been?" she said. "That baby could have had your brains and my looks"
"What if it had my looks and your brains?"
"Hey, you're not that bad looking."
"And you're not as dumb as you look."
"Hey, is that supposed to be a compliment?" she said slapping his wrist.
"You already have 3 kids. Isn't that enough?"
"I don't have any daughters."
"Everyone knows girls are a lot harder to raise than boys."
"How would you know? You don't have any kids."
"And that's why I don't have any gray hairs," he said, lowering his head.
"I'm running out of time. Can you believe I'll be 45 soon?"
"You're still a kid. Wait till you see what 50 is like."
"What time are we getting to Bordeaux?"
He took the train schedule out of his pocket. "We leave at 3:52 and get there at 6:32. Hopefully they have some good restaurants walking distance from the station. Our hotel is close enough to walk to. Good thing we travelled light."
He looked up as the sun was waning in the Parisian sky. "They said there may be showers but I don't see a cloud in the sky. In fact, we have had perfect weather since we left Michigan 5 days ago. Nothing to complain about there."
"It's funny how you always change the topic to the weather when I bring up a serious topic. Look, what happened in the past is something we can't change. We weren't ready before, but there is still time for us to have a baby of our own. I have a few good years left."
"Lucy, I'm 53 years old. It's not for me at this stage of my life. Why can't you be happy with what you have? Besides, vacations aren't the right time for these heavy conversations. We are supposed to be having fun."
Wyatt took his last sip of espresso, put his Stetson hat back on and stood up. "I better bring our luggage to the track in case the train gets here early. You know the French are surprisingly efficient when it comes to transportation. They are just late when it comes to everything else," he said with a chuckle. "Finish your espresso and I'll meet you on the platform," he said while picking up the suitcases.
Wyatt climbed the steps to the platform slowly, put down the suitcases under the clock that read 3:45 and an neon sign below that said "Train to Bordeaux arriving in 7 minutes. In a few minutes he felt a tugging on his trench coat and looked to his left.
A girl of about 7 years old looked up at him and said, "Daddy, when are we going to get to the hotel?"
Wyatt looked down at her sad eyes as she looked up at him. "I'm not your daddy," Wyatt teplied. "Where are your parents?" He looked around but couldn't find anyone who looked like they might be her parents.
"Let's go downstairs and see if we can find someone to help you," he said.
"Daddy, why are you acting so strange? You are my daddy."
Wyatt escorted her downstairs and noticed the table where he sat only had one espresso cup and Lucy was nowhere to be found. He went back to the man behind the counter at the cafe.
"I'm sorry," said Wyatt. "But do you remember I was here with a woman a few minutes ago and I bought two espressos?" "I can't find that woman now."
The man behind the counter said, "There was no woman. You came in with your daughter and ordered only one espresso."
Wyatt looked at the clock which now showed 3:52, and he raced back to the platform with the girl. Just as he reached the top, a train was pulling out, and Lucy had her head out the window. Wyatt raced to her, but he could not reach her. "Goodbye Wyatt," she called as he waved and faded into the distance. Wyatt looked down at the little girl and crouched so he could look her in the eye.
"Did you see the woman with her head out the window of the train calling to me?"
She looked down and said softly, "Daddy, there was no train. You were imagining it. The train did not get here yet."
"Listen carefully," Wyatt said as he drew her closer. "Who is your mother?"
"Her name was Lucy," she replied. "You told me she died in a train crash when I was two years old. A train from Paris to Bordeaux derailed. You told me it was very fast and she didn't suffer." She paused as tears streamed down from her eyes. "You always say that part. That she didn't suffer. Every year since you have taken me to this train station to remember."
Suddenly the memory came flooding back to Wyatt as he covered his face with his hands. He was there. He could hear the sound of the wheels squealing, the sickening sound of metal crashing in the tunnel. He survived. Lucy did not. Wyatt looked at his daughter closely for the first time and recognized that she did have Lucy's chiseled features, the twinkle in the eye, and silken dirty blonde hair. He held her close and sobbed uncontrollably as the announcement came on the PA speaker, "The next train to Bordeaux is arriving at the station." The announcement somehow made him feel calmer. Maybe it was the realization that he had not missed the train after all. And he finally had the closure that he sought for the last 5 years. The opportunity to see Lucy wave goodbye to him one final time so his grieving heart could begin to heal.
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