Chloe’s Weblog

The trees buzz by becoming a thick green line dividing earth and sky. The young man watches. He wears a tan jacket and a fedora hat. His eyes drift upward from trees to sky. What a contrast. The sky moves slowly, clouds swirling and morphing into new shapes. The train begins to slow and the trees become individual points of green once again. The man looks around aimlessly, almost in a trance, as the other passengers gather their belongings and the conductor announces the stop. The doors open to St. Albans, a small town in Vermont. The man peers out. The cold breeze rushes at him, and he pulls his tan jacket tighter around his neck. He takes a deep breath through his mouth and the cold air feels like knives going down. But he doesn’t really mind. He’s from a suburb near New Orleans, and if the air here burns your throat then he’ll let it. If that’s Vermont. He stumbles out the door and to a coffe shop up the road to get his first cup of coffee in Vermont.

About fifteen minutes later while again boarding the train, he notices a girl to his left, about seventeen, he guesses. Mascara stains her cheeks. She clings to a small tote, holding it tight into her chest. She walks straight to the end of the train, and outside on to the ledge on the back of the caboose. As the wheels begin to turn, she watches the station become farther and farther away. The movement of the train leaves her tears flying behind her, sparklinas they float to the ground far behind, a path between her and where she wishes she still was.

The man in the fedora sits back into his seat and watches the sky again. The sun was just beginning to set. He pulls out a book and begins to read, every once in a while glancing back at the sky with a smile.

In the seat across from him sit a little girl and her father. The father looks content and the girl is grinning ear to ear. “Where are we going, Daddy? Tell me!” The father smiles and shakes his head saying it is a surprise. The girl presses her cheek against her window trying to peer ahead to the tip of the train as if the answer would be just ahead of them.

A man in a suit sat in the row ahead of them. He had a briefcase at his side and a handful of bills and a calculator in his arms. He read over the bills and punched numbers again and again all the while looking at the setting sun or his watch and sighing.

By now the man in the fedora is laying back with his eyes closed, the same smile on his face. The train begins to slow and the conductor announces that they would be a little late on reaching their destination because of a problem with the tracks.

The man with the briefcase sighs again, his hand clenched in a fist. The little girl pouts and asks, “Daddy, why did we stop?” The girl in back is leaning over the railing, still crying. The man in the fedora is asleep, still smiling.