The Train Trip

Writer's Cramp:New Prompt: Write a story or a poem, using a train, a tiger and a tree.


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The Train Ride

          Excited about the train ride, but also kind of scared, Susie hugged her tiger close, needing the soft feel of velvet against her cheek. She noticed her mother frantically hunting through her purse, checking pockets and her wallet.

         “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

         “I can’t find our tickets!”

         “Oh, Mommy, you put them in my backpack, remember?”

         “Bless you, child!” Her mother sighed as she lugged the pink Barbie Doll backpack up onto her lap.

         The conductor stood two seats behind them, tearing stubs. Susie bolted up to watch.

         “Sit down, young lady,” her mother admonished, smoothing down Susie’s new pink dress. The cream-colored satin dress was ruffled at the bottom, with hand-stitched violets across the bodice. Susie thought it made her look like a princess, so she willingly helped her mother rearrange the ruffles.

         “Your tickets, Ma’am,” the conductor said.

         Susie stared up at him, frowning when she saw his stern face. “Are you a grouch?” she blurted out.

         Her mother hushed her immediately, but the conductor only smiled. Susie saw a twinkle in his eye. She smiled back at him.

         “Going to Wichita, I see,” the conductor said as he tucked a slip of paper into the top of their seat. Susie looked up at the overhead compartments, just noticing that each seat had a different colored marker.

         “We’re going to go live with my grandparents,” Susie told the man. “They’re my mommy’s mommy and daddy, and they live on a farm and have real cows, and they even have a horse that I get to ride, and a cat and a dog and . . .”

         “Susie. That’s enough. The conductor has work to do.”

         “Ah, that’s okay,” he said smiling down at Susie. “She reminds me of my daughter when she was that age.”

         “Where's your daughter?” asked Susie, but the conductor had already moved away. Susie hugged her tiger close and whispered to him, “See, that man has a little girl just like me, and he's not a mean old grouch like Mr. Stewart.”

         “Susie,” her mother warned.

         Susie sighed and wiggled her toes. Mommy always got mad when she talked about how mean the landlord acted. But Tiger didn't mind. He understood.

         The train had big windows. Susie could see a whole orchard of trees with big, red apples. “Look at that tree, Mommy,” she said, pointing to one so close she could almost reach out and touch it. “Don’t you wish we could pick an apple?”

         “Are you hungry, sweetie?”

         Susie shook her head and looked down at her brand new white sandals. A smudge marred one. She wet her finger and cleaned it off.

         “Don’t do that! You’ll get your hands dirty.”

         Susie looked up and saw her mother’s face all tied up in worry again. Was she thinking about grumpy old Mr. Stewart . . . or about . . . Daddy?

         Susie wiggled in her seat, trying to get comfortable. The seats smelled like cigarettes . . . and . . . like Daddy. They were prickly, too, scratchy on her legs, just the way Susie felt inside whenever she thought about Daddy being gone . . .

         When Daddy used to live with them, Mommy hadn’t looked worried all the time, and even Mr. Stewart hadn’t acted all mean and grumpy. He used to stop and talk, and sometimes he saved her a cookie when he ate at the Chinese restaurant across the street.

         One time he’d even given her a daisy and told her that if she pulled the petals off one by one, she’d learn the name of the boy she would marry. Susie hadn’t wanted to hurt the flower, but Daddy had teased. “Susie Bell’s afraid to find out who she’s gonna’ marry . . .” So of course she’d had to pluck the flower.

         The last petal to drop down had been an “S.” Daddy and Mr. Stewart had both laughed when Susie said she didn't know any boys with an "S," but Daddy had laughed funny, and he’d kept laughing on and on. Susie hadn't understood why Daddy laughed like that -- it was as if he’d gone away, even though he was still standing beside her.

         That was the last time the landlord ever stopped to chat. After that Mr. Stewart had started yelling at Daddy about the rent, and had turned into an old grump. And Daddy had gotten even stranger, sitting around staring at the wall, and laughing like he'd heard something funny when nobody was even talking.

         Sometimes when Mommy came home, Daddy would be okay for awhile. He’d kid around, and she and Mommy would giggle, but then that look would come, that scary look. Then Daddy would walk away to go sit in his rocking chair, and Mommy would tell her to go play. When that happened, it always meant that Mommy was going to cry.

         Susie glanced up. “Are you okay, Mommy?" Sometimes that question would bring back the mommy smile that Susie loved.

         It worked. Her mother smiled at her and got out her favorite book.

         Susie relaxed then. She loved the tale of the Runaway Bunny, and she always giggled when the little bunny changed into something because she knew his mother would change, too. It gave her a good feeling, hearing that story.

         Susie curled up against her mother and gave her a big, juicy kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Mommy, and I’ll never run away from you.”

         Her mother paused in the story to smile down at her. Susie wiggled a little bit closer and leaned against her mother's soft warmth.

         Susie knew the story by heart so she didn’t have to pay attention. Instead, she listened to the sound of her mother’s heartbeat, and she tried to understand why some daddies run away . . . just like little bunnies.

         A tear dropped from her eye. It surprised her. She hadn't meant to cry. She wiped it quickly before her mother could see. Then she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the train racing over the tracks. The pattern of it was like a musical song, a rhythm that continued on and on.

          The train song was a happy song, like it was eager to go forward someplace really good.

         Susie smiled and let the sound of her mother's voice blend with that steady train song. The Runaway Bunny had no father either. Maybe that was the way things were supposed to be. Maybe only mommies were there forever, but Grandpa was a daddy, and the conductor was one, too.

         The train beat the rhythm of the click, click, click, her mother read on and on, and Susie, continued with her sorting, shifting, and trying to understand about runaway bunnies and life.


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