One of the biggest things that has happened, is me knowing that something was going to happen. Like an animal constantly sniffing the air I knew that danger was coming. I couldn’t tell you when I sensed a change was about. But I knew the minute she walked into my house who the predator was.
By November of last year I said to a friend that I felt a train was coming. I could feel it as in the old cowboy and Indian films when a Native American had their ear to the train tracks to hear the rumbling. I just didn’t know when it would come. How fast. How hard. I knew there was a chance I would be hit by it. That I could be obliterated by it.
By Christmas I could hear it and feel it in every movement. It was in my house, moving around my husband. It was in our van with the mysteriously moving mirror cover which moved even tho I hadn’t been in the van. Every time I got in it it was half open. It was in the way he kissed me. It was the way he looked at me.
When the train came in he was on it. He was on the bloody train. She was the driver: Skankypants and he was with her. I managed to get the boys safely behind me and I did my best to get him off that bloody train. The train that would derail and ruin him. If he carried on the train he would self destruct. He would be lost forever to me. The boys would never forgive him for leaving us for her. Was it even her he was leaving for? Did he just want to find something because he felt so lost. His career was teetering, his boys grown up, he needed glasses to see and hearing aids after years of damage was it any wonder that a new shiny toy might be just what he thought he wanted.
I managed, like a Native American riding a horse along side the train ( back to old movies again) I dragged him off that train. We landed on the platform. Disorientated. Whirled around by the whoosh as it passed us. Smoke in our faces. The taste of tears from the impact. Checking for injuries. Only the train slowed down. It has more carriages than I had allowed for. I could see him looking at it. He saw a shiny steam train that was unusual and interesting and everyone else thought wonderful. I saw smelly, worn around the edges with bad touch ups and had had a fair few people ride in it ( if you know what I mean).
The train waited for him, the slow heady sound of a waiting locomotive.
I looked at him and he looked at me. The more I look at him and he looks at me the less I can tell if there’s a train still there, waiting. And if it is. Does it matter if he’s not going to get on it? If he has stopped looking for the train does it matter anymore. If all he sees is me.
If you have ever seen a mother scold her child when he has run off and she can’t find him reunited she is panic stricken and trembling she flies between kissing and berating them.
He got off the train to be with me. He wanted me. But I couldn’t understand why he’d been playing by the railway track anyway. Didn’t he know it was dangerous? I couldn’t watch him board the train. I heard it leave. I felt my tomahawk fall to the floor. I guess I was never going to win. But I would choose to be an Indian any day of the week. Fearless, strong and courageous. When the train derails I won’t be there.
Strength + courage = fearless