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Chapter 1
Does this ever happen to you? You think of a story and begin writing it and write about 21,505 words and then you ignore the story for about a year? Yeah...me too. I'm so sick of not writing, of this thing just being something I started. I've decided that I'm going to start working on it again. Today I'm including a portion of this story for my blog post. On 7 November 2012 I included another portion of this story (a bit that follows this chapter...). If you're interested in reading that post again, the link to it is: HERE.
This is a bit long. I hope it's worth your time, and I hope it gets my posterior in gear to get back into the writing saddle and go to town. Wish me luck!
This is a bit long. I hope it's worth your time, and I hope it gets my posterior in gear to get back into the writing saddle and go to town. Wish me luck!
Chapter 1
The train
that transported Susan McDonald to her job in Washington D.C. was late causing the mass of
humanity already waiting on the train platform to curse the lightly falling
snow. They also cursed the bitter cold front that descended upon the east coast
as the commuters now standing on the Alexander Union Station silently
stood. The gray sky introduced the laborers to the morning of April 15, 1977.
The cold
air engulfed Susan as she wrapped the wool coat tighter around her shivering
shoulders. Like most mornings the 28-year old managed to stand right behind
“him,” though Susan didn’t know who “he” was. She only knew he was an
incredibly handsome man who took the same 6:37 a.m. train into the city to work
that she did. Ever since Susan began her job with the United States Department
of Commerce the summer before—a job she was hating more and more with each
passing day—the stranger stood in the same general vicinity on the platform to
catch a train the two shared with the morose mob.
He wore his horsehide coat this
morning, Susan thought as she bounced lightly on the tips of her toes trying in
vain to keep blood coursing through her extremities. She thought the man might
wear his London Fog trench coat that morning. She hoped the snow wouldn’t get
any worse, for she was more concerned for the man’s coat than her own struggle
to keep warm. The man lifted his left hand to check his watch. As he did a
gleam of light glittering off the man’s gold wedding band; Susan noticed. The
small spark of life in the cold gray world shot like tiny daggers into Susan’s
heart. Again, just as she had done numerous mornings before, Susan sought
comfort in her pity. He should really be wearing his gloves, Susan almost said
out loud as she saw the man’s pink fingers surrounding the gold band disappear
into the deep warm pocket of the coat.
The train
rounded the final turn approaching the station and as the huge metal behemoth
slowed, piercing sounds from the train’s whistle ripped the air. The train
stopped and the moving mass crept aboard, each rider choosing a place to sit on
the cold plastic seats adorned in pastel blues and dull browns, the chosen
colors of the Manassas Railway years earlier. The mystery man took a seat as
far from the door as possible. Susan McDonald sat on a seat close to him, but
not close enough for her to ever speak to the tall man sitting alone on a cold
bench. Susan stole one final look almost daring the man to look in her
direction before she turned away. The man did not look at Susan, but with suave
motions, retrieved a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and lit a
cigarette. Susan only heard the sound of expelled carcinogens being released
into the frigid air as she nonchalantly looked elsewhere.
As the
train lumbered toward Washington D.C. Susan watched through the small Plexiglas
window as the darkened scenery flew by. The divorcee, whose married ended three
years earlier when her immature husband finally agreed that it would be better
for two people to live miserably apart than miserably together, used the
morning commute as an escape. She often pictured the train ride as a
representation of a commute to Hell. The though vanished as the train passed
another intersection where several cars waited for the train to pass.
Bored by the view, Susan glanced
around the car being careful not to catch his
attention. In the seat across from Susan sat a woman reading The Washington
Post. A headline on the front page below the fold caught the young
woman’s attention. The angle was bad so Susan wondered if she read the headline
correctly. In a manner as to not give anyone the impression she was doing
exactly what she was doing, Susan shifted in her chair and looked again. The
bold Bureau Roman font headline read: Arlington N.O.W. Chapter Urge Unwed
First-Time Mothers-To-Be To Seek Health Options. Susan could not read the
article’s fine print, but felt no need to do so. Right after her divorce Susan
attended an event at the Arlington branch of the National Organization of
Women. A coworker at the Department of the Interior invited her to a mixer at
Ford’s Theater. She went hoping to find a sorority where the E.R.A. and other
important women’s issues could be discussed. She left early after finding the
whole experience less than uplifting when the atmosphere at the mixer felt more
like a political rally and less than an opportunity for educational discussion surrounding
the Equal Rights Amendment and its success of actually passing. Susan had not
thought about that night for years…how many years, she wondered. Two? Three?
How time flies.
With the
interior of the train car offering little as far as mental stimulation, Susan
returned to watch the world outside the cold plastic window. She sat backward
in the car so that she saw the places the train had just passed. It reminded
her of her youth and riding in the backseat of her family’s station wagon. As a
child she had loved seeing where she had just been.
Susan
watched the office buildings, storefronts, and front yards fly by, the cold
ground matched her spirits. A gleam from the east caught her attention while
the aluminum-sided train coursed through the sleepy D.C. suburb; the first
golden rays of the morning sun arrived bringing color to the slate-gray
countryside.
As the
sun’s ray crept across the landscape, the train headed toward the 14th
Street Bridge under which the slow-moving Potomac River silently flowed. Susan
scanned the river, transfixed by the millions of light refractions as light and
water mixed on the river’s surface. Susan wondered if anyone on the train saw
the incredible light show she was now enjoying on this cold April morning.
Probably not…
The train
entered the bridge; Susan continued watching the water. The ambient sounds of
the train changed as the earth fell away from the tracks and the train crossed
the bridge. Susan’s eye focused on the shore quickly retreating in the distance
and noticed the land gently rising from the water’s edge. The tranquil vision
of the shore was interrupted by the huge metal supports of the bridge which
gave the scene an quality similar to watching a movie where the speed in which
the human eye processes motion is manipulated and life as processed by the
sense of sight no longer reflects a representation of truth.
As the
train continued Susan decided her momentary escape from reality should end. But
before she did, she took one last look at the west shore. Something had caught
her eye. There was something small that could be seen softly bobbing atop the
pristine surface of the water not far from the frosted coast. The distance
between Susan and the object made properly identifying the object difficult. Of
course, the first thought she had caused Susan to laugh out loud for what Susan
thought she saw seemed so out of place that simple logic pushed the idea from
her mind. Because what she thought she saw floating tenderly down the Potomac
River on that cold April morning was a picnic basket.
*The Award-winning photo was used without permission from the following website: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mbell1975/6846843402/
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