February 17, 2025
Greetings from the moment,
He raked the loose coal down from the tender onto the steel plate floor of the locomotive, and then stood with his legs apart and began shoveling, swinging his big square blade from the coal to the maw of the firebox. The flames fought and sought and flickered and became one living thing. The train beneath him roared forward.
He leaned against the iron support in the cab, and noticed the calendar low on the wall, fluttering near the driver’s stool. He reached down and pulled the date off; fourteen. He held it for a moment, knowing there was something he was supposed to remember about this. He ran his thumb over the paper, left a greasy trail from the coal soot, the shape of a V. He wadded the paper and tossed it into the firebox. The fire whirled in gratitude.
He worked, feeling his labor connected to the clambering wheels and pistons, swiveling back and forth, shoveling mounds of the black ore into the firebox, the sweat cutting clean lines in his dirty face and neck. He worked until he knew it was enough, more intuition than gauges, and slammed the iron door shut. He flung the shovel into the corner and wagged his thumb at the engineer that he was heading back.
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He pulled himself up the three metal rungs that were welded to the tender and clambered up onto the mound of coal. The chunks shifted under his feet as he scrambled toward the back of the car, balancing against the rocking of the train. He dropped onto the platform between the tender and the first passenger car, feeling the winter air reach the sweat on his skin.
Ethan was a hulking presence anywhere but outdoors. He was not usually welcomed in the passenger cars, in part because he smelled like smoke and grease, and in part because he sometimes frightened the paying riders. But he had an understanding with the porter in the club car for his lunch, and there was only one way to get it.
He strode through the first two cars, avoiding the eyes of the passengers who looked up at him. He stepped onto the next open platform, the clatter of the train now bold in the open air. As he reached for the brass handle to slide the next door open, he glanced down into the space between the cars. The coupling mechanism, a crude fist of metal, floated above the blur of the track ties whipping by below. There in the hollow space beneath the platform, he saw her.
He knew that hobos would hide in slings under the cars, that was not a surprise. What startled him, what he knew as certain as he could feel his own breath, was that this was a woman. Even wrapped as she was in a coarse gray blanket, her face and hair hidden, he knew. For that moment, he held her eyes, and knew she was aware he’d seen her. She raised her eyebrows, acknowledging him, and her emerald eyes nearly glowed in the dim shadow beneath the train.
He blinked, shook off a strange sensation, and then turned back to the door, shoved it open and stepped into the warmth of the car. Hobos were not his concern. He held the edges of the seats as he passed through the car, made his way to the wooden bar at the back where his friend handed him a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, and a large metal mug of coffee.
He made his back toward the front, maneuvering through the door with his hands full, and nearly tripped on the woman sitting on the platform outside.
“What in the world…” he said, startled, trying to regain his balance.
“Good morning to you, too,” she said, a little too comfortably for his liking. “What have you brought me?” she asked, smiling, and pointed at the wax paper he held.
Ethan paused for a moment, swept up by the surprise, and her beautiful smile. He set the mug down and almost without thinking broke the sandwich in half and handed it over. The woman was already sipping from the coffee when she took the food.
She gathered the blanket around her and leaned back against the steel wall and folded her legs in front of her. Ethan was struck by her ease, having just climbed from under a train. She held the sandwich in one hand, looked up at him smiling.
“Who are you?” she asked. It was a simple question, but somehow Ethan heard a playfulness, and something else in it.
“I’m…I’m the fireman,” he said, a little defensively. In truth, for a moment he’d forgotten his name.
She gave off a small laugh, a bit of music he would describe for years later. “Well, Fireman, I am getting the impression you don’t remember me.” She gave him a patient look.
Ethan was at a loss. He rarely talked to anyone, certainly not women from under trains, and it seemed impossible that he had somehow met this person before. He eased down and sat on the cold platform next to her.
She reached into a large pocket in the heavy coat she wore under the blanket and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him.
“I’m not complaining, really,” she said, “but you never remember. I know it’s natural, but still… makes a girl wonder.”
He unfolded the paper. It was the number fourteen, torn from a calendar. Across it was a dirty streak in the shape of a V. He swallowed, and looked at her. “What magic is this?” he whispered.
The laugh again. “Oh, Fireman, we are never bored, are we?” The woman poked him in the shoulder.
“Who,…are you?” He asked, still softly, holding the page of the calendar out between them.
She leaned in. “Ok, now we are getting closer. Hm. I think this time you should call me Esme.”
“Esme,” said Ethan, reflexively. It was familiar, but he had never met anyone with the name, never met anyone like her. There was something brilliant inside her.
Her face seemed to be moving constantly, smiling, licking her lips, eyes darting. Her head wagged as she talked, and now without the blanket covering her he could see her hair was nearly black, tied into a thick braid. He felt something familiar and still unsettling. He also had the sensation of this conversation happening once before, as if he’d overheard it.
“Ok,” she took a big breath: “Every year, Fireman, on the fourteenth day of the second month, we find each other. It has always been, always. One time you were a doctor in a clinic in Philadelphia. One time I was a helicopter pilot. Once I ran a gambling barge on the Mississippi. Oh, gawd you hated that.”
“What is a helicopter?” he asked, his mouth stumbling over the word.
“Never mind, sorry, it’s not important.” She bit into the sandwich, spoke as she chewed. “Once you were a sequoia and I was a dragonfly, which really was wonderful. One of those times that went on for eternity. Almost.”
Slowly Ethan began to realize what she was describing and felt just the lightest tingle of recognition. And something else. He felt unhinged, disoriented but couldn’t break away from her.
“We know each other, from some other…” he waved a hand in front of his eyes. “…place?”
“It’s not just us, Fireman. Everyone,” she waved her arm, “everyone you see, it’s happening to. Even that guy with the garlic breath who works with you…”
“Aaron? The engineer?” Ethan blew out a breath. Aaron was as dull as mud.
“Yup. We can’t see it, but it happens in slivers of time we will probably never be able to understand. Not important to understand it.”
“You mean everyone is having this same…experience?” he asked, now feeling the truth in it, now feeling the images from the other times begin to surface.
“Not entirely,” she said, chewing again, and washing it down with his coffee. “Everyone feels it differently, and of course it’s not just humans, so the animals and trees have a completely different adventure. What really varies is how long it lasts. Or seems to.”
The train roared through an empty station, past the water crane, the coal chute, the switch yard, and barreled back into the open plain, covered in snow. The cow catcher blew the drifts on the tracks into giant plumes of white, and it seemed as if the train were on the edge of the ocean’s surf.
Ethan lifted the schooner of coffee and took a drink, still looking into her eyes. Then he asked, “Esme, are we, um… are we dead?”
“Oh that’s so lovely, no, my sweet Fireman. We are the furthest from it, in fact, this is when we are most fully alive.” She leaned forward and touched his face, rubbed a little of the coal soot.
They looked at each other long enough for the last of the fog to dissolve. She finally became clear to him, and they both felt the recognition. She reached for his enormous, scarred hands, which were trembling.
“How long do we stay like this. Together?” he asked.
She wagged her head, and he saw the little girl in her. “We never know, but time passes differently when we are together, so it’s silly to try to guess. Each breath might be years long. What you have always said is that we simply must treasure each moment, not measure it.”
“Now I remember,” he said. “Now I remember what this is. This is I love you.”
“Yes!” she laughed, a husky new sound, and reached up and kissed him. “Yes that’s right, My Heart. I love you. That’s why we are here.”
From across the wide-open place the train arrowed through the winter, over trestles and through clusters of aspens. The stack painted the sky above with a white cloud, churning into the sky above the cars. A knot of starlings whirled into the blue, and swelled and vanished.
But on the train the world had paused, even the snowflakes held still in the air around the cars. A single sparrow was frozen in place, wings open in anticipation. There was no sound of engine or steam, even the fire was motionless. No one moved except Ethan and Esme. He held her hand as they stepped down the iron treads and into the white crepe of snow. They looked back once at the train, and then walked into their time.
Hope this finds you treasuring,
David
Copyright © 2025 David Smith
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