The 4:10 Train

Tuesday, Oct. 23, 2012-
The train pulled into the station with a Baroque basso rumble and a metallic screech in a blur of motion and a stream of light.

It was sleekly gray, with a trailing blue fog in an otherwise clear, cool afternoon. The only sound it made as the brakes brought it to a full stop, was a hiss. There were only 4 cars at the very top of the mostly empty platform.
I sat in the car and watched people get out of the train as I do every day at 4:10. The dog wagged her tail, in Pavlovian anticipation of my daughter approaching the car. Each afternoon picking her up at the station was one of the most pleasant parts of my day. I usually get there a little early and enjoy the quiet . I used to ride the same train from this same station almost 40 years ago. This was a picturesque scene of a small town rail station, in a town where time appeared to have stood still. My perfect daughter, in her first year of prep school, was commuting to and from the city. She is grown up, yet she always looks so tiny and vulnerable stepping off that massive train. I always watch her approach the car with awe and pride for the way she has turned out. My eyes fill up sometimes, and I have to wipe them dry before she sees me. My dreams of contentment came true .

In many cases, a dream of contentment is elusive. It constantly outdistances us. Yearning and harmony evolve into another unrequited desire . But not with this dream. Not her.
It was perfect .

Part of the allure of something perfect is its fragility. At any point, the delicate and immaculate can become irrevocably tarnished.
That allure may be true for roses and hummingbirds, or a souffle`, but when my little girl didn't get off the train, my heart sank.

It pulled away ,without her and my mind was racing. I tried to abate my anxiety. I called her phone, but it rang once and went to voicemail.
Maybe she missed the train , and her phone was dead? Would I drive back to Boston? Would I wait to hear from her? Was something irrevocably wrong?

Panic and adrenaline crept up. Perception alters the entire atmosphere in ways that aren't immediately recognizable or physically visible. I tried to remain centered .

Psalm 118:24:..."This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it. Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us ..." I remembered my favorite Psalm which says that it isn't the burdens of today that are the problem. It is the regret and fear that rob us of joy.

Suddenly the phone rang . It was strange number. Is this the abductor calling to demand random? Is this someone from an accident scene that found my number in her possessions?

It was her. Alive! Not kidnapped! She had missed her stop and had gotten off at the next stop a mile away. Not having run away with a cult group! Whew! Relief melted over me.

I laughed at myself as I pulled out of the parking lot, and drove down the street towards the other station.

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