Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Love is the sweetest thing. . . Part two

You can read the first part of the story right here.

There was a great atmosphere on the station platform around the people meeting the train. Most of the people getting off the train were excited too. There were little children jumping down the steps running to meet grandparents and there were student-aged young people, happy to be home but too cool to let their parents see that.

I waited back near the station door — I thought he would probably be among the last off. The crowd on the platform had begun to disperse; there were a couple of stragglers who jumped off well after everyone else. There were a few people getting on and they mostly waited until the coast was clear. I could see the conductor checking his watch and getting ready to make his legendary announcement. "All aboard!"

I could tell there was no one else getting off. He might like to tease a little by hanging back but he was not cruel and he wouldn't put me in that position. The conductor gave me a little wave and swung himself up into the coach.

The train pulled away and there I was, all alone on the platform.

I drove home and acted as casual as I could. Well, I said to Mum and Dad — after explaining that I was indeed, alone — something must have happened. We'll just have to wait and see.

The minute the long distance rates changed — 7:00 p.m., our time — our phone rang. There he was, contrite and sweet, begging me to understand that something had come up and he simply couldn't get away. He said things had straightened themselves out and he'd definitely be on the train the next day and I should expect him the day after. We chatted a bit although it was a little uncomfortable. He tried to make me feel better and said he could hardly wait to see me.

That's how I reported it to Mum and she was tactful enough to not say anything.

Two days later, I went to the station again. I parked in the same place but when the train pulled in, I stayed in the car. I watched all the activity of people coming and going and when the train pulled out, I backed out of the parking lot and headed home. You can understand, of course, that this was not only puzzling but also humiliating.

My mother was very nice. She didn't ask a lot of questions — I just brushed it off and said something was going on that I hadn't figured out but I'd definitely bring her up to speed when I had enough information.

He called again that evening. He wasn't so much contrite and sweet as he was sheepish and embarrassed. He said he knew how I must be feeling. He said he loved me and missed me. He said he would be on the train the next day, come hell or high water, and although our New Brunswick time would be shorter than planned, at least we could make a few memories together.

I told Mum a bit about the conversation but I omitted the part about his saying he'd be on the train the next day.

The next day, I made up an errand I had to run when the train was due and once more, I drove to the station. I didn't park in the regular lot where the others were parked. I pulled in down the road a bit where there was cinder underfoot, not pavement.

I waited, as I had waited twice before, then I drove home. I stopped and bought a pair of nylons in the 5 & 10. I never said a word to my parents about my third trip to the station.

There was no phone call that evening.

A few days later, Dad drove me to the station. I got on the train, smiled and waved, and went back to Montreal.

(Sorry. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to come back one more time.)

(Here's part three.)

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