Early Morning Locomotion

Every morning began the same. The children in the town would wake up early, quickly eat whatever breakfast their mother had managed to place in front of them and bolt out the door, making their way down to the tracks. There they'd wait. For the ground to begin rumbling underneath their feet. Those without shoes always knew before the others - keeping it to themselves as a surprise. Some days, depending on how the wind was blowing, they'd know ahead of time when the train was going to come around the bend - its trail of black smoke rising into the air.

When they could hear the grinding of the wheels against the cold steel tracks, the running began. Usually the smaller and younger children began first, leading the way. Their little legs pumping as fast as they could. Somewhere deep within their mind they thought they'd be able to outrun the train, even with the head start, but it was never the case. They'd be halfway down the road, past the first curve by the time the train came barreling around the bend and it didn't matter. Whether they grew too tired or just weren't fast enough, the train would always pass them.

Many of the older children were patient enough to wait to see the train before they took off down the road. For many of them, it was a game - who could outrun each other and who could outrun the train the longest. It didn't ever take them long to overtake the younger group that had started running before them. As they passed, they'd reach out and tussle their hair, playfully jeering some of them, while encouraging others. Some of the older boys would even slow down for a bit, running with the pack, in between all of them. Whenever this happened, all the younger boys would smile ear to ear and the girls would swoon.

As the train caught up, the men on board would lean out of the windows, cheering and waving their arms - beating the sides of the train. Many of their children made up the group. Occasionally, one of the older boys would hop up on the running boards, handing off a paper bag to their father - their lunch for the day neatly wrapped up in a tiny care package. All the others kids would watch in awe as those hanging off the train zoomed by. They looked majestic, hanging off the side, wind blowing through their hair, flapping their clothes. It was like they were untouchable when aboard the train, free from the constraints of the Earth. As if they were flying.

It never took too long for the train to finally pull away from the pack, but for the short while that the children were able to keep up with it, they felt special. The simple words of encouragement that poured out of the train from their fathers resonated deep within them, propelling the children forward, as if they were invincible, able to run with it forever. It made them feel loved.

None of them ever made it past the second bend, but then again, none of them ever expected to. Once the train disappeared around the mountain, they'd continue on their way to school, already anxious for the day to finish and to make it back to the tracks.

After all, the train had to bring their fathers back home.

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