Erik Rides a Train

Early Spring 1967

The 1402 pulls into Concord at 9:05 AM. Right on time. The train slows to a stop. A man on the train lowers his newspaper, folding it on his lap. From his seat he sees a small boy standing on the platform with his mother. As the doors open, the boy breaks from his mother’s hand and races into the car. The boy looks around quickly and climbs onto the bench seat opposite the man crawling quickly across the seat on his knees before twisting and sitting. His knees do not reach the edge of the seat so his legs stick out straight; his boots, wet from the spring slush, drip onto the floor. The boy turns to the window and waves at his mother who, curiously, waves quickly and then runs toward the parking lot. The boy smiles and waves but the woman is gone. As the train’s air brakes hiss and the doors close, the man looks across the platform to see the woman racing to a waiting VW bus.

The boy sits quietly, his hands gently rubbing the leather seat worn smooth by countless commuters before him. The man opens his paper and scans the sports section. The Bruins lost another one and seem mired in the middle of the their division. A disappointment, the man thinks, given the talent on the team, Cheevers, Orr and Esposito.

The train races toward Boston, rocking gently, the rhythmic clacking of wheel on track. The boy pulls his feet onto the seat and considers standing but, looking toward the man, tucks his boots beneath himself and kneels, one hand braced on the seat in front of him and the other pressed against the window. Houses, trees, cars pass in shades of grey and brown, the color of early spring in New England. The boy stares out the window, occasionally turning his head quickly as this or that catches his eye. The man sits with his paper now folded atop the briefcase on his lap.

“What’s your name?” the man asks cautiously.

The boy turns his head to the man without shifting his body, “Erik”.

“Do you like trains, Erik?”

“I love trains!”

The boy is beaming. Huge brown eyes and rosy cheeks framed by a wool hat pulled over his ears and a winter coat zipped to the neck.

“Have you ridden on a train before, Erik?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve ridden trains before,” Erik replies, turning back to the window.

The man looks beyond Erik as the train passes a barn on the outskirts of Acton, and then after a moment says “Have you ridden a train alone before, Erik?”

“No,” Erik says without turning to the man.

“Oh well, this is an exciting day for you.”

The man pauses. He looks around the car but on a Saturday morning the train is largely empty. Toward the rear of the car, a group of teenagers sit in a tight clutch, laughing. A little closer an elderly couple share a seat. The woman stares out the window absently as the man flips the pages of a Time magazine – a psychedelic image of “James Taylor - The New Rock” - graces the cover. Erik is indeed alone.

The man turns back to Erik who hasn’t moved. He sits transfixed at the window.

“Erik?” the man says, and then after a pause, “How old are you?”

Erik turns to the man and, carefully removing his hand from the seat before him, holds out three fingers. “I’m three. Today is my birthday. I told my mom and dad that for my birthday I wanted to ride a train all by myself. They said I could but only for one stop.”

The train shifts a little, enough to unbalance Erik who quickly returns his hand to its bracing position. Then he turns back toward the glass.

“Well isn’t that a special present. Riding the train alone. You are a big boy. ” The man says, but Erik isn’t listening.

As the train approaches the West Acton stop, it slows and Erik tracks first houses, then the train signal poles, and finally passengers who wait on the platform ready to board. The man finds himself leaning across the aisle, searching the platform for Erik’s mother. He looks beyond at the cars, searching for the VW bus, but sees nothing.

The train comes to a stop and the doors open. The man stands to scan the platform. Nothing. And then the parking lot. Nothing. Passengers board and find a seat. Two construction workers brush past the man who is now leaning into the aisle, searching. Their metal lunchboxes clunk on the seatbacks. As they pass, the man smells wet canvas and concrete. Erik watches them pass. The men are giants who lumber toward the back of the car. Through Erik’s window, the man sees someone racing across the platform: Erik’s mother. Erik turns and sees her as well, then climbs down from his seat and runs toward the open door where she greets him with a hug on the platform as the doors close.

As the train pulls away from the platform the man sees Erik and his mother walking toward the waiting VW. The train’s whistle blows and Erik stops and turns. Without thinking the man waves but Erik does not see him. The man turns to his paper but then folds it in his lap and gazes out the window to enjoy the train ride.

(Erik is Ted/Karen/Steve's first cousin (paternal))