She was coming for the weekend. Not a holiday really. Just a few days in November.
She was coming with her dog and her new brown suitcase that I had given her.
I couldn’t see her but knew she was there. In New York City. Penn train station. Waiting in the long queue that forms in front of the Dunkin Donuts.
She climbed aboard looking for a seat. Really two so she could manage her dog, his case, her new brown suitcase and canvas backpack.
The girl in front of her already had her headphones on. Typing in rhythm to the unseen passengers shuffling by.
The couple to the left were eating. Having a midday picnic. Sesame bagels and lattes and hardcover books and magazines and phones already plugged in. They had planned ahead.
She sat by the window and as she moved north she watched the Hudson River and the straggly fall weeds that scattered along the shore.
For two hours the trainman walked the aisles announcing the stops until they landed at her exit.
I saw her as she exited the train. Canvas backpack. New brown suitcase. Beige dog. Stopping on the wobbly yellow footstool to look around.
I was there. Waving. A familiar little lump in my throat as I watched this beloved girl bobbing along at the back of the line of oncomers.
That girl on the train was home now.