Page 38 of Leaving the Station
“Thank you,” the mom whispers. “That’s Alberto. Or Bert. I’m still trying to figure out which to call him. And I’m Elaine.”
Alberto/Bert squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s planning on crying, but I bounce him a little and he stops.
“You have the magic touch,” Elaine tells me.
“I don’t think so,” I say quietly as I stare at him. He’s so small and... human.
And then Elaine starts crying too.
“I’m so sorry,” she mutters through tears.
I don’t know how to comfort her, so I bounce her son and makegentle shushing noises in the hopes that what works for him will help her as well.
“I can’t do this on my own,” she whispers, and it’s unclear if she’s telling me or just admitting it aloud.
Now Ireallydon’t know how to comfort her. I don’t have anywhere close to the same level of responsibility that she has, and even so, I’ve dropped the ball.
But whenIdropped the ball, it was only me who suffered. My grades slipped; my life felt like it wasn’t mine anymore. Still, I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself.
Elaine can’t drop the ball, even if she wants to. She’s got this small helpless person who relies on her for everything.
But maybe I can relieve some of that pressure.
“Do you want me to take him for a little while?” I ask, and she nods gratefully through hiccups.
When Oakley arrives back in the observation car, the sight that greets her is me sitting with an infant strapped to my chest in a BabyBjörn.
“I hesitate to ask,” she begins.
“Shhhh,” I tell her, then mouth,Baby sleeping.
It’s mostly a joke, because Alberto/Bert can apparently sleep through anything. The train bumps and clangs over the tracks, and he keeps snoozing.
“How did you acquire a baby?” Oakley asks as she slides into the seat next to mine.
“You said, ‘Find the youngest person on the train.’”
“I didn’t meankidnaphim.”
When I explain the truth of the matter, Oakley is only slightly less concerned.
“So, where’s the oldest passenger on the train?” I ask to fill the silence.
“I tried to strap her to my chest, but she didn’t quite fit.”
“Ha, ha.” I roll my eyes.
“Her name is Nellie and she’s one hundred and two.”
“How do you know she’s the oldest person on the train?” I ask while hiding my surprise that someone that old is taking a journey this long.
“The same way you know your baby is the youngest one.”
“Fair enough,” I admit, and as if in response, Alberto/Bert wraps his miniscule hand around my pinkie finger.
Oakley leans back in her seat. “Nellie was telling me about how train travel used to be luxurious.”
I point around the stained, beat-up observation car. “More luxurious thanthis?”
