praying for a train

Last night I did some backtracking through my life.  

Lugged my tired 9 yr old from the lights of the gym out into a somber evening and a cold car.

A storm is drifting in.  The fight is on; BC's son has told his mother he wants to live with us full time.  The papers are filed with the school district. And the phone calls have started.  I fear war has been declared between 2 households that walk on a fragile, often false peace.  My baby is unsure about what is about to happen to her family, the good and the bad.  Her little face pressed tight to the glass, her fingers tracing flashes of brightness in the dark.  

On the freeway I drove the drive of a thousand moments over road so familiar I dream it in perfect detail.  Exiting early, driving 700 East turning left down our old street.  Past the Hollywood house BC build.

The house where all 4 kids lived as a family.  

"I don't remember living there." She said.
Past my old house, "That's okay I don't remember living there." I answered lying to us both. Right.  Left.  Right.  Past the Park Street house BC build.  

"Do you want ice cream?"  I asked.  The answer was obvious.  

With a slightly leaning chocolate vanilla cone in her hand she traces the rising and falling street lights with her eyes down 1700 South.  The red flashing of the crossing coming into view.  

"What do you think of that train?"  I ask her.  

She kisses the soft creamy coldness.  

"I think it is a good place for a train."  

And I agreed, turning off the engine.  

And we sat in the darkness watching the cars rumble by savoring the moment.  

Alone, together.  

Our life waiting for us on the other side.