Lines to Nora

Felicia stepped over three pretzels and a Cheeto that lay in the aisle, then chose the only vacant seat. The train inched forward. No window seats? Felicia had hoped to see the seventy-mile stretch of coastline.

The hospital's noise, combined with her sister’s condition, had equaled two sleepless nights. But on such a crowded train Felicia determined to stay awake.

She’d watch for a window seat to vacate. Maybe the next stop. Surely before the train left the city to climb northward. The hills would be green this time of year, and the coast would console her.

Felicia took out a KitKat she’d gleaned from a candy dish at the nurse’s station. The nurse’s nametag had said “Lead Nurse,” and she'd walked Felicia to the end of the hallway and whispered, "Your sister’s addiction is troubling.”

Felicia had nodded. She'd glanced at the KitKat in her hand, then at the elevator door.

“If you’re a devoted sister, pray the rosary.” The nurse squeezed Felicia’s shoulder and frowned when Felicia said nothing.

It felt like a push to be pious—to pretend she was someone she wasn’t. Felicia thanked the nurse for watching over Nora. Then she slipped the KitKat in her purse and took the elevator to the parking garage.

Her rental car was parked at a different level than she’d remembered, delaying her by thirty minutes. She was late getting to the train station, too late for a suitable seat.

As the train swayed away from the city, Felicia grieved. A thick fog shrouded the view and made the skyscrapers appear nonexistent. She envisioned winters in Southern California were comfortable, never bleak.

Bleak was leaving Nora languishing in the hospital.

She’d spent weeks at a time in Los Angeles, usually in summer, visiting Nora. Nora was older, so Felicia had never mentioned her suspicion. Addictions, Felicia heard, were tricky. What if she said the wrong thing? And who would she have told?

Again, Felicia counted the hours ahead. She texted her neighbor, “You’ll pick me up at the train station, 10 pm?”

The passenger next to her stood and left when the train stopped. Felicia slid to the window seat. The train lingered longer than expected—till Felicia remembered, here, the trains swapped tracks. She felt a lurch as the train moved in reverse to merge with the northward track.

It wouldn’t have mattered. She had her window seat. But, in reverse, her view now faced east, opposite of the Pacific. And worse were the telephone poles that lined the tracks. Each one blurred past as the train gathered speed. Felicia counted the poles. Whoosh. Whoosh. Flashing into view, pressing her with fury. No hope for rest. Then came dizziness.

She closed her eyes. She wouldn’t cry, neither would she sleep.

She considered praying, unsure how to begin. Leaving Nora in the hospital felt wrong. Was Felicia supposed to abandon her work this final semester of her creative-writing degree?

The years she'd spent apart from Nora blurred by, just like the telephone poles.

And just as regret rose up, so did the the nurse’s exhortation.

Felicia knew God was Creator. Jesus healed people in Bible stories. Compassionate, merciful, she surmised adjectives of what she’d read about Jesus, God the Son, God incarnate. She knew it possible for God to remember Nora, even as she, the devoted sister headed further north, farther and farther away.

She opened her eyes.

“Miss,” a woman called from across the aisle. “You look car sick. Train sick. Are you unwell? Here, take an apple juice. We brought plenty.”

Felicia reached for the juice box.

The juice distracted. A gift of momentary reprise. Felicia kept her eyes closed, avoiding eye contact with the woman. Her children screeched answers to trivia cards, while outside their window a sliver of the coast peeked and glimmered. 

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When Felicia awoke, the train was empty of both people and noise.

She stood. Had she slept through the coastline, even the sunset? Night was all around the train as it glided through rural darkness.

Felicia stood at the window and bent, in search of the moon, but there was none. Her watch said 8:05 pm.

She pressed her forehead to the window and squinted. Outside, the vast world stunned her.

A word rose in her throat as she stared at the quiet land. Peace.

She felt as if she must speak. No one could hear. The train was empty, after all.

Her voice sputtered. Then she whispered, “You can, God. You do. You are.”

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Later, she wrote some lines—a poem—she’d send in a card to Nora.

A sinking sun lures faith to expect

Even moonless nights birth daylight next.

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Romans 1:19-20 “For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in things that have been made. So they are without excuse” (ESV).

Psalm 19:1 “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork” (ESV).

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(Above photo of train by Laura Seaman from Unsplash website)