Boyhood
by: Billy Collins
Alone in the basement,
I would sometimes lower one eye
to the level of the narrow train track
to watch the puffing locomotive
pull the cars around a curve
then bear down on me with its dazzling eye.
What was in those moments
before I lifted my head and let the train
go rocking by under my nose?
I remember not caring much
about the fake grass or the buildings
that made up the miniature town.
The same went for the station and the master,
the crossing gates and flashing lights,
the milk car, the pencil-size logs,
the metallic men and women,
the dangling water tower,
and the round mirror for a pond.
All I wanted was to be blinded
over and over by this shaking light
as the train stuck fast to its oval course.
Or better still, to close my eyes,
to stay there on the cold narrow rails
and let the train tunnel through me
the way it tunneled through the mountain
painted the color of rock,
and then there would be nothing
but the long whistling through the dark--
no basement, no boy,
no everlasting summer afternoon.
I remember those long, long days as a kid. Summer vacation seemed to last forever, each moment an eternity. As you get older, time has a way of speeding up like a runaway train. One day, you're twelve, and the next, you're planning for retirement.
Today was one of those long, quiet days that seemed to stretch and stretch, where the horizon never gets any closer. I was supposed to take my son and niece on a Pictured Rocks boat cruise in the afternoon. Had the tickets all purchased. Then I received a text a little after 8 a.m. saying that all the cruises had been canceled for the day due to rain and high winds.
And it did rain and blow pretty much all day. Thought about going geocaching, but the weather just didn't cooperate. Instead, we watched a movie--Letters from the Big Man. Yes, it was another Bigfoot movie, and I think my niece liked it. Then, I picked up my wife from work.
On the way home, I stopped by the cemetery to wish my sister, Sally, a happy birthday. She would have been 63 today. In my mind, I imagine she would have been retired for a few years by now, Maybe bought an RV and gone cross-country camping. Or scheduled monthly trips to Disney World (one of her favorite places). Or taken up oil painting. Or just relaxed, all day, every day--something she never really allowed herself to do all that much.
She's been close by me all day long. I woke thinking about her. Scribbled things in my journal about her during the day. When I dug a hand into my son's bucket of leftover Independence Day parade candy, I pulled out a banana Laffy Taffy--Sally's favorite. Even though she's been gone for nine years, she's never really been gone for me.
Tonight, one of my oldest friends (the best man at my wedding), stopped by for dinner and games. He's visiting from New Zealand. So, he brought Chinese food, and my kids and niece and wife and sister-in-law (who's been my little sister since my wife and I started dating) and Brian and I played games and laughed. A lot. He stayed late--left a little after midnight.
This week is a treasure trove of grace for Saint Marty, filled with love and some of his favorite people, living and afterliving.
NOTE: I had some internet and router issues last night, so that's why this is so late in being posted.
