Train back to Avandale

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕆ℕ𝔼

Riley Maple loved Bellroke Falls, yes, he loved it with quite a passion. From its tall trees, sunken woods, to the far town of Avandale. His father had grown up here, back when the train station was still bustling with life, where his father met his mother, stowed away in the supply cart. He looked so much like his mother, Bella Reed Maple, finest woman to roam Avandale, or at the very least, that's what his father's been telling him.
He never got the chance to know his ma' beyond the letters she had left behind for him, and the stories his father, Thomas Maple would share during Saturday dinner, Saturday nights being the only part of the week when Thomas would come home early enough to eat a warm dinner.

On one particular Saturday night, when Riley was nestling up all his books into a pile in the living room, his mind wandered to the thought of this new guitar his friend Sal was given by good ol' aunt Bea. Tough woman.
The rest of his thoughts were swept away by Ella Calleth, she soared through his mind like a fleeting daydream.
Sweet, sultry Ella, anyone would be a fool not to admit she was beautiful, Riley could vividly remember the warmth of her skin as his fingertips grasped onto her waist like a lifeline, and the pleasure she kissed onto his lips was unrivaled.

His father knocked on the front door, the sound of his calls broke the silence that tortured the house, but Riley could hear no notice, his eyes blanked at the words in the book he had opened.
It wasn't after Thomas yelled out in a stern voice that Riley finally shook his head and stumbled on his way to get the door; unlocking it and greeting his father with a half-assed chuckle.

"Took your dance time now did 'ya, boy?"
"I was busy."
"To hell with that, why's the table still empty?"
"I missed you too, pa'"

Riley entered the dimly lit kitchen, his hands groping at the wall in search of the light switch. As the bulb flickered and lit the room, Thomas groaned, dropping his bundle of newspapers on the kitchen counter neatly folded before searching the cabinet for plates.

"I've got it pa', how's aunt Missy?"
"She's gettin' by just fine Riley, how was school?"
"The usual."
"You ask 'er yet?" Riley's brow seemed to furrow though he kept his expression stoic. "Ask who?"
"You know who."

There was a silence between them, Riley only stared at the clean plate before him, he stared at his reflection a second longer as if trying to mold his face to look less bothered than he actually was. Eventually, his father broke the silence with a boastful laugh, letting out a small cough to his son's irritable eyes.
"I've got a story for you, boy."
"How old are you in this one?" Riley questioned almost sarcastically, tracing his finger against the clean white plate on his side of the table. His father laid his back against the chair's backrest with a huff.
"Not about me this time boy. Sort of." Thomas paused, his eyes finally opening to see an old picture frame of Bella, his beautiful wife. So far yet she was always there, only a breeze away.

"You think I ever would've told you these stories if I hadn't met your ma'?"
Riley only shrugged, "Wouldn't be hard to imagine, people say she's the only one who wanted to put up with you." Thomas held in another strong laugh.
"You got a point there but, anyone could've opened that cart, anyone would've helped that poor girl trapped behind stack's o' boxes. But not me. The first thought I had after I helped her was that she was crazy, she was loud as a train toot. She was wild, that's your ma'."

There was a glinting light in Thomas' eyes as he stared at the picture frame, reliving old memories, he paused to laugh.
"Never needed nobody, even when she was well on her way to the other side, she still tried to curse me out with her eyes. A damning piece of art if I've ever seen one."

"I know pa', she was pretty."
"No."
"No?"
"Art isn't supposed to be pretty, boy, it's supposed to make you feel somethin'."
The two shared a quiet minute of solemn silence, but the air was neither tight nor intoxicating, there was not a wall between them. Only gentle bliss, drowned out by the tick of the wall clock.
"This enough to convince you to talk to her? I'm not gettin' any younger, boy."
Riley—as if he wasn't already quiet enough—was nearly at a loss for words, after a calm shrug, he opened his mouth, but he didn't expect to answer at all.
"Maybe, by the end of this month. Don't expect good news pa'."

Riley and Thomas never ate dinner that night, they exchanged laughs, washing dishes they didn't use, and as Riley lay in bed that early morning, he watched the sun begin to rise.
His tired eyes seemed full.