Crystalline snow blankets the city. Tiny prisms like mirrors reflect every bit of sunlight into my squinted, teary, eyes. I walked, head down, shoulders hunched, protecting myself and Alarah from the wintry assault of Mother Nature. The snow plummets from the sky as the wind whips it into a dizzying frenzy. A thought lingered in my mind as my frozen feet struggled to keep their pace.
How much further?
The snow sticks to my face, melts, and drips down into my collar.
"All aboard. All aboard!"
Increasing my hold on Alarah, I run at an angle towards the coach. The path is like a mine field, strewn with patches of ice.
Alarah has fallen asleep on our way to the station, her eyes are still closed tightly as the conductor assists us up into the coach. I am perspiring profusely. My face is numb and sore from the cold stinging blows of the snow. I pause, catch my breath, and allow my eyes time to adapt to the indoor lighting. Inside, the train car is packed with people, some seated, others milling around in the aisle, making the task of locating my assigned seat next to impossible.
Lightly bumping into passengers, switching Alarah from one arm to the other, I smile, quietly excusing my way through the crowded coach. After what seems like an eternity, I finally locate my seat.
Heaving a deep sigh of relief, I settle the two of us in for the long journey ahead. Lost in thought, I slowly remove Alarah's outer garments. I'd bundled her up like an Eskimo to keep her warm from the frigid outside weather, and like an angel, her tiny face appeared.
As the train begins to move, the conductor moles his way down the aisle, in a baritone voice he announces, "Tickets, please." I open my purse and take out my train ticket so that I will be ready to hand it to him when he approaches. In three days I will be in Andrew, Mississippi - my birth place. With Alarah resting on my lap, I turn my head and look out of the frosty window. Like stills from a motion picture, Syracuse's landscape passes by, along with accumulated memories of good times and bad. Besides my education, the best thing I received from the State of New York was now fast asleep on my lap.
What am I doing? The question finally found the courage to leave my mouth. What will our lives be like without your father? I knew that I would never be able to count on him for financial support. Irritated, I turn and look down at my sleeping baby and whisper, "You deserve two loving parents not just one. Alarah please forgive me. I should have made a better choice when it came to your father."
Alarah is my pride and joy, my reason for living, the wellspring of my existence. I realized I would have to make a life for us the best way that I could.
While resting my ear against the window listening to the click-clack sound of steel wheels grinding on steel rails, it reminds me of my life with Morris. I was the rail and Morris the wheel.
I met Morris when I was a 17 year old freshman at Yale University. I was as green as a pool table and twice as square. Morris was a dormitory counselor and second year law student. It amazes me still that such a beautiful, precious, and soft little girl came forth from a relationship that was nothing but steel against steel.
I close my eyes and repeatedly pound my head against the window. My jerking motion causes Alarah to twitch and let out an all too familiar wail. I reach into my duffel bag and retrieve her bottle and pamper. Alarah is a good baby; once dried and fed, she will sleep the entire night. All self-absorption is temporarily diverted, as I coo and gently rock her back to peaceful slumber.
The laughter of two young Asian lovers snuggling in a warm embrace two rows across captures my eye. Their love for one another visibly written on their faces reminds me of the happier times Morris and I once enjoyed.
