A Steel Pillow

I knew we'd be here again. I don't mean this place exactly, just... here, I don't know. I feel regret in the pit of my stomach. My mind is racing, wondering things like where we went wrong or how I could've fixed us. We lay here together in the cold. It's very dark, very quiet. Wooden boards and loose rocks dig into my side. My head throbs against my steel pillow. I want to open my mouth and say something, maybe try to convince her that we can make this work, but I don't even know where to start. She looks at me. Her eyes are beautiful, even still after all of these years. They're blue, but not dark, not light, just the right kind of blue. Webs of green and gray reach over them. They're swollen and red from all of the crying.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She nods her head.

I reach my hand forward and brush back her smoky brown hair. Her cheek is soft. I want to kiss it, just one more time, but for some reason it doesn't feel right. I know a part of her hates me more than anyone in the world, but I also know that there's no one in the world she could love more than me. My cold, steel pillow is beginning to vibrate. A bit of stress appears on her face. She looks terrified.

"There's still time," I try.

"We haven't tried this yet," she says.

My stomach twists. It's gonna hurt, but I think I can handle the pain. I mean, losing a child is probably the worst thing a parent can go through, right? After that happens there really isn't much left in the world that can hurt you.

The vibrations are growing stronger.

No matter how many kids I've had, those first steps are always something special to see. Just one step, then two, then they're off to the races with a big, scatter-toothed grin. The pride they feel in themselves is what I love. I imagine that's what flying feels like. You think your world is the floor, only ever leaving when something bigger than yourself lifts you up, but then you somehow stand for yourself and walk.

I hear it in the distance now. It's screaming in the air. Her hand holds mine. She squeezes tight to keep me down. I lean forward and kiss her head. Her skin is as fresh as the day we met. I really hope this isn't it. I wish she didn't hurt so badly that this is our only option left.

Two months ago we found out that our son was dying of a cancer in his brain. Like any mother, her heart became broken and dark with sadness and regret. She'd question me, ask me why we left, or just flat out blame me and say everything is my fault. Instead of coming to the hospital to see him off, she stayed in bed and stared out the window. I found my boy in a dark room, heart monitor slowly beeping away, all alone with no one to help him off to whatever comes next. I held his hand and gently massaged the purple veins on top with my thumb. He looked up at me, eyes pale, once blue like his mother's. Tears gathered, his lip began to tremble. He must've felt crazy seeing me after all these years, looking just how he remembered.

"I love you, Pop," he said.

I half-smiled back at him, took a breath to speak, but just like that, my son was gone. I never got a chance to tell him that I loved him. We never got a chance to talk about his kids, or his grandkids. I don't even know the name of his wife. All I know is what he did in his life. I know that he was a school teacher. I know that he wrote poems and played the piano. I know that he had three children. I know that his favorite food used to be apple sauce. I know that back rubs were the only thing that put him to sleep. I know that he snorted when he laughed. I know that he liked to paint his face and scare his mother.

The vibrations are almost unbearable now. The train is so close I can smell the diesel burning. It's powerful and sturdy, moving so fast that it shouldn't even hiccup when it passes over us. I stare in her eyes as the bright light comes, so close that her pupils shrink right into me.

Blackness. I hear the wind around me but I can't see. Is this my brain trying to figure out what's happening? We kept our heads on the rails, there shouldn't be anything left of me to think or figure out. I can see again. There's a bright orange light all around me. It's very hot and warm. I can hear violent and painful howls of people dying all around me. Am I in hell?

I stand up. The flames kiss my body and burn away at my clothes. The pain of fire is far more intense than I remember it being. Last time we were in bed. I covered the floor in gasoline and lit a match. We laid under the covers until there was nothing left of our home to burn, but we were still fine.

 It's hard to see here in the inferno, but there's a current of cold air around my ankles. I drop to the floor and crawl. My fingernails cake with dirt, bits of ash get stuck in my mouth. This isn't hell at the end of the flames. I can see the tracks and what remains of the train. People are scattered around the wreckage, screaming and crying for help. They were so close to their stop, just a few miles outside of the city, and now they're dying because of us. I don't know where she is. I thought for sure this would work for her sake, but there isn't even a scratch on me. 

We're stuck here.