Gone ... but not forgotten

I'm still thinking about Meagan, Ms J. Still missing her.

At work this afternoon, as we approached the station platform at Danforth, I was day dreaming. I didn't realise it at the time of course. The platform was nearly deserted as it is every afternoon. Our eastbound train was carrying nearly two thousand homeward bound commuters, some of whom would detrain at this station. The sun had set behind us and in the gloaming, nimble snowflakes danced in the glare of the headlight. Two figures strolled happily along the paved platform - a young girl and, I assumed, her father. The girl was blond, about seven years old. She wore a long pink coat with white fur trim. She and her daddy were holding hands. They'd come, I supposed, to collect her mother from the train station.

It was Meagan and I, Ms Journal. I saw myself there walking with my girl. My blond-haired girl. My happy, skipping, laughing seven-year-old girl. I could feel the warmth from her mittened hand. And I smiled.

Suddenly, we'd reached the end of the platform. We weren't going very fast - twenty miles per hour, maybe - but too fast to stop immediately. I applied more brake but it was too late and by the time we'd stopped, the engine and the coach behind it had overshot the pavement. Before I could warn him, the conductor opened the doors and the people began to pour out.

Commuters are not unlike beasts of the field sometimes, Ms J. One steps out and the rest follow. It was a long step down to the rocky, frozen ground and I feared someone might slip and fall. The railway takes a dim view of train crews who endanger passengers in any way. I held my breath and watched in the side mirror as twelve or fifteen people climbed down from the train. No one was hurt in the process. All of them looked toward the locomotive. One woman extended her middle finger to indicate she thought I was number one. I felt embarrassed. And I felt lucky no one was injured.

Meagan hasn't responded yet to the email I sent last Tuesday. I reckon she won't now. But regardless of my emotions around my estranged daughter, I've got to keep my mind on my work. The traveling public deserve better than what I provided this afternoon.

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