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Tonight I drove my sister-in-law and nephew to the train station in Salt Lake. They're on it now, riding through the night to Winnemucca, NV. We sat on a concrete planter and talked about making old wedding dresses into baby blankets and the weird ways that our families communicate.
Some guy kept making hacking noises and spitting his phlegm into the dirt. A beautiful woman with long hair and a service dog flicked ashes away from a too-short cigarette. A man in a purple button-up shirt stood, exhausted, while a woman, also in a purple shirt, swore at him and flicked her hands around like she was slapping a cartoon character.
I wished I was going somewhere, wished I was getting on a train and riding through the night to somewhere else and staying for a while.
A young couple kissed goodbye: she on the train with her hair at her shoulders, he on the platform in a canary-yellow shirt. His hands were on her face and when her train finally left and he had walked away, I wondered, "Does he miss her? Is he missing her right now?"
My nephew, Cash, was so, so tired. He was in his sleeper, his eyes closed, and his blonde hair fluffed up. What is it that makes sleepers so cute? Is it the footies?
After they got on the train, I drove home. I missed my exit by about 8 exits. What does it mean when you're thinking intently enough about someone that you miss the way home by a 15 minute drive? I better cut that out or I'll head to work tomorrow and hours later find myself in Reno instead.
