The Stationmaster

   

    Ever since I was a boy I been watchin’ the trains come in. I’ve lived here in Poll’s Hollow for all my life and seen so many trains come in I can’t even tell you. All day long I could set, watchin’ these trains, the folks they bring and the folks they take away. Them trains, they go all over this great country, from Chattanooga right on through to Fairbanks, and we get all kinds come through this station.
      Now days, most people go by bus or airplane, but when I was a boy, the trains was the best way to travel, bein’ as it was all most folks could afford. Back then, the rail company used to give free rides up to Yarn Hill on Sundays, Yarn Hill bein’ the next station before the state line. We all used to ride on up to the county museum on them days, just wanderin’ through, lookin’ at all the old Rife County historical exhibits and pokin’ fun at the museum guard. Seems a thousand years gone by since then, and the only thing stayed the same is the trains.
    Trains are reliable like that, run a tight schedule and don’t hardly anything slow ‘em down. I been workin’ at this station near long as it’s been standin’ and only three times ever seen the trains run off schedule. Twice on account of the weather; great big nor’easters and all, and once because the conductor, he was old as dirt itself, had a heart attack mid-run and they had to find another one to set in for him. That was the only 3 times I ever seen the trains slow down.
    It’s a funny thing, workin’ in a train station, seein’ all the people come and go, and you stayin’ in the same place all along. I don’t mind it though, my bones become too old now. When the rheumatism gets to flarin’ up they don’t like to go no further than the mailbox. Besides that, there ain’t no takin’ vacations when you’re the Poll’s Hollow Stationmaster, no sir. They only got one man could fill in for me and he’s daft as the day is long. Can’t be trusted to tie his own shoes proper. So I just stay at my post now days, watchin’ the trains come in, watchin’ all the folks come and go.
    Sometimes when I get to feelin’ lonely and all, I just set by the window and wait for a train to start rollin’ and then my mind gets to goin’ too and I’m ridin’ right along with all the people, seein’ all parts of the country I never seen. The last stationmaster, he used to always say that a man’s imaginings could take him further than any of them trains ever could. He’s passed on now, the old stationmaster, but I hear them words when I’m feelin’ lonesome, and I watch the train’s rollin’ on from my window, lettin’ ‘em take me far off; from Chattanooga all the way to Fairbanks and on back again.
    I reckon someday they’ll find someone sound enough to take over and maybe then, when I don’t have this station to tend to no more I can take a ride someplace, somewhere I never been, supposin’ my old bones don’t make too much a fuss over it. ‘Till then I’ll be here, watchin’, waitin’ on the trains.