Jonah’s cuff bit into a fresh bruise on his arm, but he was reluctant to push the sleeve back. His hoodie’s funk was already hitting his own nose, and stirring it would only kick the stink up even more. Grimacing, he inched away from the others who’d joined him outside the store window. They, like he, had stopped to peer down at the miniature village inside; tiny houses and shops ringed by a little train chugging ’round the circumference and through a clean fall of snow that sparkled throughout the small village. Examining it, Jonah wondered if it was sugar or salt being used to make it look like the little town had been dusted with chill; all the little villagers dressed for the weather—ladies in long coats and what Jonah presumed to be mufflers (he had heard that word in one of the stories Mr. Hawco read to his class in school). The village gentlemen wore suits with shiny black shoes and smart hats. Jonah liked—and recognized—them all, but his favorite was the Train Conductor. Clad in a crisp, brass-buttoned uniform with a sharp pillbox cap, the Conductor wore a tiny sprig of holly upon his hat’s peak, festively placed right in its centre. Every year, the Conductor stood in a different spot in the village, and every year Jonah searched for him, greeting him with a tiny wave once his eyes lit upon where he’d been placed.
Sometimes he pretended the Conductor waved back. Or tipped that little holly-sprig cap.
Now, Jonah stole a quick peek to his right, where a dad and his son also watched the train. Once he was sure they wouldn’t notice, he cupped his palm small, then levered his fingers in a tiny wave. Hello, Mr. Conductor! he thought, silently. I’m happy to see you.
He imagined the Conductor beam, a big smile within that tiny face, and say, “I’m glad you’re back, Jonah.”
It made Jonah’s tummy feel warm, imagining someone being happy to see him.
Below, the train putted along the track, a little wreath fastened onto its engine.
The Conductor would make sure it ran smooth. It was his job to take care of the train, keep it and all its passengers safe. Jonah considered what that might be like—being looked after by someone whose job was to make sure you were safe.
He bet it felt like being able to let out your breath after holding it for a really long time, and he was glad that all the little villagers and train passengers could depend on the Conductor.
Yet why thinking about all that made a tear roll down his cheek confused him, and when the dad on his right shot a glance his direction, he swiftly shuffled even further away, a hot sting of embarrassment on his face. Great, he thought. Now he wasn’t just the smelly kid, he was the bawling kid too. Glancing stealthily sideways, Jonah plucked the front of his hoodie, raised it up for another sniff.
Yep. Stale smoke and sour feet. Sighing, he smoothed it as best as he could. He hadn’t learned to use the washing machine yet, and didn’t want to hear all the names he’d get called if he somehow did it wrong.
Also didn’t want to feel another dull, aching bruise if he got it right—because then Mom would yell at him, spittle on his face, asking him who he thought he was, anyway.
“I know who I am,” Jonah whispered, to what he could see of his reflection in the store window.
“Then you may want to skip this part.”
Jonah startled. Who’d said that?
Beside him, the dad and son were busy watching the train. They hadn’t spoken, and no one else was in sight. Jonah looked back through the glass, at the village.
Again, someone spoke, “Would you like to skip this part?”
The Conductor. Jonah felt his jaw swing as—no imagination this time—the Conductor really did look straight up at him. “Skip this part,” the little figure said, and his voice seemed to come from both inside and outside Jonah’s head. Still—
“Are you talking to me?” Jonah whispered, and covertly tapped his own chest.
And winced. Dad had shoved him last night. Flat-handed, but today it still hurt.
“Yes, you.” The little Conductor sounded impatient. “Skip this part.”
The way it sounded like he was telling him rather than asking him made Jonah’s pulse feel all jack-rabbity, so he inched back from the window, noting, from the corner of his eye, that the little boy beside him was still there, but that the dad was now gone.
Too bad. He sort of thought it might be a good idea to check with a grown up. Ask a big person to look at him, tell him if he was crazy.
Because Mom always said he was crazy.
“Dad?”
Jonah jumped. Looked sideways at the boy who had spoken.
And his jaw swung again. Was he looking in some sort of mirror? Because the boy there looked just like—
“Dad!” the kid said again. “Isn’t the train so cool?”
As he spoke, he grabbed onto Jonah’s hand, pulled him back to the window.
Jonah glanced down to where the boy had locked a grip on his wrist—and choked.
His own hand was large. Very large. It was a grown up’s hand; all hair-speckled and big. Alarmed, he sought his reflection in the store window—and air whooshed from his chest. Who are you? he asked his own eyes.
From below, a voice spoke. “You skipped a part.”
“Dad!” The boy tugged his arm. “Did you see in the train’s load of coal? There’s a diamond in there!”
Jonah peered down into the village. There was a sparkle in all that darkness being hauled by the train. So tiny, you’d almost miss it.
“You have to choose to see it,” said the Conductor, gazing up at him.
Jonah wasn’t entirely positive he was talking about the diamond.
“Dad, can we buy this train set?” asked the boy.
Jonah spoke. “No,” he said, and the way his voice croaked—it sounded like he hadn’t used it in a really long time. Still, he knew what to say. “I…think this train set belongs here.”
Below, in the village, the Conductor really did tip that small cap.
Beside Jonah, though, the boy’s shoulders fell. “Okay,” he said grudgingly. But then—“Could we make pancakes instead?”
Jonah laughed, and this too sounded raspy, but still—only a child’s logic would move with such smooth evanescence from toy trains to pancakes. He said, “We could make pancakes,” and it seemed like he had said this very phrase many times before.
The boy leapt up and down. “Thanks, Dad! You’re the best.”
Was he? Jonah did not know what to say.
“Can we put chocolate chips in them too?” asked the child. “Don’t worry—we’ll tell Mom that they’re blueberries.”
But she always knew they weren’t—though played along like she didn’t.
How did he know that?
“Because.” The Conductor smirked. “You skipped a part.”
“Dad?” said the boy. Jonah’s boy. And it struck him then: he was the Dad with the son.
“Y-yes?” he rasped, and clasped the child’s hand, firm and warm.
“I love you, Dad,” the boy beamed.
Through the window, the little train blew its horn.
Jonah scooped his boy up into his arms. “Love you too,” he said, and bear-hugged him, hard.
His son’s hoodie smelled like fresh laundry and winter rain.
“I promise to always be what you need,” he said.
The little guy pulled back, forehead corkscrewed, confused.
“Just like a train conductor,” Jonah told him. “I’ll keep you safe. Make sure everything goes smooth.”
Below, on the other side of the pane, the train blew its whistle again.
“And pancakes?” said the boy.
Jonah laughed, this time not raspy. This time like he’d been laughing for most of his life. “And pancakes,” he agreed. “Just one condition.”
His boy waited, brows up.
“Don’t get too big too fast,” Jonah told him. “I don’t want us skip a single second.”
Bonnie Randall
Copyright 2024
If you like my short fiction, you might love my latest title—The Shadow Collector, Book I Natalya & Owen
Book II is in the works! Stay Tuned!
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