George

I was an engineer for an express train that ran down the same tracks, past the same houses and through the same plains and forests. And though I had seen my share of disaster on the tracks, what stood out to me the most in all my decades of engineering was one small, quaint if you will, lovely house on a hill where a mother and her young daughter lived. Every time I passed by their house, the mother and her daughter would be waiting outside when I passed, and every time, we would wave to each other. If nothing else was enjoyable on a trip, those two always made my day. Some days I would be depressed or lonely, angry or sick, but seeing them somehow made me feel better as they smiled at me, waving to me. Some days it was only the mother who waved and others it was only the daughter, but either way, I felt overjoyed to see them in the morning. Years went by and saw the daughter grow up into a woman and begin to take care of her mother. Year after year, they continued to wave at me from their little house. Even after all my children had left home, gotten married and had children of their own, I stuck with driving the train around because I looked forward to see that mother and her daughter every day.

When I retired after almost 40 years of service, I told myself I would go visit that little house on a hill and say hello to the two women who made me smile every day. Maybe, I thought, I could share how much they meant to me with them. I wished in vain, however, because as soon as I made my way to their house, the atmosphere was no longer quaint, and the house on a hill no longer seemed cheery, causing me to doubt my decision to meet these people. The minute the mother opened the door, I wished I had not come; I wished that I was still an engineer on that train, because then maybe the mother and her daughter would’ve been pleased to see me. The mother seemed angry and the daughter seemed depressed. The mother was in a wheel chair and the daughter hid her face from me. The change of setting to see these two made the meeting very short and awkward. I wanted to bring myself to say that for the decades I had driven past their house, they were what made anything worthwhile at all. But I could not. I could not try to lighten the mood for these absolute strangers who did not want to be near me out of fear and anxiety. I left with a quick goodbye and never saw them again.

Annie

I had grown up with my mother outside of town after my father left us. I hated him for it and I wanted nothing to do with fathers or men, but it could not be helped for long. We lived on a hill, and every day, a train would pass by to get to the city and my mother, being the sweet woman that she was, would wave to the engineer driving the train. Though I didn’t want to at first, I waved back to be friendly and courteous. He would wave back and when I asked why we waved at him, my mother would smile and say, “Because there goes a good man, Annie.” I didn’t really care, but I would wave anyway and the next day, the same man drove by again and waved and mother told me to wave again, so I did. By the time I was in high school, waving at the strange old man became a routine and I didn’t think much of it until my heart was broken by a boy I liked at school who, when his girlfriend made fun of me and my mother, joined in on the mocking. I was so angry and distraught that I cried myself to sleep that night and told mother I wouldn’t be going to school the next day. When I awoke the next morning, I did not want to smile at anyone. I did not want to wave at the train engineer who would soon chug by, but all my sadness melted away when he came by right on schedule and smiled and waved at me. I burst into tears of mixed happiness and depression, waving and smiling at him. From then on, I wondered what it would’ve been like to meet him in person. Did he have a wife and children of his own? Grandchildren, maybe?

I couldn’t wait to graduate and leave home for a new life where I might meet a nice man to marry. However, my mother became very sick. She began forgetting things. She would throw fits of frustration at any random moment during the day because she had less control of her body and mind. Still, though, every morning, she would ask me to bring her outside to wave to the train engineer and watch him wave and smile back. After school, I decided that leaving my mother would be cruel, so I stuck around to take care of her for the next few years. Slowly, but surely, her mind faded away and she soon forgot why we would get up early to wave at the train engineer every morning and every time I would reply, “Because there goes a good man, mother.” By the time I was 30, mother was confined to a wheel chair completely and she barely spoke at all, save for some grunts and angry remarks about society, essentially killing the once sweet image of my mother. She would curse me for even existing and sometimes forgot her medication to the point where she almost died a few times. It wasn’t long before I was embarrassed by my mother and didn’t want her outside the house.

Then one day, I was shocked that the man driving the train was not the nice engineer we had come to know and appreciate, who waved at us every morning. Unbeknownst to me, the Nice Engineer had become my source of strength and I did not think I could take care of my mother by myself. Later, however, we received a knock at the door from none other than the train engineer. I was terrified when my mother opened the door for him. I could not let him see all the problems in our lives that we had unknowingly hidden from him. Every day, he saw two happy people and that was not who we were inside the house, so I did everything I could to distance myself from his gaze, embarrassed that he would judge me for not moving on with my life and being related to my disabled mother. He sat and I got him a drink while he explained that he had seen us for years and had always wanted to meet us in person. I thought to myself, why would you want to meet us? We are the lowest of dirt. You should not be here. He looked a bit scared to see us and I could not let him look me in the eye, not with my life like this. He grabbed his coat and slowly walked out the door with what looked like a tear in his eye as he said goodbye, turned and walked out the door, leaving my mother and I alone in our cursed house on a hill.