I was walking along the beach in spring weather when I saw a gaggle of kids hanging off the fence that divides the promenade from the railroad tracks. All were looking toward Crescent Beach at the still distant triple headlights of an oncoming train. There was chatter, and then a little one scampered over and laid a penny on the rail.
Flashback. I was in Terrace on a hot summer morning, watching with my brother while the flatcars were shunted in to the mill yard and loaded with poles. That day, we waited a long time for the train to pass in front of us. We put down three pennies, and waited.
Today I paused, turning the inner clock back as I entered the absorption of the kids, the impressive sight of the noisy engine bearing down, the necessary ritual of waving at the distant and elevated engineer and seeing only a white hand wave in return. As expected, his face remained obscure in the glare of evening sunlight.
I missed the moment of impact; a kid fidgeted at the wrong moment, and obscured my view. I waited a few minutes, but it was a long train. After awhile, I continued my walk.
That train must have taken at least ten minutes to pass. Those poor kids needed to be very patient. I wonder if they found their flattened penny.
Years ago, we searched the gravel between and beside the rails. We found only two of our three pennies. One had got knocked sideways but the other passed right under the iron wheels, and it was satisfactorily squashed. If you hadn't seen it before, you'd never have known it was more than a and misshapen wafer of metal.
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