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My mother had stood on the platform, her white knuckles nervously clenching the brown paper bag in which she had packed me a lunch.
There would be a note in it. There always was.
I had watched as she intermittently freed one hand to dab at her eyes with a palm full of exhausted Kleenex.
My fourteen-year-old sister stood further back, being careful to prevent her eyes from meeting with mine. She had always pretended to hate me; however, I had sensed that she had always secretly adored me. She had always depended upon me. She had always unconsciously expressed a need for me. And now, standing here, watching as I prepared to leave them, ‘goodbye' was not an option for her.
I looked into my father's tired eyes. They said ‘'Goodbye forever. Forever to never see you again. To never hear your laughter again.'
After a few moments, the words had come. Words I had waited for so long to hear : "I'm proud of you son."
Tears began to well in the lids of my eyes and I struggled to hold them back. I could not speak for fear that my voice would break. I nodded my understanding.
Awkwardly, my father reached out for me - as if to ask for one final chance. We held each other in a peaceful silence as a cool wind lifted and carried brown, brittle Autumn leaves up and around us.
The moment surfaced a distant memory from a lifetime before. A memory of being a young boy - safe, with my father's arms wrapped around me in a loving and protecting embrace. The almost unexplainable but understandable need to preserve the moment - to savor his fragrance as my face was held gently against his shirt. A summer sun had warmed us both together.
I had heard the gates begin to open behind me, their metal hinges squealing in protest as the worn rubber tires moved defiantly across the concrete. The crowd had begun to spill over onto the wooden planks which paralleled the tracks. Young men with duffel bags slung over their shoulders began to step up into the steel-paneled cars. Within moments, faces began to reappear. Uniformed torsos leaned out of opened windows as girls tippy-toed for one last kiss. Arms were extended and fingers had touched.
I had picked up my canvas duffel bag and had looked around the station - first over the cheering and crying along the length of the train and then back at my family. There was nothing more to be said. There was nothing more that could be done - to prevent this parting. Slowly, I turned and began to make my way through the crowd toward the nearest train car.
As I stepped up onto the first step, I looked back at them one last time, and saw that my sister had been watching me. When our eyes met, I smiled and whispered, "Goodbye."
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