Wanderlust's Tears

William Watkins was leaving again. He stared in the mirror at his wrinkled face. He looked tired. Harriet sat behind him, face gray, staring at the floor. Neither said a word. He turned out of the bathroom kissing her forehead. She did not look up but said, I love you.

His mouth curved up in a content smile. I’m leaving, he said. She looked up, a tear-streaked face. She smiled slightly as her hands grasped his right hand, slowly stroking it. I hope it’s a good trip, she said. He nodded, picking up his suitcase. Its weight made him lean to the left. He walked through the front door, stopping to admire the large flowering Willow tree in their front yard.

The cab took him to the rail yard where he punched in, said hello and goodbye and got on his locomotive. The midday sun beat in through the window, baking him. He put his suitcase down and opened it to find his sunscreen. His stomach dropped as the top of the suitcase opened. Tears crept into his eye.

Willie Williamson couldn’t remember how many trains he’d jumped in his life. The warm buzz of a West Virginia spring wind made the train rides more like a dream. He thought about the years he’s spent as a hobo, the women he’s passed up because this was his life, his mother’s harsh words as he left at sixteen and the way his father had beat him for forgetting to steal cigarettes for him at the gas station.

Willie scoffed as this latter experience replayed itself dramatically in his memory. He lit his own cigarette. The trucks and trains and tractors of the world had become his sanctuary. There was no one to trust and no one to love and no obligations out here. Why put faith in anything?

He hated coming home yet he did so every spring. The sun twinkled in the midday sky as the train hastened through the tobacco fields. He shivered and reached in his pocket to look at the envelope he had received at the mission. He hadn’t opened it yet. The name on the return address read William Williamson, Sr. His father never sent him anything and knew he would be visiting in spring as he always did. The envelope tore easily and ten one hundred dollar bills tumbled out. He tucked them in his jacket pocket. His eyes grew wet as he read.

William’s tears fell into the suitcase as he read. I do not understand your wanderlust and don’t believe I will ever be the perfect person for you at this time in your life. The good times we shared are passed. I will miss you but I don’t love you anymore. Goodbye William. Harriet. William took the controls while reading, the train lurching forward, knowing he would likely never return to Charleston.

Willie’s eyes dripped onto the letter as he read. Your mother and I have never understood your wanderlust and I was never a perfect person. I just want to say I am sorry. I hope we can have some good times before I pass away. Hope to hear from you soon. William Sr. Willie felt relief for the first time in his life and took up his small pack as the train slowed. A thin smile on his lips and tears in his eyes.

He looked up to see a tearful conductor creep past and wave in comradery. Willie raised his hand as well. Tears fell across West Virginia.