Train Tracks By Rachel Tanner

Our town is separated by train tracks. They don’t go down the middle or split the city into any discernible patterned means of identification. No one else but me realizes that it’s even split. But the tracks split the land into two parts: your side and my side. By the liquor store and the weird condos with the parking beneath them that some batshit crazy realtor decided to market as office space, the train tracks run below a few overpasses that look as basic and common as any other part of any other city. But I know better. I know that as soon as I cross the tracks, I’m in your territory. I’m near your home, near the place you’ve staked out for yourself and where I’m rarely welcome.

I used to go on late night drives to clear my head. Boundaries didn’t matter then. The town was merely a town and none of it was off limits. But now I have to think about which parts are mine and which parts are yours.

Remember when all of it used to be ours? Remember the apartment? I know it was technically mine, but I did what I could to make it ours. I made you a key. I tried to make you feel at home. But I failed. I failed on my side of the tracks so you jumped ship and moved away. That’s the way it goes sometimes, though. I couldn’t define your home for you; you had to define it for yourself.

© 2014 Rachel Tanner

 

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