Memories

Handfuls of snowflakes descend to the ground as I trudge across my porch and into my house. I arrive inside and look through the window. A white canvas had replaced my ordinary view. As I remove my coat, I wonder how long it had been since such a harsh snowfall had befallen me. My memory stirs for a few moments, as I recall vividly when it happened.
---
I was only thirteen that Christmas’ day. The sun had just risen, its brightness waking me up. The night before, I had purposefully left the blinds open in anticipation for an early morning full of presents. I peeped outside through my bedroom window. All I could make out were the boots left outside from the walk home after mass the day before; everything else had vanished entirely, hidden behind gusts of snow.

Turning around, I dashed down the stairs only to find a big box wrapped in red paper with my name on it. I tore it open. It was a miniature railroad, which I instantly assembled and reassembled throughout the rest of the day. The wagon was light green and had a few faces drawn in the windows. The railroad would curve, pass over rivers, and even under mountains. But what really caught my attention was the white, almost transparent smoke that came out of the chimney. It was very different from the black, intoxicating smoke that came out of cars on the road.

Months passed, and I had become quite passionate about my new toy. It had already taken over a third of my room as more and more pieces were added, all bought with my meager allowance. At this time, word of my toy had spread among my neighbors. They would come and play from time to time. Mary was the one who stayed the longest, though. Hours passed by, and, as we talked, I grew fonder and fonder of her.
---
After eating the turkey sandwich forgotten in the fridge for times when my motivation to cook is nonexistent, I decide to take a look at my rail network again. Dust fills my nostrils as I open the cupboard. “It has been so long,” I think to myself. The railroad pieces still click together nicely, and the wagons fit well, yet the scenery looks paler, and the river feels dry.
---
There came a point around one year later when Mary would come and play every day. Then, out of the blue, she stopped. I was confused at first and went to invite her over. “I have better things to do.”, she replied.

That night I assembled my network alone, played with the green train, sucking in as much smoke as my lungs could hold. When the train made a curve away from my sight, I waved at the people on the windows. As my arms relaxed, I felt a wet droplet coming down my cheeks. It came with pain and confusion.

I assembled the set a few more times the following months, but one day I closed the box and swore never to play with it again.
---
The train whistles as it moves through the scenery, though not as smoothly as it once did. I hear steps on the background and turn to see who that is. My wife comes and stops by me, then sits. “Old times, isn’t it? I nodded at Mary as my eyes turn and stop at hers. She grins at me. “I should never have stopped playing with you.”