November 1, 2002:

Amtrack station. Alone. Leaving.

Early morning, not long after dawn. The world is like the scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Individually they can be made to make sense, if you focus on them intently enough. And, you have a general notion of what the picture is supposed to be. But it's so much effort to make them fit, that is to understand what the relationships are between them, and what they contribute to the larger reality. Relax that effort and the world devolves into fragments you interact with one at a time. Usually it's not worth the effort to assemble them.

You see her everywhere. There's a wooden bench in the station: you remember a photograph of her taken one night on a wooden bench in a station. She lives in pain like this, all the time.

Young blond woman in fetal position on a motel room bed. "I want to die. I want to die." Sobbing, shaking. Thin young man holds her hand, strokes her hair. His forehead is furrowed with worry lines. He'd take her place, if it were possible. By the next afternoon they're skipping on the beach, holding hands, splashing the cool water, laughing. Yet her anguish trots after her like a faithful dog.

Have you taken her place? You feel what she felt. Aboard the train you lean your face against cold window glass and stare. The 600 mile trip takes an entire day.