THE SKELETON OF HOME by Mary Boshar

THE TRAIN RUMBLED as it cruised along the tracks. The thundering intensified as the train picked up speed, leaving the small ramshackle station behind. She sat alone, two cars from the front. The train was just empty enough for her to have a seat to herself, which she was grateful for. She sat on the right side in the seat closest to the window and watched as untouched fields and modest homes passed by. Whenever she traveled she took the window seat. She was an observer. She liked being able to sit still while time passed around her, the only separation a glass pane. She never bothered to sleep while she was traveling because she felt like there was too much of the world that she was missing out on. But the landscape flashing outside her window was not enough to distract her. It had been years since she had been home--ten, maybe eleven since the last time. She had reconciled with her family but her busy lifestyle had gotten in the way of her visiting. As thoughts about her family and childhood took over, she became overwhelmed by the idea of reconnecting. She spent the last six hours of the ride alternating between reading and looking out the window. She finished her book, already the second one this week. After a while, the fields became houses. Around her, people slept with their heads tilted against the window. The passengers that were awake listened to music through headphones or stared at their phones or laptops. The car rocked back and forth, fighting the forceful wind. Now the houses were so close together she could barely distinguish one from the next. As the train slowed, she could see the separation between houses and factories that before was an indistinguishable blur of color on the dull landscape. Braking to approach the station, the train screeched, steel scraping against steel. Before the train had even come to a complete stop, people were on their feet, tucking belongings into backpacks and reaching for suitcases below their seats and above their heads. She dropped her book into her backpack that was stuffed with clothing and toiletries. She always traveled light, it just made it easier. She was one of the last people off the train. She stood at her seat, letting passengers behind her exit first. Everyone was in a rush and she did not mind waiting.

She stepped off the train onto the cement platform and immediately felt the heat of the sun. It was warm, but not unbearable. The slight wind and lack of humidity brought her back to the days when she would sit in an adirondack chair in the backyard with a book, soaking up the sun’s warmth. The station was loud but somehow peaceful. Around her, people carried on with their lives, meeting relatives as they stepped off the train or ducking into cars to get to their final destination. She walked through the station and was hit with cold air. The air conditioning felt like overkill. She walked out of the exit and hailed a taxi, plopping into the backseat with her backpack. She gave the driver directions and with one swift motion, he swung the car left, away from the sidewalk, and then right into the right-hand lane. The ride was smooth and quiet. She only spoke to the driver when he made a wrong turn towards the center of town. She looked out the window and noticed new buildings where old ones once stood and fresh landscaping. Twelve minutes later, the taxi pulled down a narrow paved road, barely wide enough for two cars, woods on either side. The road was not well maintained. That had not changed since she had been home. Although the houses were surrounded by trees and brush, it didn’t feel like she was in the middle of the woods. The taxi pulled into the driveway of a medium-sized ranch with a small front yard and brick walkway. The house looked years younger than the last time she saw it. The yard was more lush than before and the weeds that grew between the cracks of the brick walkway were gone. The garage door had been replaced and was now a stormy grey instead of blue. The large oak tree that had stood to the right of the house, shading the dining room, had been cut down. There was no trace that it had even been there, the stump was completely removed and grass grew over the spot seamlessly. A wooden swing big enough for three people hung from the front porch. She smiled. A porch swing was something that she had always wanted as a kid. Beneath the new layers of paint and manicured lawn was the skeleton of her childhood home. The changes surprised her, she didn’t expect everything to look so different even though it had been a decade. She handed cash over to the driver and stepped out of the cab, throwing her backpack over her right shoulder. She walked along the brick path