He Was Not the Only Child on the Train

A boy, six years old, leaving home—
carrying more than he could yet make sense of.

He was not the only child on the train.

There were others,
children like him—
who did not yet have language
for where they were going.

The train did not carry just one story.

It gathered them.

From small towns and quiet stations,
children boarded one by one—
some with suitcases,
some with little more than what they wore.

In Union City,
there was a boy my father would later remember as Allen.

I remember him telling me
that as they boarded,
my grandmother gestured to the boy—
a quiet instruction to watch over him.

And he did.

By the time they reached Nashville
there was more of everything.

There were more people—
more trains,
more movement.

He remembered waiting there.
Long enough
for the children to be gathered together,
long enough for the caretakers—
two women—to pass out apples and sandwiches.

He remembered children coming up from Chattanooga, too.

Whether they joined his train,
or traveled separately,
I still don’t know.

But something changed in Nashville.

What had begun as a child leaving home
was becoming something they now shared.

And among those children—
among those who had been there since Union City—
was Allen.

He would not be just a name.

— Gathering the fragments, one memory at a time…