Waiting for Augusta by Jessica Lawson

those cars had done a better job of settling in for the ride. There must have been tons and tons of it with the number of cars on that train. “Where’s all that coal going?” I asked, half to myself.
    â€œOne way to find out,” Daddy answered.
    â€œWe can’t,” I told him. “We shouldn’t.”
    He sighed, and the disappointment hit me right in the gut, just like it always did. One sigh was all it took. I wondered if Daddy knew how much power was in his sighs, even his dead ones.
    â€œLook.” Noni’s eyes flashed back and forth over the train as the engine car passed us. “There. We just run alongside and haul ourselves onto a ladder. There’s enough space to hunker down and ride between cars on the platform, or climb on topand sit there. It’ll be an adventure.” She yanked me up.
    I shook my head. “No, we’ll just wait. We already paid for the bus.”
    But she stepped toward the train anyway. “We’re getting on this train, Benjamin Putter.”
    â€œI’m starting to like her. Let’s get on the train, Ben,” said Daddy.
    â€œYou don’t even know for sure where it’s going. No,” I said to both of them. “We’ll wait for the next bus.”
    â€œListen to me, Benjamin Putter,” Noni said, ripping the backpack from my arms.
    â€œHey! Give that back!” I lunged toward her, but she spun and I lost my balance and fell, pieces of track gravel digging into my palms, breaking my fall.
    Her hair whipped back with the force of the passing cars, a few pieces clinging to her face. “No!” she shouted. “My daddy watched all kinds of trains, but none made him sing the way a passing coal train would. This is a sign. I have to—”
    She turned while I got to my feet again, and the rest of her words faded with the sound of the train shrieking past. Looking back over her shoulder at me, she started jogging alongside the train. “You have to trust me!” she called out. “It’s better for both of us this way.”
    I caught up and tried to snatch the backpack, but I was afraid I’d knock her the wrong way and she’d get run over. “Give him back!”
    She took the bag off her shoulder, swinging it like she was ready to throw.
    I ran after her. “Hey, stop! The bag’ll fall and get run over! The rest of your precious pork is in there, not to mention my daddy’s ASHES!”
    She lowered her arm, even as she kept jogging, and I thought I had her. The train was starting to speed up as the front of it left town and she’d miss her chance. But instead of giving it back to me, she put both backpack straps on and ran faster. She looked back, her voice slipping in and out of the air around me. “You . . . not about me . . . about helping him . . .”
    I didn’t know what she was talking about. All I knew was that she wanted to take my daddy on a train ride to God knows where. And then I’d be left behind, watching him go off somewhere without me, like all those times he’d spent playing golf. Like a ball and grass and a set of metal rods were better than me. Like golf was so great, he could barely tear himself away to come home.
    â€œNoni, please stop!”
    She turned again and smiled a strange, sad, hopeful smile, then caught a train rung. Hauling herself up the ladder, she heaved the pack over the side of the car. The bag bounced once, twice, then lodged itself in a corner. Without pausing, she scooted back down the rungs and let go, tumbling to the side of the tracks while I slowed to a shockedstop. Ten cars passed me before my head fully processed that Noni’d actually let go of the pack.
    Daddy was gone.
    So was my paint box.
    So was the rest of our pork.
    I had the strangest feeling that most all of me was gone along with those things, and the part of me left standing on the side of the tracks was