My little brother and I move stealthily toward the railroad tracks behind our great-grandmother’s house. We hope no one is watching.
No fence separates Grandma’s backyard from the tracks. Our parents have warned us of the danger, and have forbidden us to go there.
We are clutching pennies that we plan to put on the track to be flattened by the passing train. My little brother’s friend came to school one day and pulled a flattened penny from his pocket at show-and-tell time. The friend told how the penny was crushed, and we want to repeat his exploits.
We are almost at the tracks. We can hear a train whistle blowing in the distance. We run the last few feet, stoop to place our pennies on one rail, and then beat a hasty retreat.
After the train passes, we scramble back to the track to reclaim our transformed treasures, our parents none the wiser.
This childhood escapade comes to mind as trains rumble day and night through our neighborhood in Colonia Juan Manuel Vallarta.
early morning train—
the cat on grandmother’s porch
curls a bit tighter
Text and photo © 2016 by Mark M. Redfearn, all rights reserved