It started as a midlife crisis, though as I explained to my wife, it was a mild one.
“I’m happy with every aspect of my life,” I said. “You and Emily, my work, this house. Wouldn’t change a thing. But it’s just a fact that I’m not getting any younger, and there’s this part of me – there always has been – that needs to do this, one time. Strictly for myself… to get it out of my system.”
Sarah smiled. “We’ve been together twenty five years. Twenty five good years. You’ve earned the right to have some fun. But… in those twenty five years, you’ve never once mentioned any burning desire to make a movie.” She laughed. “Other than that one time in college… but that was a different type of movie than what you’re talking about now, I assume. I hope.”
I laughed as well. “I promise it’s not going to be a porno. And the desire to do this has always been there, if sometimes smoldering rather than burning. Maybe I was embarrassed by it, so I never brought it up.”
Sarah slowly dropped her smile. “How much would it cost?” she asked.
I cleared my throat. “I’m thinking… I’m thinking I could do it for ten thousand dollars. That would be my limit. Plus, you know, lost income from taking time off work.”
Sarah didn’t respond right away and I felt a weird desperation start to take hold. I hadn’t been prepared for her to say no. What if she did? Would I deliver some ultimatum? Was it worth it?
“I, um, I could probably do it for less,” I added. “Maybe even five thousand. Ten would be better, but I could do something for five.”
“If you could do something for five,” said Sarah, “then I imagine I’ll be blown away by what you do with twenty five.”
*
I bought some decent entry level lights, used, and a few different rigs for filming with my phone. That was all fine, but the big problem was that I had no idea what to do next. I didn’t have a story. I didn’t have actors. I didn’t have any locations.
I found the location first… by accident, it seemed, though now I wonder if it wasn’t leading me there somehow… calling to me on some subprimal level.
It was in a park a few towns over from where I lived. I’d gone there for a hike, to clear my head and try desperately to scare up some inspiration. I found myself going quite a ways off the main trail when I almost tripped over some rusted train tracks that crawled out of the earth, as if being vomited up in rejection, or else escaping imprisonment.
I followed these tracks a few hundred yards through the woods to a clearing where I found what appeared to be an old, abandoned train station. The building was weathered, but there weren’t any obvious signs of rot, and the foundation seemed like it hadn’t heaved or settled since it had been built. The glass in the windows was intact and the doors (unlocked) hung square in their jambs. Stepping inside, I found that it was completely empty, but in even better shape than the exterior suggested. It was dry and dustless and without obvious signs of critter infestations, almost like somebody had been keeping the place up for some reason, though there were no clues as to what that reason might be.
Back in town, I stopped by City Hall and inquired about it. Nobody knew what I was talking about, until an old woman – well past retirement age – was summoned down from one of the departments on the second floor.
“Why are you asking about that place?” she croaked.
“Well, I’d like to shoot a movie there. I’m willing to pay, of course,” I said, hoping that any filming permits would come out under a grand.
“A movie,” said the old lady. “It ought to be a ghost story, I think. Is it a ghost story?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I haven’t written the script yet.”
“Nothing Satanic,” she said. “We had trouble with Satanists there, many years ago.”
“Satanists, ma’am?”
“Satanists, sir. Is it a ghost story? The station would make a suitable location for a ghost story.”
“I don’t know,” I said again. “Maybe. Horror for sure, I think. Maybe ghosts, or maybe vampires. Maybe a serial killer.”
“No serial killers,” said the lady. “Vampires are fine, but make them classical. No sparkles. Write your script and bring it here and if it passes muster, you may film at the location, no charge.”
I decided I liked her. “Thank you for the opportunity, ma’am. If I may… what is that place, anyway? An abandoned train station in the middle of the woods?”
“Nobody knows,” said the woman. “It’s been there forever, I think. Bring me your script.” Then she turned from me and began limping back towards the grand staircase she had come down.
*
I met with my old friend Marvin that night at the bar, where we met every other Saturday.
Marvin had long gray hair and a weathered face which together was remarkably reminiscent of BOB, the evil maniac from the Twin Peaks franchise – who, now that I thought about it, had committed his ultimate act of evil in a train car in the middle of the woods.
“What do you think about being in my film?” I asked, once my first mug was half empty.
“You mean as an actor?”
“Sure.”
Marvin considered it. “You’ll pay me?”
“Sure. Not much. But something.”
“What’s my character?”
“Dunno yet.”
“I’d make a good villain.”
“I think so too. So maybe we subvert that expectation.”
“I’m the hero.”
“Maybe.”
“Why not? I’ll do it.”
We drank a little more, and it occurred to me that maybe he looked a little too much like BOB. I didn’t want to be accused of being unoriginal (though I also figured that my movie would be seen by maybe ten people, and they would all politely tell me that it was a good effort.)
“Are you willing to get a haircut?” I asked Marvin, after I’d ordered us another round.
“Oh hell no. Sorry, bud.”
I took a sip of beer and thought. “Alright. Will you tuck it under a hat at least?”
Marvin took a sip of his beer and thought. “Sure, pardner. I can do that.”
*
Looking for more actors, I posted fliers around town, put out online ads, and even hit the local theater. There were a few bites, but most of them were clear ‘no’s as soon as I told them:
“I don’t have any experience making movies, and I can’t pay much, and I don’t have a story yet. But I have a cool location. If we can film there, I mean.”
The only one who showed any interest after that was Ashley. She was a junior in high school.
“Yeah?” she asked over the phone. “Where is it? Your ‘cool’ location?”
“It’s an abandoned railroad station in the middle of the woods.”
“I like it,” she said. “I’m in.”
“Oh? Don’t you have to ask your parents?”
“No,” said Ashley. “Fuck them.”
*
(I did have a conversation with Ashley’s parents. My wife – a lawyer – drew up a contract. Everybody signed it.)
*
I had some equipment, two actors, a hat, and a tentative location. Now I had to finally write a story.
I started with the hat. A big cowboy hat. Marvin’s character was a cowboy. One from the wild west, or a contemporary one? I didn’t know yet.
Then the age discrepancy between Marvin and Ashley. He could be her father, of course. Or maybe he kidnapped her? Or maybe she was holding power over him somehow. Was she a vampire?
A cowboy and a young lady stopped at a ghost of a train station. Why?
Just to stretch their legs. They don’t know each other. They see each other on the train, yes, and they see each other when they get off the train, since they are the only two to get off at the waystop. Which is strange, because the train had been full. [I figured on using stock footage for the inside of the train.]
And even stranger? When they enter the station, they find it abandoned. And when they come back outside, they find the train gone, and the tracks rusted and mostly swallowed by the earth.
“What is this?” asks the girl, frightened. “Why did they leave us here?”
The cowboy doesn’t respond right away. He looks right, then left. He’s playing it cool, but his eyes betray fear. A sound from the forest makes those eyes go even wider.
“Dunno,” he says, reaching for the gun on his hip that he now realizes isn’t on his hip at all, but well hidden back in his bag in the luggage compartment on the train. “Reckon we ought to go back inside.”
*
They hear terrible noises that night, like something massive is crashing through the woods around them, again and again, snapping branches or maybe entire trees. It’s not a constant thing. There will be moments of silence when they hope the thing has moved on, until it starts up again.
They tell each other their stories. Bella is 16 years old and running away from home. Her mother is dead and her old man is a drunk. She loves him in a sense but mostly hates him, and either way, she sees no future there for her in that little rinky-dink town.
Cal is making an opposite but equal move: he’s leaving his daughter behind. Her mother isn’t dead, though, and, he claims, little Sarah [yes, I used my wife’s name here because it turned out that I was bad at coming up with names] would be much better without him in her life. He is a scoundrel, you see. Rotten down to the bone, but with just enough heart – if that’s what it is – to not want his rottenness to rub off on his daughter.
“I get that,” says Bella, just before another loud crash from the woods silences them.
There are some candles in the station, and a book of matches. Once the noise dies down again, Cal lights some candles.
“I get that,” says Bella again. “I think you made the right call. And I think someday she’ll see it that way, too. There are worse things than being alone.”
Cal smiles in the flickering light. “Hey,” he says. “I like that. ‘There are worse things than being alone.’ Ain’t that the very goddamn truth that just about nobody knows.”
But when the noise starts up again, it’s obvious they’re both glad they’re not alone.
*
Exploring the station, they find that it has a basement. [I doubted the actual station had a full basement, but figured I could shoot those scenes at my own house. As it turned out, the station did have a full basement.]
They decide it’s worth checking out. It may wind up being the safest haven to hide from the thing stalking the forest, which seems to be circling the station, getting closer with each lap, like a spiral with them at the center. And so down they go, wielding candles against the vast darkness.
Descending the creaky steps [got to have creaky steps], Bella asks what that smell is, and suggests that maybe they’re better off upstairs after all. Cal disregards her, and reaches the bottom first. He swings his candle around so frantically that it threatens to go out – he’s obviously just as spooked as his young companion – but there doesn’t seem to be anything there. Just a dirt floor and the stone walls of the foundation.
“It’s okay, darlin,” he calls behind him. “No boogeymen down here.”
He gets no response. It’s suddenly dead quiet. He whips around fast enough that this time the motion does extinguish the candle’s flame. Now there’s a darkness to match the silence.
“Kiddo?” he calls softly. “You there?” No response from Bella. “Answer me! Quit messing around.”
There’s a tiny spark of light as he flicks a match against phosphorus, and the candle begins to burn again. Bella is nowhere to be seen. He creaks his way back to the main floor and looks around. No Bella.
“Dammit girl, this isn’t funny!”
As if in agreement that this is not in fact funny, the beast – or whatever it is – makes its presence known again. It sounds like it’s right at the front door now. In fact, it’s pounding on the door, making the whole station rattle. And then….
*
The twist.
Cal wakes up in the hospital.
A doctor [played by me, I supposed] tells him the bewildering news that he was clinically dead for three minutes.
“Bella…” croaks Cal. “Is she okay?”
“Who is Bella?” the doctor asks.
Cal blinks, tries to scootch up on an elbow, but can’t.
“Easy now,” says the doc.
“What happened?” asks Cal.
The doc tells him what he himself has been told. Sarah [which, again, besides my wife’s name is also Cal’s daughter’s name] was chasing after a ball into the street. Cal shoved her out of the way at the last moment. The car very likely would have killed Sarah… did kill Cal, but they were able to bring him back to the land of the living.
Cal asks if his phone is around. The doc says it’s probably in that drawer over there and goes over to check. It’s there. He hands it to Cal. There are dozens of text messages waiting for him to read, but he doesn’t read them yet. Instead, he enters a search term for Isabella + the name of the small town she said she was from. He gets some hits.
She had been involved in a bad car accident. Her father had been driving while she rode in the back seat. It hadn’t been the father’s fault, at least according to what Cal read. Somebody else ran a stop sign and t-boned the rear of their car.
*
A month later. Cal and Bella are sitting across from each other at a diner. [I figured Traci’s Diner would give me permission to shoot there after hours, especially if I offered a few hundred bucks.] They both look pretty beat up.
They talk for a while. Bella says that the accident shook her father to the core. He hasn’t had a drink since. Cal says his accident changed him, too. Doesn’t want to go wandering anymore… wants to stick close to home and give his family everything he’s got.
“Because we made it,” he says. “Didn’t we, kiddo? We died and we came back. We got a second chance.”
Bella swirls the straw around in her plastic cup of Coke. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she says. “Did we?”
“Did we what?” asks Cal, frowning a little bit.
“Come back.”
From outside of the diner, there’s a great crash that makes the whole place shake, and knocks their empty plates off the table and onto the floor to shatter.
The End.
*
That was what I came up with for a rough draft, anyway. I fleshed it out a little more, but I didn’t want to spend too much time on it, because I liked the idea of improvising some things along the way.
I hand delivered it to my friend at City Hall. She told me to take a seat and started reading it right away while I waited there.
When she was done, she tossed the script down on her desk and lit a cigarette. The building was plastered with No Smoking signs, but I didn’t say anything of course. Except, eventually, I asked: “Well?”
“I like it,” she said. “It’s missing something though.”
“I know.”
“But you’ll figure that out along the way.”
“So I can film?”
“You can film.”
*
Everything went remarkably well – way better than I thought possible – up until the basement scene.
As I mentioned, the abandoned train station we were using as a set had an actual, unexpected basement, so of course I decided to utilize it. However, this basement was different from the one in the script. For one, it wasn’t accessed by a door and a set of steps, but rather by a hatch in the floor (which Marvin discovered in the middle of a scene when he tripped over an uneven board) and a ladder. But the main thing was that it wasn’t empty.
Down in the center of the basement, there was a plastic folding table. On top of the table, a box. Inside the box, a stack of VHS tapes. The three of us stood there looking at the tapes. I was hit with a flash of inspiration.
“We could work this into the movie,” I said. “You two come down for shelter, and find these tapes. Or maybe just two tapes, sitting on the table. There’s an old TV with a built-in tape player in the corner. I think I have one of those in the garage… if not, I could probably find one cheap.”
“I’ve got one,” said Marvin.
“So we watch the tapes,” said Ashley. “What’s on them?”
I smiled. “They’re records of your lives. Birthday parties. Sports games. Piano recitals. Stuff like that. Because, you know, they say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re dying. So this would be like the literal embodiment of that, because your characters are dying… dead, really.”
“Holy shit… that’s good,” said Ashley.
“That’s why they pay him the big bucks,” said Marvin.
*
I set up the camera directly under the hatch door, pointing up, and got a good shot of Marvin yanking the door open from above and gazing down into the darkness.
“Cut! Good. We got it.”
Next, I set up in a corner of the basement for a long shot of the two of them climbing down the ladder. I got that after a couple of takes, then we launched into the tracking shot, following them over to the table to discover the video tapes, alternating between their faces.
“It’s creepy down here,” said Ashley, doing a good job of looking like an unsettled Bella. She had natural talent.
“Don’t worry, darlin,” said Marvin, who was a bit of a ham… though that was working for his portrayal of Cal. “No boogeymen down here.”
“Then what’s that?” asked Ashley, pointing to the table. I followed her finger with the gaze of the camera. Then she said, “Wait. Where did they go?” Which wasn’t in the script.
“Cut!” I said, lifting my phone and looking at Ashley. “It’s Marvin’s line.”
“I know it’s Marvin’s line. But where are the tapes? Can’t have a scene without the tapes, can we?”
“What do you mean? They’re right there.” But I was wrong. The tapes weren’t on the table.
My skin prickled. I had put them there. On the table. Side-by-side, two black spine VHS cassettes.
I turned the lights up and searched under the table… no tapes. No tapes beneath the copy of the script on the floor… no tapes anywhere at all in the basement.
Had I put the tapes on the table? I remembered doing so, very clearly. And yet, the tapes weren’t there, so what explanation was there other than that I was misremembering? That wasn’t a reassuring answer, but it was the only answer I could accept.
“Huh,” I said. “Thought I brought them down here earlier. Sorry about that.”
But the tapes weren’t upstairs either. They were just… gone.
*
Marvin brought in two tapes from his house the next day – both containing actual clips from his childhood that he agreed to include in the final cut of the film – and we plowed ahead.
The rest of the shoot went perfectly, and when we wrapped, we all agreed that we had not just an “okay for our first time” movie, or even a “pretty good” movie, but something that maybe even approached greatness. I took them out to dinner to celebrate.
“You don’t gotta pay me, bud,” said Marvin, after we’d finished eating.
I took a sip of my beer, smiled, and said, “Knock it off. You earned it.”
“But I mean… what’s the next step? You gonna edit this thing yourself? You ever edited a movie before?”
“No, but I never wrote, directed, or acted in a movie before either, and I like to think I did a pretty good job there.”
“You did an amazing job,” said Ashley, before taking a bite of her chocolate cake.
“No argument from me on that front,” said Marvin. “And I’m sure you’d do fine editing the thing, too. But we’ve got something special here. I know a guy… Lenny. That’s what he does… edits movies. The bastard owes me a favor, too, so I bet I could get us a pretty steep discount on his services. So you take the money you were gonna give me and give it to him instead.”
“Thanks for the offer,” I said. “Really. But I think I’d rather edit it myself.”
“Ash?” said Marvin. “What do you think? Think we’ve got something worth trusting to a professional?”
“I do,” said Ashley. “But… it’s his film. He can do whatever he wants with it. All I’m saying is I’ll give up my pay too, if it helps the final result. I didn’t do this for the money. And what if… what if we could actually like, get this thing into theaters? Maybe a film festival.”
My head swelled pleasantly with beer and possibilities. They were right, and if I edited the film myself, I would be doing it for selfish reasons. To be able to say that the thing had been created by me from conception to final cut. But I knew I wouldn’t have anything at all without Ashley and Marvin, and I owed it to them to do everything I could to make the final version as good as it could be, even if that meant giving up control.
“Alright,” I said. “Let me check out this guy’s work, and if it looks competent, and he’ll take it on, he’s hired. Sound good?”
“My man,” said Marvin.
Ashley nodded, beaming.
We talked a little more, then left the restaurant. Marvin got in his truck and I drove Ashley home in my Subaru.
When we got to her house, I put the car in park, and turned to her. “You’re going to be a star,” I said. “Thank you so much for being a part of this.”
“We’re all going to be stars,” she said. “Thank you.”
Then she got out and I waited until she made it to the front door and went inside and that was the last time I ever saw her.
*
The next day, I went over to Marvin’s and watched an indie sci fi movie that Lenny had edited. The movie itself was a little hokey, but the beats hit. I figured that meant it was well edited; but admitted that I really had no idea… and that (i.e. my complete ignorance), more than anything else, convinced me to hand the raw footage over, if he would have it.
Marvin, Lenny, and I met at a bar and I pitched him the movie. He said he’d take a look at the script and a few reels, and if it looked good, sure, he could probably take it on.
He called me the next morning and said it looked intriguing and so he was in. I met up with Marvin again that evening at our favorite bar. He came in the cowboy hat I’d bought for the movie; he’d taken quite a liking to it.
“This is good,” Marvin said, setting his mug of beer down on the bartop. “Lenny’s a pro.” After another sip: “Goddamn. What a trip. A month ago, you told me I’d be in a movie – a real movie, and a damn good one – I woulda told you to lay off the peace pipe. And now here we are.”
“It’s not done yet,” I said. I felt that nervousness one feels when they’re most of the way towards doing something amazing, but it wasn’t a done deal. A marathon runner in the lead, with the goal line in sight, but somebody breathing down her neck. A cabinetmaker who has spent months making beautiful cabinets and is on the way to the jobsite with them, hoping to God that his measurements of the space had been accurate. A poker player with a full house in hand, but the makings of a straight flush on the table.
“It’s done, bud. You can ease up. At least when it comes to making the thing. You think at all about what Ash said? About maybe entering the thing in a contest or something?”
“A little. Listen… I appreciate the support, but maybe for tonight, we talk about something else? I’m so wound up on this.”
Marvin needed no further prompting. He moved seamlessly into a discussion about the football season, and, after that, family life, and after that, politics.
After a couple drinks, we cut ourselves off before we got too tipsy to drive. Outside in the parking lot, Marvin grabbed me and pulled me into a bear hug.
“I’m so goddamn prouda you, buddy,” he said. “You really did something special here. And I’m lucky as hell that I was a part of it.”
Marvin wasn’t the hugging type, and I was so shocked by it that it took me a moment to respond. A moment too long, because by the time I was ready, he was already in his truck, firing it up.
He grinned and waved at me through the windshield, then drove off into the night. That was the last time I ever saw Martin.
*
The next day, I had a Saturday morning breakfast with Sarah as our daughter Emily played with her iPad in the living room.
“So,” she said. “Crisis averted?”
“Huh?”
“Your movie. You seem happy with it. You told me this was your version of a midlife crisis. So now that it’s done with, the crisis is over, right?”
I laughed. “Right. Well, yes, I’m very happy with it. And I’m very happy with my wife, who made it possible. Thank you.”
“But?”
“No ‘but.’ I’m happy.”
“You are. You’re so happy that you want to keep doing it.”
“I… no. I just wanted to make a movie. And I did. Crisis averted.”
“Sure. So… when do I get to see it?”
“As soon as the final cut is done.”
“And when is that?”
On cue, my phone started rattling around face down on the kitchen table.
“You can answer,” said Sarah.
I flipped it over and saw that it was Lenny calling. I picked it up and slid it open.
“Hi Lenny.”
“Wow,” said Lenny. “Wow. It’s a masterpiece.”
“You’ve already finished?”
“I haven’t slept in… what’s today?”
“Sunday.”
“I haven’t slept in… a while. I don’t know. This is… it’s a masterpiece.”
“That’s good to hear, Lenny. That’s good to hear. Can I… can I see it?”
“Jesus Christ, that’s why I’m calling. Get your ass over here. Bring Marvin. Bring the girl, too. She’s phenomenal.”
I covered the mouthpiece and addressed Sarah. “Lenny’s got it all edited. Okay if I pop over there and watch the cut?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Hollywood,” said Sarah.
“Alright,” I said into the phone. “Just text me your address and I’ll be right over. I’ll call the others too.”
“Good deal,” said Lenny. I was getting ready to hang up when he said: “Wait! I have to know. How did you do it? The creature? Those are some amazing practical effects for a no-budget movie.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about. He was supposed to provide the sound effects for the ‘creature.’
Lenny went on: “I can’t stop looking at it. I have it on a loop. Who designed that thing? You? Did you put it together too?”
“Lenny…” I said. “I’m not sure I follow. What exactly are you seeing?”
“Well, that’s what I’m asking. It’s hard to say, boss. Hard to say. It’s like it’s different all the time… but Jesus Christ… it’s… it’s terrible. Like I am actually scared of it. No matter how long I look at it. But I can’t stop looking. I… did you use mirrors? Is that what you did?”
“Lenny… I didn’t film any creature. It was just supposed to be noises outside the station. Then noises outside the diner at the end… but that could have been an earthquake or something. It’s supposed to be ambiguous.”
“Or lava lamps? Did you break open a bunch of lava lamps and put them inside the thing? Is that what I’m seeing? I’m seeing lava lamps and broken mirrors inside of it… or I was. It’s different now. It’s….”
I felt some formless terror closing in on me. Had Lenny lost his mind? Had he made a mess of my film? That would be bad enough. But the alternative? I couldn’t even wrap my head around what the alternative would be. So I didn’t try.
“I’ll be right over,” I said, and hung up.
“Something’s wrong,” said Sarah.
“Something’s wrong,” I said.
“Stay here.”
“Please. I can’t.”
Lenny’s text message with the address came through.
“Then go,” said Sarah.
I went.
*
Marvin’s phone went to voicemail. Ashley’s phone went to voicemail. Again and again. Lenny’s phone went to voicemail, too, when I tried calling that. I nearly ran a stop sign on Cedar St, but slammed the brakes just in time.
He’s been up for 48 hours, I told myself. Maybe popped a few pills… started seeing things.
“Where did those tapes go, then?” I said aloud, to myself. “I know I put those tapes on that table. Felt their weight in my hand… saw them with my own eyes. Where did they go?”
I tried Marvin again. Tried Ashley again. Tried Lenny again.
“Something’s wrong,” said Sarah.
No. That was before. At home. Sarah wasn’t in the car with me. I was alone.
“There are worse things than being alone,” says Bella. But she’s not there either.
Still, Cal agrees with her.
“No,” I said. “Focus. Everything is fine. Focus. See? A stop sign. Ease into it. Stop. Look around. All clear. Go.”
I drove, fighting against delirium, until I got to Lenny’s and pulled into his driveway, parking behind his BMW.
His front door was standing wide open. I stepped inside.
“Lenny?” I called. “I’m here to watch the movie.”
The shades were all drawn, and all was dark in front of me. I moved forward into the darkness, following a faint repetitive click. Like, I thought, an old-time movie projector.
The noise was emanating from Lenny’s studio down the hall. As soon as I entered, I was awash in blue light from a dozen TV screens. They were all just blue, like how they used to be back in the day when you had a VHS player inputted but nothing playing on it. And I had been right about the clicking sound, though I couldn’t say how I’d guessed it. There was a movie projector that looked like it had come out of the 1920’s there in the middle of the room just mindlessly running without any reel.
And no Lenny.
But I’d already known that Lenny wouldn’t be there, hadn’t I? I had. He was gone. Not dead, I wouldn’t say, but someplace inconceivably far away that amounted to the same thing as dead for all practical purposes.
And Ashley was gone and Marvin was gone. To the same place? Yes and no, I thought. Yes and no. Like how you and I are in the same place but not the same place.
I staggered out of the house. Was I going crazy? Had I already gone crazy? I had, I felt, blinking in the morning sun. That was a good sign. That I knew I had gone crazy. Reality was beginning to have a reference point again. I saw the black Subaru, behind the silver BMW, reflecting light and heat from the sun. Definite things. Things that should have been there and were there.
I got into the Subaru and started driving again.
*
The old abandoned train station was gone, like it had never been there. In its place was a black cowboy hat. I bent down to pick it up. A few long gray hairs clung to it, and wavered in the breeze.
I let go of the hat and went home to my family.