If you knew me, you could imagine me, swinging my lunch bucket and trudging steadily along the downwards-sloping gravel trail near daybreak. You could wave from the doorway of our imagined house until I was almost out of sight. Teetering on the brink of unreality, I would stop, turn, and blow you a kiss. You might close your eyes momentarily...but by the time you look again I would be gone--my nailed boots would clop on the trail, faster now, 'cause down the decline waited my dream. One of these days the steam engine will come, and I can finally witness the shining future in flesh before me. Maybe today will be the day--Boss keeps saying so.
I stumbled into a somersault--my laces betrayed me--and tumbled, rolled, until I finally planted both feet on the substantial path again. I was right around the bend...in a flash I spotted the wooden picket, number seventy-five. That was me. I stooped and gripped my hammer and a gold, shiny nail. They say it ain't gold except to fools, but it was gold to me.
Anyone would've noticed how carefully I handled the spikes, how unrelenting I drove them home: after all, we were paving the way to tomorrow. You could observe me, done with lunch, inspecting the ties, realizing that the last tie was hit here and it was time to move on. I would hesitate, and stretching across the newly completed project; eyes would drift shut. The others would, after a minute or two of quiet, hop up all at once, startled jackrabbits, and bound away. My eyes would flutter open, then squint shut as I cocked my ear down...a smile would crawl across my face, certainty dawning. I would stand slowly, misted eyes turned to face the east. I would glance up the hillock, as if our imaginary house were just visible, and salute once. Then I would turn expectantly to meet it. The hunk of metal would appear, glinting brilliantly so that all who saw winced. You might shout at me--RUN if you know what's good for you--but I certainly would not hear you. The train, unmovable in its relentless loping, devouring the past and present. You would gape as my body flew onward and promptly disappeared under gleaming iron wheels.
If you knew me you would not agree to this being a suicide...If you really knew me you would hop on the next train west and search for me somewhere in the Rockies. But if you knew me better than I did, you would quit your searching and tell your children that all dreams are nightmares in the end.
