Before Dawn

The click of the front door woke me.

"She must be on the early shift." The thought tugged and prodded until I was fully awake. I hated the idea of Carolyn at the station alone, an easy target at five A.M. on a Sunday. I dressed quickly. Pulling my walking shoes over bare feet, I hurried out into the crisp blackness.

She had already reached the platform, the lone passenger under the heat lamps, when I found her. The train was nowhere to be seen. I honked the horn. She climbed the long ramp, and in a minute we were on our way downtown, the only car on the highway.

The old van was cold and Carolyn shared her gloves with me to stop the biting in my fingers. She was surprised and touched that I had come after her at the early hour without prompting. Through the frosty windshield, she pointed out a new moon surrounded by the ring of earthshine that appears just before dawn.

We talked nothings but enjoyed each others company.

"I'm writing again," I said.

"I'm glad," she replied.

"Sorry about driving so slowly. I have to get back to an open station with the little gas I have."

"That's OK. We have plenty of time."

We turned off into the deserted city. Christmas stars on the shuttered opera house gleamed their electric best in private performance. We had the broad avenue to ourselves.

"See those obelisks in the median there," Carolyn asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"Al's friend built them. He's an architect, too. He did all the work on their details. And he built the clock in Ogden Plaza by North Pier."

"Is he as young as Al?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "He's known all over the city but he just lost his job. His firm is cutting back. He's the youngest one there."

"Mom heard you talking to Al on the phone yesterday. She said your voice just lit up."

She smiled. "Too bad it's not mutual. But I like being around him anyway."

The drive wove along the river and the ice glowed a soft pink under the sodium lamps. We were finally warm now, thanks less to the inadequate van heater than to each other.

"You can drop me here," said Carolyn. "Thanks again, Dad. I love you."

The trip back to Oak Park was longer, but a hint of blue in my mirrors promised a good day.

Lou Stanek

© 2008 L. J. Stanek