The Southwest Chief Line

 The train flew through the desert darkness and the whiskey was working. 

“Let me just tell you a story” he continued as he fumbled for a cigarette.

The student and the middle-aged man had met outside on the back of the last car of the train. The younger one took another sip and carried on, now with more momentum.

“So I heard it in boy scouts.  There’s two wolves, a love wolf and a hate wolf, and they are battling inside us—it’s like an Indian story or something.  Anyways, the young Indian says ‘Which wolf will win?’ and the grandfather chief says ‘Which ever one you feed’.”  He paused to drain the rest of the plastic cup and the ice clanked on his teeth.  “But I’m like, how do you really feed wolves? I dunno I liked the story though.”

He lit the cigarette and pulled and the red ember glowed and more inspiration filled him, and then the strong wind seemed to whip a disappointingly small trail of smoke out of his mouth. He was about to start talking about a business idea he had, or maybe a trip he wanted to plan, or why people actually tend to be racist, or possibly what the really important thing would be if he were to become a father.

And the rattling train that held him and a couple hundred other passengers hove through the night at breakneck velocity. 

As the young man waited a moment his thoughts congealed into annoyance and he flicked his cigarette off the end of the car and it burst into pieces of color on the tracks like so many drunken epiphanies and disappeared into the desert.

He went back inside, maybe to watch a movie.

The older man remained and poured some more whiskey.  He was a mechanic for Amtrak and was returning from a job at the Phoenix station.  Checking the time on his phone, he paused for a moment at the background image of his wife and dog.   His eyes were heavy and the hot blowing night air filled his lungs thickly and he imagined that he would be back in time to bring hot bagels and fresh orange juice for her before she got up for work. He let out a surprising burst of laughter when the young man quickly passed through his mind again.  Nice kid though, he thought to himself, and he enjoyed his whiskey in the warm night. 

He liked to travel on trains through the desert because he knows that there are few things to be disturbed.  No trees would sway with its passing and not many critters would turn a watchful head. No one would walk to the lighted windows of their homes to see something pass. The wake of the train would quickly settle.

The image of the dark worn-toothed mountains on the horizon and the pale and neatly swept sand and the carefully branching shrubs remained in his mind as he walked into the home where his family slept. He noticed the some unopened junk mail on the counter and then he filled a much-needed glass of water.