We were down at the train station. Not traveling just watching and waiting. I told her I liked the trains. They were going places and they didn’t stop unless they had to. She said, “I can’t handle them anymore, they are loud and they are brutal, the tracks deserve a break.”
I thought about it for a while and realized she was right. We both saw the same tracks much differently. I saw them as a way to get somewhere and she saw them as something more. We both looked out and saw the next train coming around the bend. I held my breath and she sighed. The train braked and squealed, screeching to a halt. I saw the sparks fly from underneath the steel wheels, she saw the metal grinding against metal and we both saw the train come into the station. Neither of us were wrong. We just ate the same piece of pie with a different fork.