Reaching for a Fallen Star

The last time I saw my father was in Grand Central Station.  I stood there, waiting for the train, with all my worldly possessions packed snugly into the suitcase beside me, and I wondered if I was doing the right thing.  Was I really going to make it?  Did I have the talent to merit this jump?  

As if he could hear the doubts in my mind, Papa turned and remarked how proud he was that I was following my dreams.  Papa wasn’t one for giving compliments lightly, and he had never said he was proud of me before.  His confidence helped to calm the jitters that were quickly forming in my stomach.  

Papa had robbed most of his and Mama’s nest egg just to get me this one-way ticket.  This one shot at Stardom.  He always said, “Shoot for the stars – if you miss, you’ve still hit the moon, and that’s a whole lot farther than most people ever dream of getting.”  So no matter what happened, we always dreamed big, and Papa dreamed biggest of all.

“Someday, my child, you’re gonna do better.  You’re gonna outgrow this tired old town, the small plays, the singin’ in church – that’s gonna be nothin’ for my little girl.  Someday, my baby’s name is gonna be in LIGHTS!”

The blare of the train whistle jarred me from my reverie, and I realized Papa was speaking to me.  “You’re headed out into a world much different than the one you come from.  You’re gonna see things you’ve never seen or heard before and they might be a little bit scary.  Remember how we raised you and always be true to yourself and your dreams.”

Nodding mutely, I blinked back the tears that threatened to betray the fragility of my thus far fierce bravado and confidence.  In a gesture of deep understanding, Papa didn’t wait for my response, he just kept talking.  His words became but an echo in my ears as I struggled to keep my composure controlled.  Before I knew what was happening, the last call of “All ABOARD!” had come and Papa was carrying my bag to the train.  I wanted to cry out “Papa, take me home!” but the words just clutched in my throat, caught up in the dreams and expectations for me.  Instead I turned and hugged him tight, desperate to never let go.

With an incredibly kind yet firm understanding, Papa gently pried me loose and looked directly into my eyes.  “Victoria, my child, you are one of my own and must never give up on your dreams.  Your name means ‘victory’ and you will not fail.  Keep on looking up, never look down, and always, ALWAYS reach for the stars – they are your destiny!”

I boarded the train and made my way through the myriad of seats in the passenger car.  Not wanting much company, I proceeded down the aisle toward a lone seat in the far back corner of the car.  As I got my things settled, I readied my ticket and sat in preparation for the journey ahead.  

Satisfied that my things were in order, I scanned the area soon to become my sole companion for the long, hard journey ahead.  In front of me, a torn section of ugly upholstery housed a carelessly abandoned fashion magazine, as well as last week’s newspaper.  Beside me, a damaged and empty track revealed the absence of seats intended to occupy the area I had claimed.  

The window was clouded with smudges and prints of passengers traveled long before me.  In an attempt to open the firmly shut pane, I added my own to the mix.  With a creak and a groan I managed success, and opened the window a crack.  Then I peeked out the window, saw Papa there, and pushed the pane completely open.  

I felt the train lurch as it started on its way, and I craned out the window to see Papa.  Tears streamed unabashedly down my face, and I waved at Papa as hard as I could.  With a strained look of longing and love, he blew me a kiss and waved in return, choking back tears of his own.

When Papa’s face became a small speck in the quickly disappearing landscape, I resignedly pulled back from the window and settled in my seat once more.  I pulled out my handkerchief to wipe my eyes, and noisily blew my nose.  Leaning back in the comfort of my seat, the rhythmic sound of the train’s spinning wheels lulled me back into my reverie.

Papa was raised on a sharecropping farm, pulled from school at the age of 12.  When the time came for him to marry, all he could do was farm.  He couldn’t afford to get Mama a ring, but instead presented her with a deed to some land.  They built a small house and farmed all the land, while barely making ends meet.  As much as he could in the years that he could, Papa put money away.  It wasn’t always much, and never made them rich, but they always called it their “little nest egg” to provide for their lives in the future.  

As each of the children they had were born, the amount he could add grew smaller and smaller, and some years he could set aside nothing at all.  Those years, he said, were the most special of all, for the eggs in the nest had hatched into children, and children were more precious than the biggest nest egg in the world.

I was the youngest in a family of eight, and my birth was hardest of all.  For most of the pregnancy Mama was sick, and the doctors all feared she would die.  She stubbornly refused to hear any talk about anything other than fulfilling this pregnancy.  “This baby is my child,” she said, “and together we shall overcome the trials that have been set before us.”  On the day of my birth, I was announced as a girl, and Mama declared my name Victoria, as one who is always victorious over challenges.  

The doctors’ bills ate most of their nest egg, but Papa was nothing but pleased.  He was a proud papa of a new baby girl and Mama was doing okay.  “After all,” he said, “what was a nest egg if not for taking care of those who reside in the nest?”  

I never grew tired of hearing that story, or about the antics that followed.  Papa would lift me high in the air and declare me victor over all.  “Here she is folks….my victor Victoria, she who wins over all!”  I would giggle and squeal and kick to get down, but Papa would hold me up high.

The squealing of train brakes jolted me awake and I almost fell from my seat.  Chiding myself for not paying attention, I realized we had already arrived at our very first stop on the journey.  The conductor announced a 30 minute stop and I gathered my things to go for a walk and stretch my legs while I could.  

The ache of the journey had already set in for most of the passengers aboard.  Young and old moved slowly alike, feeling the strain of the ride.  As I exited the train the bright sun hit my eyes and I squinted to alleviate the pain.  I couldn’t understand how we’d traveled so far without hitting dusk or night.  As I wandered the station I noticed a clock that said it was 2:45 pm.  Knowing I’d been on that train for much longer, I compared it with the watch in my purse.  Sure enough, the watch in my purse said it was 4:45 pm.  Before I could embarrass myself by asking a question, I overhead a small child and his mother discussing the same situation.  Not wanting to appear obvious, I took a seat far enough away to be nonchalant, but close enough to listen.  As she patiently explained how time zones differ and the fact that we were traveling West, I listened intently and made copious notes, so I could write all about it to Mama and Papa.

A shadow fell over top of my paper, and an amused male voice spoke to me.  “Now what on earth is such a pretty little head doing buried in writing such industrious notes?”

Startled, I looked up to see who it was and dropped my note pad on the floor.  Standing before me was the most elegant gentleman I had ever seen, with his hat in his hand and coat held neatly on his arm.  While I stood there speechless, his grin never wavered, and his eyes stayed on me as he slowly bent down, retrieving my pad for me.  Glancing down to see his prize, his dancing eyes began to laugh and his jovial manner burst into a hearty chuckle.  

Realizing the shock and horror on my face at his most unfortunate discovery, he sat down beside me and gave me my book, with a wink and a smile of approval.  He reached out his arm to put it around me and whispered softly in my ear:  “Don’t worry lass, I’ll keep your secret…..it’ll be yours and mine alone.”