The Toy Train

Jarrod at Carmel Beach (shortly before that day)

I don’t notice it often, but every now and then I’m drawn to that faint little scar between those two blue eyes of yours and I’m taken back to the day where I called you in for dinner at the front screen door, and then turned my back. I had taken two steps away when I heard the scream. I turned back around to your face covered in blood. You tripped coming up the brick steps. I scooped you up, carried you to the counter and with one look at the wound, knew we needed to go to the hospital. I held a kitchen towel to your forehead and carried you to our neighbor’s house, where I interrupted their dinner. Mr. Vargas took us to the hospital and dropped us off. We had to wait awhile, but a very kind nurse took stock of us and replaced the kitchen towel with a sterile pad. You were brave. She also brought a damp towel to clean us up as there was quite a lot of blood on the both of us. After she cleaned your face, she cleaned mine. Her presence was welcomed. You were falling asleep in my arms, but she told me to keep you awake. As we waited, I made eye contact with a guy across the room about my age, mid 20s. I thought he was cute. We smiled at each other. He got up and walked away. I watched him go. A few minutes later he returned with a toy train and handed it to me just as we were called to go. He said, “This is for your little boy.” I was speechless. Five stitches later and we were on our way. Your father picked us up, and then I had two things to explain; how you got hurt, and the toy train…