Orphan Train

by Christina Baker Kline

It’s as if she assumes everything will go right, and when it doesn’t—which, of course, is pretty often—she is surprised and affronted.

And aren’t your books alphabetical?” “You noticed that?” “I know you better than you think.”

I know all too well how it is when the beautiful visions you’ve been fed don’t match up with reality.

Dina listens to conservative talk radio, belongs to a fundamentalist Christian church, and has a “Guns don’t kill people—abortion clinics do” bumper sticker on her car.

until—well, until she finishes her time or Vivian drops dead, whichever comes first. According to her calculations, it should take about a month. To finish the hours, not to kill Vivian.

resembling a smile. “Now, now. No need for that. As with almost everything in life, if you are polite and present yourself favorably, it is probable that you will succeed.

The reading part of her feels private, between her and the characters in a book.

“Turtles carry their homes on their backs.” Running her finger over the tattoo, she tells him what her dad told her: “They’re exposed and hidden at the same time. They’re a symbol of strength and perseverance.”

don’t have a sweet tooth anymore.” “I didn’t know you could outgrow that.” “It’s for you,” she says.

So I am learning to pretend, to smile and nod, to display empathy I do not feel. I am learning to pass, to look like everyone else, even though I feel broken inside.

“Flappers are big-city girls who cut their hair short and go dancing and do what they please.” She gives me a friendly smile. “Who knows, Dorothy? Maybe that’s what you’ll become.”

Test your limits. Learn what you can endure.

“It’s a pleasure, miss,” he says, and I can see by his pink ears that he means it.

WITH THE TALKING, SINGING AND DANCING

“They just want to be treated fairly,” a kid in the back says. “But what does that mean? And where does it end?” another kid asks.

the people who matter in our lives stay with us, haunting our most ordinary moments. They’re with us in the grocery store, as we turn a corner, chat with a friend. They rise up through the pavement; we absorb them through our soles.

you can’t find peace until you find all the pieces.

“Why, you’re as handy as a pocket in a shirt.”

It is marvelous to be young on a big-city street.

We cling to each other like survivors of a shipwreck, astonished that neither of us drowned.

When he kisses me, my whole body hums.

My entire life has felt like chance. Random moments of loss and connection. This is the first one that feels, instead, like fate.