I found another piece of Creative Nonfiction I wrote several years ago. This is called “White Noise.” Hope you enjoy!
“That’s a train.”
“Oh,” I say, jolted. “I know.”
The rumble of the train’s wheels spinning against the tracks. The screech of metal against metal. The drawn out whistle.
The noise hadn’t registered with me.
I once lived in Sanford, NC. We moved there when I was loud and fearless. My role model was Pippi Longstocking. My friends and I thought we ruled the church where my dad was the pastor. We wrote “Happy 40th Birthday, Pastor Todd!” on every blackboard in every Sunday school classroom. Sarah drew tombstones labeled “RIP.”
We didn’t live by the train tracks till I was twelve. That was when the fabric of life as I knew it had unraveled. My father, the pastor, became a landscaper. Our belongings went into…
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