would leave my brother and i at home, usually to get ready for bed or finish cleaning our rooms. i hated being left alone.
i would fight my terror one breath at a time, in and out. for some reason, though it made no logical sense, the sound of that train whistle helped slow my breathing, my pounding heart, and my racing mind, quick to invent evil.
when i was lying awake, or home alone, worried about my safety or whether my appendix was likely to explode (if i had a stomach ache) the sound of a train whistle would almost always help.
i am no longer a little girl. still, i get 