The Overland Tales
Chapter 1: A Sort of Homecoming
The scenic spectacle on approach to Salt Lake City International Airport humbles even the most narcissistic heart. Passengers on the right stare at reach-out-and-touch-me peaks, still frosted with snow on this early May afternoon. Those on the left gaze upon the endless horizon of high desert fading away behind ridges surrounding the Great Salt Lake basin. The rest crane their necks in middle seats looking for a glimpse of something. Anything. Only the pilots are fortunate enough to see the entire expanse.
I’m thinking of another pilot: my father, a man I never met. He lived here in the Wasatch foothills raising a family oblivious to my existence. I look out the window doubtless that below relatives are going about daily routines, unaware an unknown half-sibling, uncle or cousin glides above them.
Flaps extended. Wheels down. I land with my secret intact. Someday, the right moment for contact may come. For now, I slip between bodies in the airport, wondering if any share my DNA.
Given my druthers one genetic match would be walking at my side: my son. I am here to see the return of Big Boy steam locomotive #4014, a blueprint of which has hung in his room since he was three. Pictures of him in front of one adorn our living room. We’d often talk about seeing a Big Boy run, but we never thought it possible without a lottery windfall. The days ahead will realize an adventure I’ve long dreamed of sharing with him, but thanks to school calendars and commitments that don’t revolve around steam trains, I am alone.
For now.
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