Pinky's I Promise

I Promise

I lean out of the train window saying final goodbyes to my mom and my little sister as they wait for my train to leave on the platform below. My sister clutches my mom’s hand, but while my mother’s clear blue eyes well up with tears, hers remain dry. She always was tough.
The conductor lifts up the steps to the train and the whistle blows, piercing my ears, reminding me soon I’ll be gone. It seems like the more time you want, the less you have—I guess you only miss it when it’s gone, only realize it’s slipping through your fingers when your hands are empty.
Ruthie looks up at me, and when she does her eyes are filled with trust—trust I’ll come back to her. I don’t deserve it.
“Sarah,” she whispers. That single word shatters me.

“Every second, Ruthie. Pinky promise.” I stick my finger out the window for good measure, even though she can’t reach. Her eyes narrow.
“Pinky promises can’t be broken, you know. You have to really mean it, or else it won’t work.” Her voice is impossibly innocent. It brings me back to summers spent picking strawberries and bumblebees bumbling in the garden; of lying in the grass and the smell of apple blossoms when we’d climb high enough to forget about everything else.
Ruthie stretching out her hand to drag me into the river. “It’s too cold,” I whine. She giggles. . . .
The counters covered in dusting of flour, Ruthie in the middle of the kitchen, looking around. “I wanted to make a cake. . . ,” she

“I love you, Sarah!” my mom yells as she and Ruthie chase after the train, her green dress flapping in the wind and her hat having blown after her. “Goodbye!”
“Sarah!” Ruthie screams after me. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”
I’ve been trying to avoid that question for weeks, but I can’t now. She’s stopped running by now, but her eyes follow the train as it slowly moves out of the station. It’s true what they say, you know. Time really does slow down in your worst moments. When they’re all you’ve got, those final seconds last eternity.
I know I should tell her the truth. She deserves that much. I open my mouth to speak the words that will break us both, but I can’t. I just can’t.
Screaming in the middle of the night . . . “I had a bad dream,” she cries to me as I sit on the edge of her bed, stroking her head. “Can you stay with me?”
I nod. “Of course I’ll stay,” I tell her.
I should say the truth, but a lifetime of trust forces me back. Tell me honestly, would you sacrifice so much? Would you give up someone’s trust? Tell me honestly, would you?
I look into her eyes as the train drifts away, as she moves far away from me. “Yes, Ruthie!” I shout out the window, as a single tear rolls down my cheek. “Of course I’m coming back to