A foreign born individual did come to me many years ago, badly wounded from a drug incident involving her brother-in-law out in Arizona. I’d seen her in our small city emergency department in the northern Midwest, many months after the original shooting. And I wound up directing her care for many months. She had two small children, and she was utterly disabled from her attack. Her husband left her, and I always felt so badly about her circumstances. She lost her children to the care of relatives, and drifted away. Maybe still in a nursing home facility elsewhere, perhaps by now deceased.
Anyhow, one day some years later, I sat in front of my wife’s sister’s home in New Mexico, watching dozens of freight trains pass back and forth along side the I 10 interstate from Houston to Los Angeles. And I began thinking, what if… Then I came home and wrote this tale.