Nostalgia, a little

Through the open window (or, really, even the closed one), I was eased into sleep for 17 years by the rumbling of wheels along train tracks and the melancholy whistle of an engine through the night air. Every so often, an ambulance or police siren would weave through the tapestry of nighttime noises like a discordant counterpoint in my lullaby. Most nights, there would be a faint laugh track emanating through the floorboards from the TV below, strains of late-night Barney Miller or MASH reruns as my Dad fell asleep in front of the TV. In the summer, faint shouts and laughter of teenage boys mingled with the sound of locusts (7 years? It seemed like they were always there in the summer, those cicadas) taunted us girls stuck inside, called home as soon as it got dark by the chorus of neighborhood mothers.