Juxtaposition with surroundings

Even out of the girl’s grimy hair, the molten piece of sun found a glint or two. The moisture in the air hung heavy. The sun, barely peeking above the horizon, reflected on the thickness of the atmosphere giving everything a red-orange tinge, a post-predawn theatrical glow. The finger of light, clear and warm, touched the girl’s eyelids and she startled awake, head jerking away from the sooty car window on which it had rested. The air in the old car was stuffy, even though the other windows were open, and smelled of dust. The light picked out motes shifting around in the air. The air itself moved not at all. She rubbed her eyes and swiped her pointy nose with her sleeve. The rough-woven material had a satisfying scratch and left a new soot-streak to join the others. Her mouth tasted of dirt. Her breasts had not yet swelled nor her blood run. She was still a girl.
She peeked over to the back seat to see if Jimmy was awake. He lay on his back, his flaking mouth open and twitching just a little like a dog’s legs do when chasing rabbits in dreams. He was younger and looked more so in sleep. She felt the urge to protect him. The rumbling of the train that had been building was growing louder and, with a blast of the train’s horn, Jimmy spasmed awake too. The car sat some yards from the tracks but shielded from sight by a few dark firs the lumberjacks forgot to raze. Their darkness merged with the car’s black, matte exterior. A solitary bird chirped hopefully from the trees. She looked back out the windshield, squinting, as the train bore down and passed by, shaking the ground, the car and them, the clack-clack-clack drowning out the bird’s calls.