Metrolink111: Shoes, Songs And Tunnels
Shelley J Alongi

 

There are two things right now in July 2009 that are hard for me to do in relation to trains and train travel. You might be surprised what they are. What does a person do when they have two weeks vacation? If you’re me, and you’re not but you might decide to do this anyway, you don’t travel out of state even though the plan at first was to do exactly that. At fist the plan was to get on the southwest Chief and go to Chicago and then transfer to the Wolverine and go to Detroit to attend the National Federation of the Blind conventional Since I have become the new editor of our National Federation of the blind Writers’ Division magazine it probably would be good for me to make an appearance there. But I decided this year not to do that. I decided to go to Dallas next year to the convention because as editor it probably is a wise thing for me to attend the convention.

But this year, there were projects and tings that needed to get done, and credit cards to pay off, so I thought it was wiser for me to do those things.

It was. My days were spent inside my home writing drafts of chapters for my railroad story, rereading them, putting together content for my upcoming website, amusing cats, and yes, of course, going to the train station and doing some train travel.

The train travel was productive. You can read all about my trips to Chatsworth in other essays: Assist at Chatsworth and one called Among the chips and the Cookies: Almost. I’m sure those of you who have been following this story will be interested in the updates.

The other trip I took was to Santa Barbara. Remember I took this trip in October of 2008 to go through the tunnel that the Lees dale Local came out of, encountering Rob’s Metrolink train. You can read all about that in an essay called “Love A New Rail Fan.” In that essay I talked a lot about not wanting to cross railroad tracks, so this time I deliberately went on the other side of the tracks toward State Street. State Street has all the shops and restaurants and in the three hours I spent there I probably walked four blocks and looked in a bunch of shops. I had a great Mexican lunch and decided not to go to one store because the lady said the items were fragile and she wanted to help me so I wouldn’t knock anything down. I’m blind but I’m no bull in a china shop. I told her that I didn’t need any assistance, I was a tourist and I would take my money elsewhere so have a grit day, ma'm, thank you very much. The thing is I probably wouldn’t have spent any money in her shop anyway.

After going through some designer clothing shops, vintage, modern, and an art mart, I happened upon a Payless. Yes, ladies and gentlemen I went to Santa Barbara to shop at a Payless store. Don’t worry I’m going to Santa Barbara again in September for a wine tasting tour with the Southern California Train Travel group. I bought my ticket in July. So I’ll do more than shop at Payless, but I did find a great pair of shoes and a bag there. If I had to go all the way t Santa Barbara to buy work shoes, then the trip Was worth it because I certainly wasn’t going to go to the Payless around the corner for same reason. I had to go all the way to Santa Barbara, say hello to Chris in Chatsworth as we stopped briefly there, go through tunnel 28 where the Lees dale met the Metrolink and buy shoes. Well, I needed shoes for a while anyway so I guess it all worked out for the best. And besides, if I had to make that long, emotionally arduous trip between Chatsworth and simi Valley, and then onward, Joanna was an excellent sales person and she provided wonderful customer service. She even helped me pick out a good bag. I’m the lucky one.

The experience was much different in Santa Barbara. A very nice gentleman buying a helm for his daughter and wheeling a bicycle showed me where the street started and gave me very good directions on how to navigate the area. A lot of people said hello, a man playing a recorder called me sister an asked me if I needed help, some people told me how the lights worked at the crossings, and the best thing was I didn’t have to cross any railroad tracks. No wait I did cross the tracks but I’ll tell you about that later. I didn’t get lost, I didn’t spend too much money, and I had a lo of fun being there. I didn’t find a “boyfriend” as the Amtrak agent who booked my trip said I might, and I did think it was kind of strange to be there by myself but I had fun anyway. That was the important part.

I decided to come home early, I was originally going to come home on the 6:50 train but didn’t want to get home at 10:40 and call a cab since Tuesday was my last day before returning to work. I did get home earlier than 10:40 but I decided to call a cab anyway. I had cash, I was tired, and I thought I wasn’t going to go do that again for a while so what the heck, I’d do it anyway.

“You went all the way to Santa Barbara for shoes?” said Rick White the cab driver who only takes cash and that I’ve known for at least fifteen years.

So you see, people thought it was funny that I went to Santa Barbara for shoes. The train fare, because I went business class, was more than the shoes and lunch combined. And it was all with it.

It was at this point in our story that I did cross the railroad tracks. The train going south was on track two and realizing this I made my way over to it.

“Are you going south to Los Angeles with us tonight?” said the conductor, a voice strangely familiar. Yes, it was familiar. The conductor who showed me his keys two weeks earlier on my trip from Chatsworth to L.A. was standing there, smiling and I was hopping on his train. He said he recognized me. Oh dear, train crews are starting to recognize me. By the end of that trip I had scared one of the passengers silly because I was walking toward the locomotive (he might have though I was a terrorist) who cares it wasn’t any of his business anyway, and Linda gave me her email so I could update her on Rob’s memorial plaque progress.

“So I’ve seen you twice, what’s your name?” I ask the conductor in the café car as we make our way from Glendale toward Los Angeles.

“Matt,” he says. Matt tells me I can buy those skeleton keys online and that I can get railroad lantern reproductions for $60.00. I didn’t get a production I told him; this was the real thing.

I also met Cindy, the other conductor, that night and told her that I bought a railroad lantern.

“You like train stuff,” she says, innocently.

Oh my, she doesn’t know the half of it. And sometimes I wonder, is it about the engineer or the trains?

“You can say hi to the engineer,” I say to a smallish lady conductor on the Surf liner from L.A. to Fullerton that night. “Even if he is a bit rough on the brakes.” Like me, maybe he’s just learning.

On the Amtrak from Santa Barbara to Simi Valley I sleep most of the way. I’m sort of awake through tunnel 28, but it’s still hard to go through there. I remember going through that tunnel before saying I had to do something for the engineer, Rob Sanchez. I did something. The tangible evidence is in Chris’s hands. I’m in the process of doing something.

The other thing I did, and you knew this was coming, was I went to the Fullerton train station about three or four times and stayed for many hours. The station during the day is a different place. A group of retired men sits on the patio, one whose name is Tom, has a tardier who thinks he owns the place and barks at dogs ten times bigger than he is. They talk and watch for nonexistent trains. An occasional freight plows through, warning everyone to get out of the way, and then there’s the Amtrak train that comes in once in a while. The first Monday I go to Chatsworth I take that afternoon 2:08 train. It’s my intension to meet up with the Metrolink111 and I do. I was going to take the Metrolink trains to Chatsworth but I don’t like transferring in L.A. if I don’t’ have to and I don’t think I need to get there that early. If I do then I’ll transfer but I get done what needs to be done at the time I’ve chosen to do it. While I’m at the station I explore the other side o the tracks, standing by the elevator, locating the bridge, walking down to the wheelchair ramp by the parking lot. A woman asks me if I need help catching the train. The people there are extreme: they either leave me alone or they ask me if I need help. I guess there’s no in betweens.

Most of the time I sit there, applying liberal amounts of sun block, enjoying the calm, quiet breeze, the occasional blare of the train horn as the freight comes in, and say hello to a few people here and there. On two o my trips during my vacation I pick up tickets. Once I try to arrange to meet with Jeff who takes the Metrolink regularly from Fullerton to San Klemente, but we don’t meet up. He asks me how Chatsworth goes. I tell him on the second trip I was on the very next train out after giving Rob’s plaque to Marcella.

“At least they didn’t put you under the train,” he says.

Good point. I wouldn’t let them. And if I got caught under a train they’d be making a memorial plaque for me…maybe.
 

I don’t have meaningful conversations, really. I talk to Kristina in the café, she’s going to San Diego University in the fall. I give the get well card to Bob, who finally makes appearances at the station. He is recovering from his stroke nicely. I talk to Doug about shipping the railroad lantern I want to buy from the Original Whistle Stop in Pasadena. I ship it and now it sits here on my table by the telephone. It is a very old, rate lantern. The cats don’t bother it and now I can go back to Jalapenos Grille and the station for lunch or dinner. Well my next thing to pay for is a hotel in L.A. by the train station, so maybe I can’t go as many times as I’d like, but it will all be worth it.

I sit on the patio in the early veining enjoying the breeze. I design a post for Rob’s memorial page after we temporarily hang his plaque at the Chatsworth café. Tears silently make their way down my cheeks, ruining the sun block. They’re quiet tears; sadness, accomplishment, knowing the story of the plaque isn’t over. It’s not.

What I don’t do on my trips to the station is work on documents, or work on the computer. I think about scenes for my railroad story. I design the prologue which I’m sure will change a hundred times before it’s final form. I create chapter 25 of the story. The story isn’t going at all like I thought it would. Glen and Judy get married. The conflict is so intense and the resolution so necessary that I decide to marry them so that I can pursue more tender moments, moments I won’t handle without marriage. I still believe in a man and woman saving themselves for each other in a marriage context and I won’t deviate from that in my writing. Besides it adds a different twist to eh story that I didn’t imagine when I wrote about Glen arguing with Judy in chapter one, the argument inspired by a possible argument between Rob Sanchez and his domestic partner. That pretty much went by the wayside, too, as I found a better way to highlight the conflict in the story.

Lilian asked me if I was basing my railroad engineer on Rob Sanchez. I said yes and no and maybe more no than yes. But certainly the character has its rooms in Rob Sanchez’s existence.

By the time I get to the train station my head on any day, especially during my two week vacation, is crammed with information or ideas, and so I come her just to unwind, toe sort out scenes of my story, and see what the characters tell me. Mainly they tell me to write the story their way and not mine.

The quiet moments at the station between freights, the cool, gentle breezes, the sudden influxes of people and the lulls in activity all serve as the spring board for my creativity. There’s nothing really significant to report about my trips to the station during these two weeks except to say that I haven’t met Tim yet, I end up there on Friday night for dinner at t spaghetti Factory, and I sit by the railroad tracks far away from the bands. I discovered that the platform goes all the way to the Spaghetti Factory and so I can sit by the railroad tracks there and talk to Chris in Chatsworth. Chris, one of the last two people to talk to Rob Sanchez before his death, tells me he knows where Fullerton is, he used to deliver food there and so he knows all about that train station. I’m hoping to learn more about this at a later time. Chris also tells me in that conversation by the railroad tracks that Rob was a Dodgers fan. Now he didn’t tell me if Rob was a journey fan. I’ll explain that later. Sitting there we talk, I tell him I’ve got ideas for the plaque if he can’t find a spot. He seems willing to help me find a spot for Rob’s plaque. I guess I’ll learn more about that as time goes on.

The trips to the fullerton train station, my sojourns to Chatsworth, and my trek to Santa Barbara all lead back to the original statement I made when starting this essay. Yes, there are two things that are hard for me to do right now in July. The first one is it’s hard to go through tunnel 28. The first time I go through it between Chatsworth and Simi Valley I sit there, tense, my heart alert. This is the place, I think, the place where the two trains met, where so many lives ended. So many engineers go through that tunnel everyday. Rob Sanchez went through that tunnel everyday. It’s hard for me to sit there. The trip between Chatsworth and Simi Valley is the hardest twelve minute trip of my life. Rob’s conductor is back to work on the train Chris tells me. I wonder how he feels about going through that tunnel. I don’t know, but I know that I, in July, of 2009, don’t’ like it.

The second thing that’s hard for me to do right now is listen to a Journey song called “Open Arms.” In September, 2008, the L.A. times published an article about teens grieving on the Internet for Rob’s death. An accident simulation video shows a train traveling and behind it the song “Open Arms” plays. Finally, ten months later, I find the video online and yes I mark it in my favorites. Listening to that song and watching that train travel is a very simple tribute, no words, just a very simple tribute to a man who obviously meant a lot to the boy who put it up there. I hope to meet him someday. I have to ask him if there is any significance attached to that song.

The hard part comes when I buy five Journey cds and listen to the song. Journey was my favorite band in high school. I love those keyboard arrangements. I’ve always been partial to open chords and being a music major and spending my time in Christian rock bands as a keyboardist I pay particular attention to those things. However, listening to this song, last night especially, Saturday, and remembering that the video had this song behind it made me cry. It was like missing someone I never met. It was grieving for something that never was; a locomotive ride for a teenager; perhaps a lost job for an engineer if anyone had found out about it. In the text messages about the planned ride there was a great amount of emphasis put on secrecy. It seems the secret event became a national debating point and Catherine O’Leary Higgins sure had fun with it. The moral of the story: never say in a text message anything you don’t want anyone else to know. My mother always said if you didn’t want anyone to know anything don’t’ say it.

The choosing of the song “Open Arms” by Journey has me baffled. Was it relationship based? A reunion? I don’t’ know the motives behind choosing that song. Was Journey Rob’s favorite band? He would have grown up with me hearing the Same music. The boy who put the video online wasn’t even around when that song was popular. Who’s to say. All I know is that it’s hard for me to listen to that song.

It’s kind of a point of nostalgia sitting here in my office listening to Journey cds. I remember lying on the floor in my parents house at probably the same age that boy was, and now here I am with two cats and a job and bills listening to the song that was put up on a video memorializing Rob Sanchez.

It’s my artistic personality showing itself, attaching significance to small things. It’s a beautiful song and a nice tribute.

I’m sure as this story progresses listening to that song and going through that tunnel will be easier. But for now, this is where we are. For here, for now, It is enough.

 

 

Copyright © 2009 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"