Metrolink111: Sweet Nothings
Shelley J Alongi

 

Like a joyous parent who awaits their child’s first utterances, I anticipate these moments with a generous amount of glee. This week at the Fullerton train station, the mysterious Glen speaks.

Preparations for a Rendezvous’

I stand perpendicular to the empty tracks just before Glen pulls 608 into the station, rubbing my hands with lotion, caring for my newly manicured nails. I hold my bright yellow railroad bag, and look toward the east, by the railroad compass. Metrolink 608 is heading toward Ocean Side on its last Monday October 19 evening weekday run. A sharp, cool breeze cuts through my turquoise long sleeve shirt, causing me to shiver, but not to give up standing there waiting. People stream across the bridge, the elevator bell tinkles quietly summoned by commuters making their way home or to other places. They either wait for the south bound Amtrak pacific Surfliner headed for San Diego or the metrolink 608. We all gather on the platform at various positions along the tracks anticipating Glen’s arrival.

Bob and Janice sit on the patio. Andy the man who maintains the Metrolink equipment is there. Before I make y trek over to track 3 we discuss how I’m getting to San Bernardino next week. I have Thursday and Friday off next week so I’ll be taking another trip.

“Oh no,” Janice says easily. “Where are you going now?”

That makes me laugh. I’m going out to San Bernardino to see a woman who owns a restaurant out there. She called into Disney an somehow we got to talking about restaurants and she owns one. So I said I’d take the train out to see her and try the restaurant.

Saved by the Bell

There is a lot of teasing that goes on tonight on the station platform, much of it surrounding what the engineer says to me though he hasn’t said anything yet. I point out that when I’m on the north side of the tracks and the metrolink trains come in, their engineers often will not sound the bell till the engine is starting to engage. On the south side, however, the side where I stand waiting for Metrolink608’s engineer, the bell sounds just before the engine moves. It could be, I point out during this silent week of Glen interactions, that I am standing against the train, or close enough to it to do some damage if I were to not move. Upon hearing the bell of course I am more than happy to move away from the line, allowing the train to move along.

“Move girl!” we say in a harsh manner. “Get out of my way.”

I’m sure the experienced railfans on the platform, those who think that we have no interest in engines, train things and just engineers, probably just shake their heads. I do not care. I’m having fun and that’s a whole other story. For now we’re teasing and I am, when Glen operates that switch, saved by the bell.

Locating Glen’s Train

Tonight, Monday October 19, I arrive at the station around 2:00 pm. I’ve taken today off to deal with some financial matters and finishing my business I head down here to await Glen’s train and see what happens before then. The place is quiet. The weather is perfect. If I can say one thing about my newly acquired train avocation, it is that I now spend more time outdoors enjoying what draws many to our sunny shores and golden mountains: the perfect fall weather. The hustle and bustle of people rolling backpacks, catching trains, gathering in knots by the tracks to talk about their days, and teenagers skateboarding on the cobblestone pathways and on the bus docks across the parking lot all compliment our balmy days and pleasant nights.

It is my turn to enjoy our glorious weather and I take some time to explore the station more thoroughly. Two projects today include locating the stairs to the bridge and finding the palm tree that lines up with the marker for the train on the ground. There are a series of markers which indicate where the engine should stop in order to have the first car located parallel with the wheelchair ramp for anyone who might require its use. Glen and any other engineer operating a Metrolink train of five cars guides the engine to the spot where the five car marker rests in the concrete. It is located at the edge of the second palm tree parallel to the tracks. Coming down the stairs, immediately to the left is the first light pole that offers illumination to the station, not to be confused with the railroad signals themselves. Immediately to the left of that is the square planter holding the first tree, then the second light and then the second palm tree. Glen pulls his train just shy of the edge of that second palm tree. Some of the trains pull further back along the tracks, the Riverside trains usually don’t line up with that tree. It all depends how many cars I believe are coupled to the engine.

Since I am early and it is quiet I decide to find my markings while there is nova activity and people aren’t asking me if I need help. Before locating the tree I investigate on the north side of the tracks locating my landmarks for the stairs. The first pillar about a quarter way down the platform lines up with the elevator and the free standing machine lines up at it’s furthest corner with the rail for the stairs over the bridge. The stairs are my preferred medium of transport to Glen’s train.

Extending the Scepter
The 608 pulls up slowly to its corner, Glen sets the brakes. It is for all intents and purposes going to be the same routine. I walk up to the engine, feeling for the safety line that marks the railroad tracks with my cane, extending my manicured, pink nail-polished hand to touch its smooth edge. My hand rests on the ledge, the bottom of the door. The bell goes silent, the engine does its live, breathing thing, the hum of motors turning axles. The world disappears in the cocoon of that locomotive , the people hurrying along become suddenly unimportant. I wave, my hand rests on the edge, it is a lovers’ caress. I look up, smile.

An intrusion, only peripheral at this point endeavors to drag me away from my nirvana.

“Ma’m, do you need help finding the train?”

I am pretty much used to this now and since I am standing right where I need to be I turn my head and say nicely for once, “No, thank you I’m where I need to…”

“She likes trains.”
The words come down from the locomotive cab. Glen sitting in his own private lair, his hideaway and place of vast responsibility has summarized the entire last year of my life in three simple words: she likes trains. Glen must have a knack for summing up entire situations in as few words as possible, either that or I’m just overawed with the first utterance of my very own Metrolink engineer. Glen’s first vocal interaction mercifully turns the well intentioned passenger away, forever preserving my private communion with a locomotive and its engineer.

I step back from the engine, my hand waving to him, my face breaking from the smile.

“Glen?”

“Yeah,” his single word response is a reassuring sign to me that this man has finally noticed me.

“Did Richard give you my letter?”

I repeat my question.

“Yeah,” he responds.

Maybe Richard really has given Glen my letter. I know one thing, Glen knows who I am.

“How long have you liked trains?”

“A year,” is my response. In two minutes we don’t have time for stories, only headlines. Someday he’ll find out my story.

I stand there, somehow I know our time has ended. The engine switches into a higher gear.

“Have a good night,” he says.

I wave and smile and say, my words lost in the revving of that huge machine he controls with such confidence, “See you tomorrow.”

And I do. Glen has extended his scepter to me, I have approached and found favor in the engineer’s eyes.

I make my way in ecstatic reveling across the bridge, taking all flights of stairs with no trouble breathing tonight. I return to the café, finding my wrought iron chair, settling my bag at my feet.

“Do you want to know what happened?” I asked.

Silent anticipation.

“He talked to me.”

I’m panting now, perhaps more out of excitement than out of difficulty climbing the stairs.

I am required by Fullerton station patio etiquette to give a full accounting of my first conversation with Glen the Metrolink engineer. Slowly we digest this news then make our way out to the platform to greet the Amtrak Southwest chief, beginning its journey in Los Angeles and ending it in Chicago two days from today.

Curt rides his bicycle up to our little group. We tell him that glen speaks today.

“you’re not serious,” he says.

I say that it seems as if he’s a quiet man.

“I thought he was quiet,” Curt says.

Curt has maintained throughout the islet observance and interaction with Glen that he looks shy, quiet, alert, responsible. This might be what we call task oriented, an engineer observing the station surroundings, looking along the tracks for possible trouble. Glen, there is no trouble here, only Shelley, your Fullerton train meet. It’s only me and I’m a happy girl tonight. I’ve been bidden and entered, more than christened, I’ve been accepted into the fraternity, further spurring my interest in the engineer and his lair. Yes, it is a lair and tonight, finally after a month, I have beckoned to him and have been granted an audience.
 
It is the custom of those who gather at the patio between 5:30 and the time when the Southwest chief leaves for everyone to part company about 7:20 or so. It I a rare evening when anyone but the most devoted of train addicts lingers on the platform looking for freights. Tonight my father is meeting me here and so I wait for him. Today has been a good day. Glen has extended the scepter. I’ll take it.
The cure for Nail Biting

Tuesday, October 20, Sitting out on my favorite planter bout half way down the platform between the café and the station door heading toward the Spaghetti Factory, I quietly observe the afternoon Metrolink trains on the north side of the tracks heading for Los angeles as they come to a stop further up than on the south side. Going toward Los Angeles, the locomotive pushes the train from the back, the engineer operating it from the cab car. Most trains heading this way are pushed, there are a few exceptions. However, today I am thinking about my trip next week, enjoying the gentle breezes, that quiet time between 2:00 in the afternoon and 5:30 when the regular group arrives on the patio. These hours are filled with hustling commuters and a lot of Metrolink trains. I am getting my bearings, locating the best position to be in, so that I can locate the car I need to get into on my trip next week. I will be on Glen’s morning train, the Metrolink 607 leaving Ocean Side at 6:21 in the morning and arriving in Fullerton at 7:57 AM. Glen will make his final approach to Los Angeles Union station, arriving there at 8:40 AM by the schedule. I haven’t taken a northbound Metrolink for a while so I’m investigating the land before buying it, you might say. Where do I need to be? And where will Glen be sitting? Do I have a minute to wave and then run to the first available car so that I can sit behind him? Maybe when we get to Los Angeles I can say hello to him when he’s not sitting twenty feet off the ground. If he is on a break or not doing paperwork, maybe I can just pop in for a brief tęte-ŕ-tęte. Maybe if he’s busy I will have to wait for our assignation to occur in Fullerton, our two minute romance before heading back to reality and paying the bills, feeding the family, getting ready for work in the morning.

Observing all this activity, I reach into my yellow bag an pull out my dinner, hot dogs, granola bars, tomatoes and an apple. A bright orange University Crossings water bottle filled with water completes the feast. Tonight after Glen’s evening train departs the station taking my heart with it I will cross the bridge and purchase my usual desert these days: Diet Doctor Pepper and ice-cream, the perfect ending to a perfect day, as the song says. Right now, right here, at this point in my life, Glen is my perfect ending, he comes very close to nudging the ice-cream experience out of its number one position. But for now, I wait, and watch, enjoy, and ponder.

Sometimes I get the strangest thoughts that go through my head here; it seems that this is ape lace for life just to pass by. Sometimes I feel that I’m not involved in anything significant anymore, work, station, sleeping; but it’s all not true and this place just as any other location becomes a reservoir of new adventure. I quickly push these thoughts aside and look down at my newly manicured nails. I’ve always loved a manicure, but lately since taking up my new habit of waving at engineers (I used to keep my hands resolutely in my lap) I’ve decided that if they’re looking, they should see nicely presented hands. I’ve always had a terrible nail biting habit. Red, swollen cuticles do not bode well for presenting nice hands. The only other time in life where I’ve had presentable hands was the years I spent practicing for piano recitals and didn’t have time to bite my nails. Now I consciously avoid biting them and sitting on the patio, at my desk, at a bus bench, and now on the planter, I apply lotion to my hands keeping them supple and soft, bathing my cuticles in attention so that I will not bite them. If it takes waving at more than one locomotive engineer to keep me from biting my nails I’ll take it. I want glen and all his colleagues to see pretty hands, and so here I sit tonight, observing, eating my dinner and caring for my hands.

About 5:00 I get up from my spot on the planter and had for the patio in time to meet Bob and Janice. We all sit down, joined soon by Jarris who gets off her train; I can never remember which train she exits. She takes the Amtrak 583 north to Los Angeles at 6:30 or whenever it gets to Fullerton. It does have a reputation for being late. Dan pulls up a chair. Soon everyone knows that glen the mysterious engineer has extended the scepter to Shelley. I’m sure the teasing is merciless. We all say it’s Janice’s fault. Janice showed me where he was in the cab, she put my hand on the door and he looked down. The rest, as they say, is history. The rest is preserved in Shelley memory for ages to come.

Glen, you’re a star, and it’s all Janice’s fault.

Sweet Engineer

Soon it is time to go across the tracks to await train 608. The balmy afternoon has turned into a cool night with a stiff breeze, one that is typical of fall around these parts. Around me, children look excitedly for trains. Just after the 7:00 bell strikes and just before Glen approaches, a long freight appears on track 3, driving me back to the palm tree with the displaced air. It could conceivably knock me forward into the path of the oncoming train. That, on any day, would not be good. Let’s not make this nice engineer and Glen late. The day is long enough as it is, let’s have some consideration for the engineer whoever he or she might be.

Silence lasts only for a minute or two and then the bell of 608 can be heard. I look down the tracks in my engineer pose, tense, ready to spring like a cat into action to find my spot. Ten pulls the train to a stop, there is something a little different tonight. He does not bring that throbbing engine to a kinder idle with a cool hand. He only sets the brakes. Passengers hurry onto the train.
“Don’t disappoint me, Glen,” I say.
Into the vast expanse over my head. There are words from the cab, “Glen pulls back on the throttle, the exchange is over. All the waiting and planning have come to this. Tonight’s exchange was only an acknowledgement. I’ll take it.

There is a twinge of disappointment and confusion as I cross the bridge and make me way back to the patio.

“What did he say?” someone asks.

“Imp not sure,” I sigh, sinking into my wrought iron chair, settling my bag at my feet. He said something but I sure didn’t know what it was.

“I think he said will you marry me?” Curt teases. Gaels of laughter flow from our happy little group now anxiously awaiting the next episode of the Shelley Glen files.

“Maybe he asked you for your phone number,” someone else suggests.

“Text me!” I exclaim.

“No, he’d rather just talk to you,” Janice says.

We’re out of ideas. The discussion turns to the freight that has approached track 3 just before Glen’s train.

“That’s it,” I suddenly gush, lights dawning, “that’s what he said!” Now they’re all listening, their mouths open in anticipation, my hands come together in childish delight. “He said they were delayed by a freight, they were late and he was leaving! That’s what he said!”

I’m sure of it now. That had to be it because the only thing that would have made him late was the freight! We al sigh in relief and suddenly I’m a much happier girl. My engineer, my sweet engineer has acknowledged me eve though he’s late! I’ll take it!

Cat Got Your tongue

I don’t remember much about Thursday accept that I ended up standing and waiting for glen’s train, feeling a bit like a school girl with a crush. I am definitely a school girl with a crush. He is my first engineer love. This is better than adolescence for me because now I have a life, a job, an avocation, an apartment, and now a crush! And oh what a crush!

The train pulls up, confidently I make my way to it and caress its external housing. My hand rests gently on the ledge, I look up.

“Hello,” Glen says from the cab.

“Hi.” Now’s my chance, love means never having to say you’re sorry, and here I am saying sorry.

“I’m so sorry, Glen,” I explain, “about Tuesday. It took me till I got across the tracks to realize what you said. You said we were late, delayed by a freight train.”

There I’ve apologized to a train engineer!

“Yeah,” he says, quiet, not unfriendly, just quiet. He’s the best.

Suddenly, inexplicably, I clam up. My mouth goes dry, I stand there smiling, not sure what to say. I can’t think of a single thing to ask him. Here I am with the attention of a locomotive engineer, one that I wrestled out of his lair, on without the specter of Chatsworth haunting it, and I can’ think of one thing to ask him. Anything I would ask him seems inappropriate. How loon have you been a train engineer? Running trains? Did you have a good day? No, that’s too personal. Are you lea? No, I didn’t want t ask that because Bruce always asks engineers that and I don’ want to always know if a train is on timer not. I want t know that the engineer is paying attention to me. Here goes my Toastmasters training out the cab window. Glen speaks, Shelley listens, and now the cat got her tongue.

The engine powers up. I wave.

“See you tomorrow,” I say.

“yeah,” comes the answer.

I’m happy; but man was I nervous. Oh my! I really am a schoolgirl with a crush.

Sweet Nothings

Friday has been a great locomotive learning day. Pat on the patio has told me the difference between the ph model and the phi model. The phi model has the ice-breaker, the nose, the ph model is a flat construction. The two different types of locomotives have two different entry ways one steps and one a ladder. These are things that are mentioned in Rob’s text messages, but that I haven’t investigated yet. I did not know the difference between the two until Friday October 24. I got off work early that day, coming to the station and getting my new watch from Gary who met me in the parking lot. Taking my package back to the patio I sat down with Pat an Joe, and we talked. We talked medication, sick train fans, engineers, and locomotives. Soon they leave and the Friday night group takes over. Bob, Janice, jaris is not here tonight, she has time off, Dan, and just before I head over to wait for Glen, Chris, Mark, Danielle, and Larry show up. Chris is moving into a new place and Mark and Danielle tag along.

I head over to track 3. Standing at the edge of the palm tree I extend my cane to the safety line, walk to it, place the tip on the bricks and measure the distance to the edge. There is perhaps a six or seven inch separation between the edge of the platform and the first rail. I take my cane and slide it along the edge measuring my position, placing myself perpendicular to the tracks. I do this several times, sliding my cane along the line, taking a few steps to the left or right, preparing for Glen’s train. When he gets here I want to be in position to follow the bell since time is of the essence and I’ll hae no spare moments to locate him. I must kno exactly where he is seconds before the locomotive comes even with me. I must be on my mark. I must be waiting.

Just before 7:00 pm when the clock tower chimes its majestic tune, Chris and Mark leave. I stand all alone by my second palm tree. Glen approaches. I follow the line with my cane, putting myself in position with the bell. Tonight I take several steps to the right because I know that bell will pass me. It comes even with me, its midrange tone welcoming me, that locomotive comforting, alive, warm.

Glen sets the brakes, powers down. Good, tonight we’ll have at least one minute together.

”Excuse me ma’m if you want the train; the doors aren’t here.”

Someone is once again trying to distract me from my happy place.

“Glen,” I project up into his window. “How are you?”

The person tries again but gives up as Glen responds to my greeting. In that Metrolink employee’s famous words, the words she spoke when Glen held the train for me on September 11, 2009: “Thank you, Glen.” Yes, thank you, Glen, from the bottom of my heart I thank you.

Tonight I’ve determined not to clam up when Glen pulls his train to me. I’ve thought ahead of time. Tonight I will speak.

“Do you like trains?” I ask.

“Love em” he says, his vocal response signaling a positive reaction to my very rudimentary question. Tonight I have determined not to get nervous, not to clam up. Here is a locomotive engineer, one who extended the scepter, I’m not letting my chance get away. Glen’s vocal response signals that I have asked the right question; I have hit pay dirt. I can almost see those eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

I figured asking if he liked trains would be appropriate because it was the first thing he acknowledged about me.

“Are you early?”

It’s a cool evening and the breeze is light, that bell sounds just after the clock tower does so I figure we’ll have at least two more minutes because Friday is always a larger, restless crowd. I don’t notice the crowd. I only notice my engineer with his eyes on me; little novice rail girl with a million questions, a desire to know people who have the power in their hands. Here we are, passion to passion, intrigue and experience meeting on the same patch of concrete, two hearts one, if only for a few moments at a time.

“Yes.”

“How long do you sit?”

“Thirty-nine years,” he said obviously responding to what he thought was a question about how long he’ been running trains.

“4 is on its way,” he says.

Amtrak train number 4 comes right after the Metrolink.

“Yeah. On track 1?”

“Track 1,” he acknowledges.

“Do you have to wait for it?”

“No.”

Of course not, I shake my head no because I know that. I don’t know why I’ve asked him that.

“Do you know Mel and Mo Miller? They’re on the train?”

“Who?”

Repeat.

“Oh yes I know them,” I say nodding vigorously. “I know them.”

Today Mohr has said that she has breast cancer. She loves frogs. She hangs out with the fans on the patio talking politics with the older gentlemen who are inclined to that sort of thing.

Silence.

“Do you start these engines in the morning?”

The engineer with all that experience under his belt must have thought that was the strangest question. Of course someone has to start them. But does glen start them? I don’t’ know what else to ask.

“Yes,” he affirms.

“Not this one,” I say, pointing to the engine he is sitting atop.

“We switch equipment,” he says, and then ads something inaudible over the clatter of our huge, gentle engine.

“What’s this engine number?”

“One of my favorites, 873,” he gushes.

Happy, bubbly, passionate glen.

He sets his engine for moving that huge train, his hands knowing exactly what to do after so many years of doing it.

“See you,” says the Metrolink engineer.

I know our time tonight is over, but it is not forgotten.

“See you Monday,” I say,” I wave him on his way to his final destination.

The response is the pulling away of that train, the ending of a week of sweet nothings. They have been sweet; but they haven’t been nothing. They have, for me, been ten minutes of pure bliss. Those two minutes a day are the patient results of my journey into railfanhood. They are my first kiss. They are my passion. After a year of grieving the death of one metrolink engineer, I’ll take it.

 

 

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