Metrolink111: The Best Two Minutes Everyday this week seems to present a challenge: not an engineer challenge, a life challenge. And the engineer is there to comfort me. The Best Two Minutes Monday November 30 is a hard day. I’m stressed about money. I can’t quite figure out how the rent is getting met in December without late fees. Work is difficult. The system is presenting me with its own challenges, a manager meeting doesn’t go as well as I like. By the time I reach the station I am ready for an engineer. I drop onto the wrought iron chair ordering whatever the special is for that day, talking to everyone. I don’t remember what I say that day, I do remember that the weather is pleasant, cool, gentle, my favorite weather. The trains pull in and out, trains are late, life is normal at the train station. All I know is that I want to see Glen. I must see him. It will help. “How are things at Disneyland?” Why does Glen have to ask that? He looks down from the locomotive cab, an MP36 my least favorite locomotive, the one with the not-a-bell, and no doubt sees my ID dangling from my lanyard. Why does he have to ask me that? Things are usually fine there but today I’m ruffled from my job, a job that sometimes I love and sometimes I hate. Perhaps this is the perfect job for me. I hope so. No matter, I’m here making train eyes at my engineer, one who it seems takes me seriously. “It’s still there,” I say, not sure how to answer the question. I don’t want to bother him with my worries; I only want him to relieve them. He does that so nicely without even knowing it. Someday I’ll tell him, but not tonight, not while I’m standing down here and he has his eyes on me. “Just as long as I’m still there,” I say, suddenly feeling better. Glen has worked his own brand of magic and it’s not Disney. “Yeah,” he says, it’s his signature word. Second slip away. The 888 MP36 he operates tonight has the advantage of being a little quieter than some of the engines he brings in here and so tonight, in order to relieve my own worries and learn more about him, I’ve decided to ask the question I didn’t’ ask last Monday. “I want to ask you something,” I now say, suddenly realizing the importance those words hold in this relationship. Each time I preface a question with “I want to ask you something” the question has either received hours of cogitation, or I’m afraid to ask it, fearful that it might be too personal. Glen waits patiently for me to finish my instant analysis. “What was your first railroading job?” I imagine he looks at me. “I was hired on in engine service on the Santa Fe in 1970.” “What?” I ask. “No brakeman or anything like that?” “No,” he says. So he’s always been there, up in that cab, running those beautiful engines. “Three years and I’m done,” Glen says as he prepares that engine for movement. This gives me some more vital information about my engineer; the answer to a question I’ve been wanting to ask but didn’t know how to phrase; the question of age an retirement. Now I have an idea. I like it. It’s perfect. The age thing is comforting and now I know that I at least have the possibility of seeing him a few more years. I’m not going to miss him yet. I’m going to keep asking my questions and showing up at his train as long as he has this route. If I can find him somewhere else, if he does leave me for the big time if he transfers to Amtrak as some might do when the larger passenger railroad takes over hiring crews for the baby one, I’ll admire him and ask questions. I’m even, someday, going to get that cup of coffee. I’m bringing a drawing board and a list because I have questions and Glen has answers. I may find another obliging engineer along the way but there won’t ever be another Glen. “I’m sure he has lots of stories,” Andy tells me last week. He may really have thirty-nine years of stories. I want to hear all of them. I want to write them all down. I want to cherish all the stories of the first locomotive engineer to talk to me about anything other than Chatsworth. This man, the fulfillment of my year-long quest to meet someone who physically runs the trains has comforted me, confused me, caressed me with tech talk, answered my questions, loved me with his skill, called me from that locomotive cab with his very existence. Even if the stories are not always good ones I want them. Tonight standing on the concrete looking up into that window, my mind eased by these two minutes, I know two things; I know his name and I know his hire date with the Santa Fe railroad. This whole experience of the locomotive engineer is only the beginning of the rest of my journey, and oh such a promising beginning. “Have a good night,” Glen now says, moving that throttle confidently into position. I stand back, shyly waving to him. We are finished with the dance for the evening but the experience has been worth the wait. Two minutes with Glen is like soothing balm for my injured soul. Stress, money troubles, job performance, all the things that plague middle class or even lower middle class America all show up on one day. No matter. Glen has been here. He has eased my worries and answered my question. I go across the bridge, back to the patio faithful, relishing in my romance with the railroad, comforted, and quieted. I Call Him Baby Tonight the Santa Fe Café special is a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with chips and a medium drink. I'll take it. Tonight for some reason I’ve told them that I sometimes call him baby; not in front of him, but in reference to him. Baby is a term that we used for the kids when they were younger. It’s also a general term of endearment, and for me it just embodies everything that he is: intelligent, friendly, willin to interact with me, even, perhaps on somedays, quiet or even focused more on his work. He is baby. “By the way you describe him,” Janice says, “I don’ think he’s a baby.” “Maybe. Get him out of that cab and off the clock and he might be,” I say, willing to admit that Glen may have flaws. At this point I’m just making them up. Maybe I just call him that because it relieves my stress, some of which has been dealt with successfully. By the time tonight, Wednesday, comes, the rent is met, not by any way I would have imagined, and the checkbook is in the black. Tuesday I missed Glen because I needed to go to the bank to deal with the checkbook and by the time that got settled I wouldn’t make it to his train so I went home and watched Christmas lights. I am a mature adult, still, I haven’t completely collapsed into my second adolescence, and so realizing my responsibilities I went and took care of business. I’m sure Glen would understand if I don’t come and see him. He is a grown man. I’m a grown woman. I’ve been on my own for twenty years I suppose I haven’t been on my own because of my intentional neglect of responsibility. However, there is a twinge when I don’t get to talk to Glen. Tonight, Wednesday, I’m happy to be back an it’s okay, I’ll call him baby. Life is good again. He sets the brakes on that lovely FP59; my sweet bell welcomes me. "Hey." I’m starting to initiate conversation now. This is becoming routine. "what's up?" he responds. "Is it a good day?" "So far." Says the upbeat, positive engineer. Glen appears to be generally positive about things. When engineers obey the rules of the railroad, it Is usually a good day. This week on a different Metrolink line, an engineer has missed a red signal, causing him a thirty day suspension, an investigation into his abilities and state of being at the time the signal was missed, and a three hour delay in train services on that line. Luckily for Metrolink the engineer manages to stop the train just short of a switch, avoiding ahead-on collision with another Metrolink train. When Glen says “so far” he is most likely acknowledging one simple fact: no one has missed a signal and hit him, or he hasn’t missed one. “What does Glen think of the screw up,” one of the patio faithful asks me. “I don’t’ know,” I say earlier. “I don’t’ ask him things like that. I don’t want to waste my precious two minutes.” Glen hasn’t missed any signals. He’s here with me, responsibly transporting his passengers. The tables could turn; Glen could be the one affected by someone else’s missing of a red signal. Glen is right; so far it has been a good day. He doesn’t explain any of this to me, these are observations I’ve made on my own. Glen is a smart engineer, though; he knows not to say it has been a good day till it’s over and he’s safe at home, or wherever he retires for the evening. For here, for now, it is a good day because he’s right here with me. I’ll take his answer. I’m always intensely curious about the part of the train I can touch when he brings it to a stop and so now, acknowledging that it is indeed a good day, I run my fingers along a grill plating on the door. It might be an air vent or just decoration. I haven’t prepared any questions for him tonight so I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Hey I never noticed this grill before." I tap the grill that runs horizontally with my red nails. Glen looks down. "It's a grill plating,” he explains. "I know,” I respond, appreciating his explanation even if it Is a sweet stating of the obvious, “I just never noticed it before." "It's one of the first MPI models," he says in reference to the locomotive as a whole. I know what he’s talking about. The engineer is starting to tell me things I know; an indicating to me that I have learned and that I need to do more homework. There are two types of cabs, one is part of the locomotive, accessed from inside the structure itself. This locomotive has an independent cab, accessed by an external ladder along the side of the machine. I’ve seen Carrie climb back into the cab. I’m not sure of all the engines that come through the station which ones have the independent cabs and which ones don’t. the attached cab verses the independent one seems to be a big deal among the railfans. The conversations surrounding the locomotives always address the issue of whether a particular one has in independent or attached cab. I suppose this is one of the things I’ll have to address in my questions to Glen and others. Why is it so important to people what kinds of cabs are associated wit the locomotives? Do they affect performance? Horse power? I doubt that, but since I’m the new kid on the block, I’m up for asking the question. I’ll just put it on the list. He revs the engine. I stand waving. "See you tomorrow, glen." It's always so nice to see him." Sweet Talking Engineer Thursday is a day that must try an engineer’s patience. It doesn’t try mine. “Are you going to wait there all night;” Janice asks from the other side of the tracks. Metrolink 608 is now twenty minutes late. I’m waiting for Glen; of course I’m going to wait all night. He’s waiting for his turn, why shouldn’t I wait for mine? Glen, put your hands in your lap like a good little engineer, wait your turn, take a number you're on the dispatcher's, the big board's dance card. Glen the engineer is a lot more patient today than one of two people who come and ask me if the Ocean Side train has come yet. At least they don’t’ ask me if I’m looking for it. One woman, Lauren, tells me she’s going to Irvine. “You Haven’t missed it; he’s coming.” Tonight Glen is delayed by the Amtrak Pacific Surf liner heading for San Diego, the train is now an hour and a half late. “Glen’s going to be mad,” I say, I don’t’ know if he’ll really be mad, I just remember that the last time the 784 was late he said it was a shame they both had to leave Los Angeles at the same time. “Is Glen your husband?” Lauren asks. “No,” I smile. “He’s the engineer. He’s coming. You haven’t missed it.” “The bus was delayed,” she explains. She is very happy she won’t have to find another way to Irvine. Lauren accepts the fact that Glen is late. The second person who comes to us is waiting for someone. He is not very patient. “Where’s that train! This is ridiculous!” A huge freight passes. Amtrak train 4 shows up. Glen really is late. “I’m here waiting for someone. Is this the right side?” “yes, this is the right side,” I say. “He’s late.” The man dances impatiently. Now I’m annoyed. “Come here,” I say. He approaches. “You see that freight that just passed us? He’s heading in the opposite direction of the Ocean Side train. If that train were coming right now they would hit each other and it would kill your friend. Do you want that?” It may be a little harsh but I’m annoyed enough to be blunt. I don’t want anyone hitting any trains today. Especially if they are trains that have my engineer running them. The tracks grow quiet. In the distance the bell of 608 signals its approach, finally. “There he is,” I say gleefully. Lauren and I shake hands, the other man has disappeared. Soon, I do my two step to the right and meet Glen’s train. Here at last! He’s here and my waiting is rewarded. "What's up?" "Hi." "We're late," glen informs me. "Long day?" "We're late." He repeats himself. I meant to say that being late makes for a long day. Perhaps he thinks I said he had a long day. Well, I’m sure he did or will if he doesn’t get to Ocean Side by 8:28 this evening. “Patient,” I say. I’m not sure why I say that; sometimes I wonder about my words this week. They seem empty, without meaning. But Glen is here. It’s all okay. "I stood here and watched the last three trains come through here I know you're late." "There's another one coming." "Freight?" "Yeah. Double stack." "What track?" I’m hopeful that the train will come now and I’ll have an extra minute with my love on the rails, my tech talking sweet engineer, comforting me with train talk. "Not sure. Two or three." "If it's coming on track three you better get the heck out of Dodge." "Yeah. We were sitting at Hobart." Hobart is a train yard. "You were sitting at Hobart?" "yeah." So glen my sweet engineer was sitting like a good engineer and waiting his turn. I’m glad. I want him here, not somewhere else. I’m glad tonight that he is more patient than the man who came to meet his friend. "Have a good night." The revving engine which never really idles today, the clanging of the E-bell, the shy little red-nailed waving of Glen's train off into the early, chill evening, twenty minutes late, but always on time for me. It has already been a long day, I hope he gets home soon. See you sweet talking engineer, tomorrow. Gentle Parting Friday is interesting in that a lot goes on before Glen appears. Andy shows up. His schedule dictates that today is when he comes to Fullerton and makes sure everything is running smoothly. “You go over there early,” says Andy when I come back from crossing the bridge to talk to Frank the engineer on the 708. He’s the engineer who first talked to me six weeks ago, the one who was running late and told me to be careful. Glen has never told me to be careful. “I sometimes talk to Frank when I get here.” “Oh I thought you were practicing.” “Practicing? No. Glen is the best.” He is the best; even when he’s quiet. “They all line up behind Glen,” I say. He’s first in line. Carrie will probably be back next week. I will probably see him a time or two. I won’t see any of them on Monday or Wednesday of next week. I will miss Glen the most. “Aren’t you going to head over?” he asks gently, I know he’s smiling. “It’s 6:45.” “Yeah,” I say. I’m not going to miss train 608; no way. “They cancelled the train with a different conductor,” says Andy as I stand on the side of the tracks waiting for 608. “conductor? Who cares about the conductor!” “Engineer,” he corrects. “yeah sure they did.” The train approaches. I wait meekly. “You got a good one.” He is operating an FP59. “Yeah.” Glen is quiet. I guess I’m quiet, too, because I don’t say much. “How are you today?” I want to know. I think I’m standing back because he says something; it sounds like it was a long day or he was tired or something. “I can sleep in tomorrow,” he says. Ah, yes, it has been along week for both of us then. “You must get up at 3:00 I say.” As he is about to respond, someone comes up and says “Thanks for the lift.” Somehow that ends the conversation; it’s time to go. No have a gooed night or have a good weekend. I know, though, that he’s thinking it. I am. It is a coldnight. I’m sure he’s ready for it to be over. Me, too. I send him on his way with a friendly wave, the gentle ending of another week. It hasn’t been extremely informative, only sweet and welcome. I welcome his two minutes this week because I’m stressed about things that ultimately work themselves out. This week he has relieved my worries just by being himself. Sleep well my sweet talking engineer, you really are the best two minutes.
Copyright © 2009 Shelley J Alongi |