Metrolink111: Going Steady
Shelley J Alongi

 

Steady as we go, toward what, where and when remains to be seen. I walk away quietly from Glen’s train on Friday and think this is what I wanted. I wanted a locomotive engineer to talk to me. I’ve got it. It doesn’t get any better than that.

Sneaky Engineer

“We got sneaky on you tonight, we only have four cars.”

Glen’s train sits at the four car marker spot and I quickly make my way to it.

“I was paying attention,” I say, laughing. Once about two months ago Glen had a four car train. I was not there that night to see it; Janice told me about it later. There has always been the possibility that Glen would have a four car train. Tonight, Tuesday December 8, he has a four car train. But he has my sweet FP59. He’s here. He’s talking to me.

“Did you like the rain?”

Glen is so good at making conversation. Maybe I should learn from him how to do my Disney job.

Saturday morning the time that Glen said he would sleep in and the very same project underway at my own place of residence finds a storm hovering over Southern California. The day is cold, the morning colder; the blankets comforting. It has been an overcast weekend.
“I love the rain,” I say. “It’s not the rain that stopped me from seeing you last night. It was that I got off work at 6:50.”

“Yeah. I think the rain was great,” he says gently.

There’s something this week that is quiet about our interactions. There doesn’t always have to be fireworks and sparks. Finally since I’ve met a locomotive engineer I can get down to the serious business of just having a relationship with him. IN the beginning, for three weeks, I stood diffidently off to the side just waving, closer to the bridge than to the train. The Fullerton station has three tracks, track 1 generally serves northbound traffic toward Los Angeles or eastbound traffic headed for Chicago, track 2 is used for freights in either direction, and track 3 serves southbound traffic switching the trains onto routes headed to Riverside or San Diego. Tracks 1 and 3 are also used for freight service through the Cajon Pass or to the Port of Los Angeles. Many times you can see helper engines coupled to the back of the train that serve to do exactly what their name implies: help the load uphill through the pass. Lately when I see a freight train I think of Glen operating those amazing trains for sixteen years on the Santa Fe. I think of him sitting up there responsible for all that tonnage, confident, cool, capable, and now here on track three talking to a starry-eyed academically trained middle-aged adolescent. I think my academic training is about to save me from complete emersion in my own admiration for the engineer and crush on the railroad. I think, somehow, my admiration is turning into a quiet, kind relationship and my crush is transforming into genuine interest. I’ll take a little bit of the crush and infatuation aspect of the whole thing, it makes life more spicy, more worth living, and positively exciting.

Now, tonight, Glen’s train comes on track 3. The safety line that warns of the proximity to the rails is probably fifty feet from the bridge that spans all three tracks, making it an easy walk to the five car marker and an even easier one to the four car. All you do is trail that safety line down to the next marker or the idling train. It is as I approach the four car spot that Glen makes his comment about being sneaky.

Nagging the back of an already agitated mind is the question that I’ve been asking for three weeks, a question that has no satisfactory answer. The day has been a little eventful, a tearful mother explains to me that due to the weather up north their birthday trip to Disneyland for their child is in jeopardy. The park closes at 6:00 pm for a cast Christmas party and on the way down the mountain their vehicle sustains a flat tire. I’m not really good with tears but I don’t hand her off to someone else. I call the box office to learn what I already know: free admission is not being extended to anyone who doesn’t have an ID showing that their birthrate is the day they are standing there at the window.

“They don’t pay you or me enough to be the bad guy,” says Craig, one of the box office workers I’ve gotten to know over my many dealings with that entity.” If you want you can transfer her to me and I’ll be the bad guy,” he offers.

No, I say, I’ll do it, and so it is in this frame of mind that I arrive on Tuesday to the station, doing my dance along the platform to see who is here and who isn’t here. The cold weather drives the station faithful into the café.

“I want to ask him if I can meet him in Los Angeles next Wednesday,” I say to the patio faithful now cocooned within the walls of the Santa Fe Café. In the background Coast 103 plays the same ten Christmas songs with their fifteen variations, driving the workers to distraction.

“I have a headache,” says Jose. “They only have four songs with four variations.”

The number of variations resemble the first numbers outlined above, but I’m sure sometimes it can feel as if there are only four Christmas songs being played on the radio.

“Why?” Shirley the car attendant on 784 asks.

“To ask him about trains.”

“You don’t’ want to ask him about trains,” she says. “You want to ask him about him.”

I do have questions about him but my primary reason for meeting Glen in Los Angeles is to ask about operating the train from his perspective. No one seems to believe me and if they do their knowledge is well hidden. I’m after gold or a husband, not information. My attachments become emotional, it is true, but still they are what they are and my reason for going to L.A. is to get the engineer’s perspective on running the train. If Glen were not so friendly I would not ask him about this idea. I’m sure I could find another engineer to do it but somehow for me, for now, unless there is a better candidate, the perfect opportunity for such fulfillment is Glen. Both metrolink agents say he is a good guy. He asks me how my day goes, he announces to the helpful passengers that I like trains, he meets me in the cab car of 607, he tells me he’s tired, he wants to sleep in, and all that, with or without remembering my name. Frankly, I’m kind of liking that suspense: does the man I admire for running the train remember my name? People say they can’t forget me, but it remains to be seen if Glen even remembers my name. That would, in its own sense, be a great twist to my story. The engineer that Shelley admires, has adopted, hands a note to through the conductor, shakes hand with, and desperately waits to see on some days can’t even remember her name.

Tonight, because I utilize precious seconds getting to his train I don’t get to ask about Los Angeles, but I will.

“Have a good night,” he now says as he prepares to pull away from the loading platform.

Glen I always have a goodnight because I’ve seen you. You run my trains. Some railfans say that locomotive engineers don’t know specs, they just push buttons. Sobeit. Glen pushes all the right buttons. Tonight he pulls away leaving me to the cool evening, the others who watch for train 4, and my own desire to get home early. Eating my ice-cream and drinking my soda, I make my way to the bus stop and go home early. I’ve seen my engineer, I’ve debriefed from my day, I am satiated.

All Mixed Up
Wednesday is a strange day. In looking at my schedule I notice that I have two eight hour days, Monday and Wednesday. Since I won’t make it to the station tonight and I’ve gotten an early start to my day, I decide that today I will go to breakfast at the Fullerton station and I will wave at train 607, Glen’s morning train. Waving at train 607 isn’t a bad idea. I won’t talk to Glen I’ll just wave. I’ve gotten an early enough start to my day so that I can enjoy breakfast, experience a few trains and then catch my second bus to work and provide my own brand of Disney magic.

The cool morning sees commuters pulling duffel bags along the platform, a lady in high heels makes her way to one of the trains as it pulls in for Los Angeles. This isn’t Glen’s train. This is train 663 announces the conductor professionally. The doors are closing. If you’re not there yet you better be waiting for Glen’s train because it’s your next option.

On the patio, the older gentlemen who have most likely come to see train 4 which has already passed look through coupon books, picking out Karl’s Junior breakfast deals. They talk about McDonalds coffee. A cell phone chirps. The public address system announces a southbound Pacific Surf liner heading for San Diego. Anna brings breakfast, eggs, sausage, potatoes, toast, and orange spiced tea. It’s going to be a great morning.

I enjoy the meal, leaving its remnants as train 607 approaches. I know that glen is operating this train because I’ve been on it and for another reason. It seems that Glen has a distinctive habit, one that I haven’t noticed in the other engineers. Glen rings that bell at about the location of the eastbound Fullerton junction sign.

“How do you know it was Glen?” Shirley from the 784 asks that night. I explain the habit with the bell. I’ve been on that train as well so I know unless he’s called out sick or for some other reason is not operating the train, that it is my Glen who approaches us now, ringing that beautiful pneumatic bell, controlling my FP59.

Now, leaving my breakfast I walk fifteen feet over to track 1 and wave as the cab car comes past us, the passenger cars snuggled between Glen and the locomotive which pushes the train. It seems that lately Glen operates more FP59s in the morning than in the evening. Now, Wednesday, he smoothly passes me, applying the brakes so that he sets up that first car with the wheelchair ramp which is quite a ways from us. I hear the engine settle, I do not go and talk to him on this side. I do not know if he sees me but I’ve seen him and since I won’t get back to the station tonight, I must content myself with this imagined glance. Have a good day my engineer, a man who is about to go curl up and sleep and leave me to handle the cold, cruel world all by myself. Well that might be a little dramatic but it does present quite an image and so I return to my breakfast, enjoy my quiet, cool morning and then return to my bus stop to continue my journey to work.

Remember I said that Wednesday is a strange day. Getting to work I casually glance at my schedule and realize that I should have been there at 7:45 and that I only work till 1:25 today. Yesterday they extended my short shift, today I think I’m just glad I have a short shift now because everything just feels out of sorts. I’m late! I don’t’ like being late for work. And the cool thing is I guess I’ll get to see Glen tonight anyway! It is tomorrow that I have my eight hour shift. Funny thing is I remember telling Glen I would see him Thursday and not today.

As it turns out my shift on Wednesday gets extended by an hour because in the last five minutes of my shift I get a call from a travel agent who wants to book four packages. Today, if I have been late, has been a very good booking day. I’ve booked air on someone’s reservation, a suite, and now four packages. The thing I haven’t told you about the air booking is that it comes from a man probably in his late fifties who has, it seems, broken up with his girlfriend. He tells me that he needs to make changes to a reservation because his girlfriend and her daughter do not “want to be in our lives anymore.” It is now he and his daughter who will be going to Disneyland. Oh brother, I think, yesterday I had a woman in tears and today I have a man who has broken up with his girlfriend, thank God no tears. What a strange day! I think I need to go see Glen right now. Yes, again. I don’t’ know where he is, but all of a sudden it is definitely time to go to the train station.

I don’t go to the trains station right that minute, however. I go home and try to buy a laundry card and put money on it. The card reader is broken. This day is getting stranger! Since I haven’t completed this mission successfully I go home and drop off my things, rethink, and repack for the station. My room mate comes in and drops her things as well. I say I’m leaving soon.

“Me and the cats will be by ourselves,” she comments.

Well, the cats are used to it. I’m out the door and off to solace. What a strange day!

I sit down in the café. It is a quiet day there. Janice has been working all week. Jaris is not here tonight, she is on an earlier train. Shirley and Bob sit at the table, I order a ham and cheese sandwich, or is it roast beef? I cant’ remember now; it goes right along with that strange day theme.

“You have so many men you can’t keep them all straight,” says Shirley. “All you’re interested in is married men.”

Today the teasing is getting annoying. I don’t say anything. Well, I take that back, I do say one thing.

“Did you see your boyfriend?” Shirley wants to know when I say that I came to the station this morning.

“yeah I saw him,” I say. Some days you just can’t win. So when she teases me about married men I guess I’ve opened myself up for that comment. Hey if the engineer takes me seriously about wanting answers to the questions I have I’m okay with all of it. If the engineer doesn’t take me seriously, I’m in trouble.

The time approaches to head over to track three and meet Glen, again. Where will he be tonight? Will he be at the four or five car marker? I’m the one who’s lost it seems. I’m halfway between both places and as he approaches I realize that tonight in our little game, he will pass me.

“You beat me tonight,” I say.

“Huh?” he asks.

“You beat me tonight,” I repeat.

“We’re down here tonight,” he says kindly. He remembers the four car incident.

I realize I am too far from him. I walk into the palm tree planter and then just stand shy of his window. But something strange happens.

“Did you see me this morning?” I ask.

No answer. Ok what happened here?

“Can I meet you in L.A. on Wednesday?”

I’m so focused on that question that I have to ask it. I only have two minutes. But Glen isn’t talking to me. I notice that he never really sets the engine to a lower pitch and soon the bell rings. Tonight Glen has most likely been distracted from our conversation by radio communications. It’s okay. My heart drops a little but he is there to do a job and I know he intended to talk to me. Do your job sweet engineer. I’ve seen you twice today; my heart is full, my day is better. My romance with your train continues.

I make my way over the bridge, no one asks me if I need help. I head down to the east end of the platform to see what goes on down there tonight. This day just feels odd and periodically I’ve been in tears thinking about meeting glen and remembering how my whole interest started. It was an accident that got me here. Maybe asking the questions to Glen is triggering that memory. I’m so grateful to be talking to an engineer, I’ve wanted to do this so long, I’m grateful for Glen’s interactions, and I’m remembering the engineer who started it all. Tears tonight for two engineers? Maybe. Like I said, it has been a strange day.

A Man with a Dilemma
Thursday is cool again, the entire week has been cool, drizzly, but there will be no rain till the weekend. I layer my clothing, a white sweater and a blue jacket, my gloves, my hat, and my scarf. I am prepared for the cold. If I told Glen I love rain, it is true. I enjoy cold weather and rain. The temperature drops into the thirties on one night, and I get up and turn on the heater about 3:00 in the morning. At 5:30 when I wake up I turn off the heater, it will warm the entire place quite nicely with just that small amount of operation. Out the door and on the bus I go on Thursday. I decide that today since I really do have an eight hour shift I’ll go to the station for breakfast again. Today as I stand at the counter someone wants to know in some type of broken English if I need coffee. I just ignore the person, Anna says she’ll help me. Oh boy, I think, here we go again! Another strange day?

My three egg breakfast, today the same as yesterday with an extra sausage patty and the eggs scrambled, and no tea, finds yet another group of commuters making their morning treks to their jobs, just like me. A large group of children ungulates along the tracks, moving here and there, groups congregating by the benches, on the platform, causing an Amtrak employee to announce that freights do come “through the station platform” at high speeds, and reminding everyone of safety.

“Through the station platform?” one of the guys on the patio asks. It does sound funny. It makes me chuckle, too. I enjoy their remarks about the agent saying the trains come through the station platform. Ok, we know what he meant but it was kind of funny. Today I do not get up to meet Glen’s train. I imagine him there in the cab car as he approaches. The children still congregate along the platform, I don’t know where they’re going today. At 8:15 I take my leave and report to work. Five minutes after getting there I put my name on the early release list. Somehow I can’t do eight hours today. Well, I will if we have enough work, but if I can go early I’m doing that. It is a busy, productive morning, no major glitches, and at 3:30 I get the highball out of there. Shelley highball out of Disney, out on a green, diverging, clear. I’m proceeding at track speed back to the station! I arrive happy to be there, just relaxing, breathing in the weather, revitalizing, rejuvenating, getting ready to work my entire eight hour shift tomorrow. The resource desk has asked me if I want to extend my short shift on Friday to a full eight hour shift. Sure, I come in early, I’ll be out by 4:00 I’m game.

Shelley got off work early to see Glen,” Bob tells his wife on the phone.

“Hey I heard that,” I say. So I guess it’s kind of true. Yesterday I supplemented my pay with four hours vacation pay, I’ve worked more hours than I was scheduled, call volume is down, we’re traditionally quiet at the job till mid January, so why not? We’re doing okay. I’m just going to see Glen and watch the show.

“I saw you this morning,” Jaris says. She’s having her own traumatic day. She has forgotten her medicine at the pharmacy and has to go get it tomorrow. I guess we all just have strange days. This is her’s. Mine is quiet; no strange calls today, I haven’t gotten to work at the wrong time, I’m happy, and I’ve gotten off early. I still haven’t gotten the laundry done, but that’s okay. I’ll get that done this weekend; it will all work out just fine.

The time approaches and I’m off to meet Glen’s train. Tonight he has a five car train. I approach that gentle locomotive with its kind-hearted, quiet engineer.

“What’s up?” he asks.

Ah it’s all better now. I think we’re okay. But I do have to ask him something.

“Hey,” I say. My heart is in my mouth. “I have next Wednesday off could I meet you in L.A? I have my list.”

Hey I have to work fast around here, I only have two minutes. Sometimes by my own standards I feel like I’m being pushy. I think it’s just because I think about that so much that gives it the urgent feel in my own head.

“What time would you be coming in?” Glen asks quietly. I can hear him today. I’m not sure why it is that sometimes I can hear him just fine and sometimes I can’t hear him. I think it’s when he looks right at me that I am the most aware of his words.

“Tell me what time to be there,” I say. I have the whole day free.”

Glen grows quiet. It seems like two minutes tonight lasts twenty years. The train idles. He tells me that he takes another train in the afternoon, that he goes to a motel in Burbank, things I already kind of know from Andy who tells me what train Glen runs in the afternoon. I’m tempted to say if it doesn’t work out we can try a different day but I don’ say that.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Right.” I want him to know I understand what he’s telling me.

He looks at me. I think, maybe he feels like he’s in a corner so I do offer him a way out. I’m serious, too, this is his time we’re dealing with, my heart is in his hands.

“Why don’t you just think about it and tell me,” I say.

I wish I could see his face, sometimes. I wish I could let him look inside my head and let him know that it’s all okay I’m just curious about the trains and he did say to give him warning. Here I am. I’m not going to give him the easiest way out, I’m just going to let him decide for himself. I think I’ve noticed that he likes to think about things.

“Just mull it over and tell me,” I say.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says gently.

Glen pulls the engine down to a kinder idle. He still sits there.

“I appreciate your time,” I say. “I’m not trying to waste it.”

Glen still sits. Tonight a large group of children has been waiting for the train. Some realize that as train 608 approaches, they’re on the wrong side of the tracks. This is my lucky day. I have time with my sweet engineer.

“It’s going to rain tonight,” says my sneaky, quiet, contemplative engineer. “Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”

The conversation about L.A. is over. Ok we got through that one.

“I know,” I say. “Bring it on. I’m ready.”

Now it is time to go. He rings his gentle bell and pulls away. Today it’s all better. I’ve had time with him, we’ve actually had a conversation and I’m happy, even if I don’t’ know the answer to the L.A. question. Patience little starry-eyed girl. Easy does it.

Cherishing the Engineer
Friday it really is raining. It’s drizzling, wet, cool, and wonderful. Perhaps the best part is that the bands have been cancelled tonight. This means the station will be peaceful and quiet. There has been a noticeable lack of children running along the platform pretending to be trains. It is either too cold, and probably tonight, too wet.

“Since you guys don’t’ have anything better to do,” I tell Larry and Dan, “You can sit and tell me the number of Glen’s engine,” I say.

“Have you exchanged numbers?” Larry wants to know.

“No.”

“Did you get to meet your engineer?” Wally wants to know.

“Not yet,” I say.

“We heard Glen on the scanner,” Bob says about yesterday, as he approached the station. I’m jealous. I want to hear Glen on the scanner. Hey I get the engineer making train eyes right at me isn’t that better than the scanner? Yeah, but I still want to hear him on the scanner.

“What is the last signal before southbound trains approach the station?” I ask the railfans later who stand up and kowtow to the trains repeating “Swift” when they see the trucking company trailers on the train.

“La Palma,” says Brett.

Tonight I go and talk to Carrie, but not really. I see him but he’s talking to another woman, the one he talked to the last time I saw him. He’s been back for a week from his vacation but I haven’t made it over there to see him. I’m usually just getting to the café or eating dinner. Last night, Thursday, it took two calls for him to get out of Fullerton, the conductor had to repeat the signal twice. “606 highball out of fullerton in on a green and out on green diverging clear” says the conductor. Finally, after the second time, the train pulls away. Was Carrie distracted? I think Carrie is out of the running.

Curt shows up; we haven’t seen him for a while. He says he’s been sick and also performing some concerts. He plays piano and this is a busy time of year.

We haven’t seen Andy around here this week. He may have come during the morning or afternoon. I’m sure we’ll see him soon, just not this week.

Gentle Glen makes his appearance. It Is Friday. It is quiet. I have one thing I must do tonight. Sometimes I walk directly up to his train and caress that door. Tonight my fingers gently linger on my part of that huge machine. It signifies comfort, connection with the power, familiarity with the hands that run it, consciousness of the minds it has taken these many years to perfect it. Glen is a lucky man. He doesn’t have to violently operate this train. He doesn’t need someone to stoke the fires to give him power He only needs to quietly pull those levers. Tonight he sits there, calmly, I caress the door.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, just hanging out watching the show,” I say. There’s always a show here. This is Glen’s part of it.

“You have an FP.”

He says something. I step away from my happy place to catch his words.

“You have an MP not an FP. I notice you bring the FPs in the morning.”

He says something quietly. I look up, his words are lost. He says something about when they give him the FPS and when they give him the MPS. Now I know why I must talk to him outside that cab. I’m taking my notes. I have my list. I’m checking it more than twice.

We stand together, I feel whole and eased tonight. Sometimes touching the train just does something for me. He runs 888 tonight, and it does have that grill plating. It is not so confusing tonight. It is just gentle, steady, easy. We are going steady; steady toward a meeting in L.A. some time, some place, steady toward another two minutes, steady toward just being two people who met along the path of life while discovering trains. Tonight we leave the fireworks to Disney. Glen does not feel tonight as if he’s in a corner. He’s simply doing his job What more can I ask for? It’s all I want. It’s what I want. I cherish this three month connection with the trains; I cherish this human connection with my romance with the rails. I have a seriously focused engineer to be my connection with trains.

“Have a good night,” he now says, engaging the bell on that MP36.

“Have a nice weekend, Glen,” I say.
I turn an walk quietly away as he pulls the train away toward the track that will take him to Ocean Side. I’m a little sad tonight, not sure why, but then I quietly remember that this is what I wanted I want a locomotive engineer to talk to me. I’ve got it. I cherish him. I smile as I make my way across the bridge to watch the rest of the show. It doesn’t get any better than that.

 

 

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