Trespasser
Shelley Alongi

 

It was already a hot day as we pulled out of our second to last stop for the morning on the first Tuesday in July. I sat back, concentrating on my work, relishing the comfortable, controlled climate provided by the air conditioner. I sighed inwardly, knowing the trip home would be unbearable if I didn’t have working air conditioning. As real of a possibility as that could be, in today's stifling heat I hoped that would not be the case.
As we picked up speed out of the station I saw something on the tracks. Instinctively, I pushed forward on the brake handle, hearing the familiar whooshing as the brakes began to apply. As we got closer, my mind comprehended what I was seeing.
“Damn!” I spat the word out with feeling.
I jammed the brake handle all the way forward and pulled the horn valve as hard as I could. The sound of the emergency brake valves going off is terrifying, imitating a gun shot as they almost instantly depressurize the air braking system. I knew John would already be aware that something was wrong.
As the train lurched to a hard stop, under me the object on the tracks quickly disappeared beneath the nose of the engine, followed by the worse sound of all: 800 tons of steel striking 200 pounds of human.
“emergency! Emergency! Emergency!” the dreaded call everyone hopes to never hear or say on their shift escaped my lips and was immediately answered by the dispatcher. I gritted my teeth as I gave our train number, and mile post location, and informed him that we had just struck a person. As I made my report, I steeled myself against the first nausea and horrible awareness of what had just happened. Twenty years of running freight and passenger trains never quite disbanded that initial realization that we had just killed someone. The anger and the annoyance came almost immediately, but there was nothing I could do now. The calm acceptance one had to manifest with this job would come later. John was busy walking our train to be sure no one had been injured inside or outside the cars.
An hour and a half passed before he was able to come up to the cab. He flopped down across from me, sighing heavily.
“Are you okay, Jeff? You’re not hurt.”
I grunted. “You okay?”
He shrugged. “I should already be asleep in the hotel by now,” he said after a short, thoughtful silence.
“I know.” We both looked at each other with resignation. If we were going to express anything other than professionalism this would be the time. There was no one here to see our reaction to some person deciding to end their life on railroad tracks.
“I don’t see anyone,” I told John, as I looked out the engineer side of the cab. We should be expecting the relief crew or police to take our statements.”
“The relief crew is almost here. The bus is on its way for the rest of the passengers. Go ahead and go down if you’d like. I’ll hold down the fort. The police are at the end of the train. They want your statement anyway.”
I climbed down the ladder and stepped over the gap between the tracks and the street. The heat struck me like a wave and I breathed in, letting my breath out in agitation. I walked toward the cab car, spotting an official holding a clipboard. I approached him, ready to perform my all-too-familiar duty.
“I’m the engineer,” I said, probably unnecessarily.
“Hello, sir. Well, tell me what happened.” It was comforting now engaging in routine, though the incident was unwelcome for both of us.
“I saw the man sitting on the tracks,” I told him. “He was cross-legged and he sat straight up with his back to me and his head high. He was deliberately there.”
“I’m sorry,” the investigator said. “We’ll list official cause as suicide. If we have any other questions we’ll look you up.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, turning away from him.
As I walked away from the train, I felt slightly sick and tried not to look at the mess. I had seen things like this three other times in my railroad career and I knew it was best for my own sake not to do that. I don’t know how long it was but eventually a van showed up to drop off the new crew and take us forward to the station. I saw someone from management waiting for us. I went to him and repeated the story, John standing with me.
“We’re waiting for another van to take us home,” John told me. “I’ll go take care of paperwork if you want to be by yourself. I’ll come get you when they’re here.”
I walked alone through the tunnels and concrete pathways to the planter by the tracks where I usually arrived on a routine day. I sat down on the low brick wall, and placed my black railroad bag at my feet. I put my hand over my eyes, rubbed them and sighed. A breeze comforted my tired eyes, the sun mercifully hadn’t reached this side of the station and I was glad for the temporary respite from the heat that had already marked the beginning of the day. A few moments passed as my mind settled and I calmed.
I felt, rather than saw, someone sit down next to me.
“Jeff,” Judy’s voice soft, and low, immediately eased my weariness.
I turned to her, relieved that it wasn’t some official wanting to ask another question.
“Judy! You’re still here.” It was the only thing I could think of to say.
“Yes. I got on the bus that picked us up from the accident.”
I looked at my watch, noticing it was almost noon.
“You’re going to be really late.”
“I told the boss I’d stay later. I can do that with my job. Besides, I wanted to see you. And, I wanted to say I was sorry. I didn’t know when I’d get that chance so I thought I’d just come and find you if I could.”
“Thanks, Judy,” I said, genuinely touched. “That’s nice. I appreciate that.”
Her kind words made me feel better.
“It happens sometimes. They’re not easy.”
“This isn’t your first one?”
I shook my head.
“Four fatalities,” I told her in a matter-of-fact tone. “They’re all different.”
“How long have you been working for the railroad?”
“Twenty years.”
She looked at me and then away, remaining silent.
She turned sympathetic eyes to me, holding my gaze for a moment. I didn’t look away.
“Jeff, can I hug you?”
I nodded. She turned and put her arms about me. I pulled her toward me and momentarily heavy-hearted, I dropped my head on her shoulder and just sat there, breathing. This woman I had gotten to know as a casual acquaintance over coffee in a railroad cafe during the last six months offered comfort. I sat here taking strength from another life, happy for more positive contact. And, yet, I shied away. I separated myself and sat looking across the tracks.
“You are done for the day?” she asked softly.
“The next three. Time off.”
“Oh. That’s good, I suppose.”
“Policy.”
I breathed in deeply and sighed, my shoulders relaxing.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked kindly. “Did you see him?”
“I saw him.”
My face collapsed as if I were a child about to cry. I turned pale and tensed as if I would be sick.
“Are you okay?” Judy asked me.
“I’m all right,” I finally spoke, once again gaining my composure. “Forgive me.”
She looked at me sympathetically.
“I understand. I shouldn’t ask you these things.”
“You just care,” I said. “The man wanted to die, Judy. But its still a bit of a shock when someone gets in front of the train. It always just kind of hurts no matter what we say. Thank you for asking.”
“Sure. I’m just a mom, I guess, sometimes.”
“Do you have any kids?”
“No,” she answered. “No. I have pets.”
“I have two dogs,” I volunteered. “Collies. Do you have dogs?”
“Cats. I had dogs as a child. But I like cats.”
“I see.”
Somehow, exchanging information about our animals helped focus my mind somewhere else rather than the events of the morning.
“Glitter and Sparkles are their names,” she continued. “And your dogs' names?”
“Vincent and Magnet. We’re going to get a third dog here, soon.” Judy turned a questioning gaze to me. “I have a friend who raises puppies,” I explained. “I’m on a waiting list to get one. She breeds them and it’s where I got the dogs I have now.”
This time, Judy smiled.
“I saw you pass me this morning at the first station. You always look like you’re in a hurry.”
“I am usually in a hurry,” she admitted. “Sometimes I think that bus just makes it and you guys don’t wait very long.”
“No, we don’t. You always make it, though.”
“Can’t miss this one, Mr. Train Engineer.”
I smiled, she had never addressed me like that. It made me feel good knowing she admired what I did for a living. I was used to some degree of admiration, it was common with kids and people who watched trains. But, today, her acknowledgement lifted my spirits.
“Cool,” I said, feeling a little better. “Tell me something about you, Judy.”
"What do you want to know" she asked, maybe a little bit confused by my question.
"Anything," I encouraged. "Anything at all."
she twisted the strap of her red shoulder bag, her mouth grew thoughtful.
"I like spaghetti with Italian hot sausage."
That made me genuinely laugh, it was so far from the morning accident that it just seemed to lighten the mood.
"Ok. That makes me hungry,” I smiled.
"Come to my house some time," she invited. "I'll make some.”
My face darkened with hesitation.
“I have parties on New Years Day; not New Year’s Eve,” she explained. “I'll invite you to my next one. Bring your family."
“Don’t have one,” I answered reluctantly.
“Come on your own,” she invited. “I’ll let you know more details when the time gets closer.”
We both looked up as a figure approached from our right. It was John. He waved to me. I knew what that meant.
“It’s here,” I told Judy, “the van to take us home.”
She got up and stood beside me. She caught my eye for a moment.
“Have a good weekend,” she said gently. “See you Monday.”
I returned her friendly look.
“Thanks for coming out of your way to see me, Judy. Have a good weekend, yourself.”
I hoisted my bag to my shoulder as she walked away. John gave me a knowing glance as I came closer.
“She didn’t come see me,” he said, inserting his own brand of humor into the moment.
I tried not to smile.
To purchase go to http://lulu.com/Queenofbells712
 

      
      

 

 

Copyright © 2015 Shelley Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"