The Train

I don’t actually know how to get on a moving train. Indians usually attacked trains, not hop them, so my daydreaming schemes never covered this. In the movies they always through their bag on first and then run after it for a bit and somehow swing on. I think the train would be moving to fast here for me to do that. There’s no station for it to stop at. Sometimes they slow down to make less noise but I don’t think they do that at night. I’m also not sure I’d find an open boxcar just waiting for me. I can’t ever remember seeing one when I saw trains go by. So we’re just going to have to skip over the whole me getting on the train part and assume I managed somehow. Let’s call it beginner’s luck. It’s probably cold on that train, but luckily I brought my jacket. I should figure out which direction the train is going. West is toward the city. East is just east. I want to go east eventually. There’s more out there, a whole country. If you go west from here you hit the city and the ocean and that’s that. You can stare out across the ocean at the great expanse. Very expressive. Maybe I’d go to New Mexico. I’ve always wanted to go to New Mexico. Not because of the Indian thing, we’re not even from there. I wouldn’t be able to go to New Mexico directly. I’d take this train east for a while and then switch over to another, and maybe another after that. I’d try to settle and sleep. Not much of a view at night and I already know this area. The train would puff its way over the pass and then down to Sacramento. I’d have to switch trains there, I’d probably wake up as the train pulled in. Except the train yard isn’t in Sac but in Roseville. But there’s now way I could know that – unless I had planned ahead but the whole point of this is that I did it spontaneously – so I’d be confused as all hell, expecting Sacramento but only seeing sings that read Roseville. There wouldn’t be anyone around to tell me. If a bull saw me he’d arrest me so we can’t let any of them see me, a friendly bull is just too much suspension of disbelief. It’s a bit early in our story to introduce a fellow traveler. I guess I didn’t wake up as the train pulled in but a bit earlier while the train was rolling through Sacramento. I’d panic, afraid it wasn’t going to stop, and then scramble of the second it slowed down – which would be a right outside the J.R. Davis Yard in Roseville – like a wet kitten. Which would actually work out well because I’d be lost and hungry, both of which can be solved by having me get something to eat. If the author had a sense of humor he’d have me eat breakfast at a diner. It wouldn’t be a diner in an actual diner car, that would be way too much, best to leave that to David Lynch movies. So far it’s all been a bit too easy, but I’m only in Sacramento. There’s always that first bit of road trips when you could just be driving to the store or to see a friend that isn’t really part of the road trip. It’s especially bad when where you sleep the first night is relatively close to home. But I wouldn’t be sleeping in Sacramento, just eating at a diner there. Let me enjoy the diner a moment. I can smell it. I love the smell of grilled cheese sandwiches – that’s what I would have at the diner – especially when they’re not made with real cheese but that Kraft stuff and the bread is empty white bread. I’d also have black coffee, also for the smell, and for streak of heat going down to my belly because I’d be freezing after a whole night in a boxcar. The thing about diners is that they’re real. They really do exist like you see in the movies. There are fakes one too of course. Downtown there’s this really gaudy one with bright red and white booths. It’s awful. I’ve never actually been inside so I have no idea how the food is. I don’t understand how people can go to a place like that. I can understand wanting just a cheap burger but a place like that adds two bucks to the price for the gaudy look and the worst part is everybody knows it. They don’t even take the trouble to hide the fact that they’re faking it. It sort of makes sense with those pizzerias or Chinese restaurants. Looking like a copy is part of the MO. But with diners it doesn’t make sense; real diners still exist, with waitresses named Marge and everything. The best part about this diner would be the people. You’d have your regulars at the bar, catching up on the latest, downing a cup of coffee on their way to work. Some families would be eating breakfast together all family like. And I’d be in the middle of it all, a haphazard frazzled and dirty – but clearly not used to wearing dirt – traveler who’s barely knows where he is or what he’s going to do next. That would probably attract some attention. The waitress – Marge, she’s the older type with crinkly hair and over painted nails, not the younger sweet hooker smile type – would eye me over semi-suspiciously, but she’s seen enough to know I’m not dangerous, just hopelessly out of place. Eventually a girl sitting in the booth farthest from the door will get up and come over to me; I’m sitting at a table by the end of the bar. She’s a local, more curious than anything else. She was waiting for someone but he didn’t show, maybe a boyfriend? That’s a tad melodramatic. Better just make it a girlfriend. You’d expect her to be shy but there’s no hesitation, or if there is I was too oblivious to notice whatever hesitation there may have been. She’d probably tell me her name but I can’t think of any good names right now. She’d ask what I was doing there and I’d tell her about hopping a train last night and my plan to go to New Mexico and I’d be the cool one, maybe I’d even throw in that I was Indian. I wouldn’t tell her it was my first time. I’m not actually sure I could pull of being cool but with a story that good how hard could it be? It would have to end of course. I might want the conversation to go on and on and lead to more and god knows what but that’s just not going to happen. Her friend would show up. It’s the only way out, even though I’d be totally charming her, nothing seductive just friendly charming. I’ve been trying to rework the conversation in my head but it always ends there which is fine because I have to get to New Mexico anyway.

I wouldn’t ask the waitress where the best place was to catch a train going south. If this were a movie I would and she’d shake her head and answer kindly and I’d be suave and collected and sure. I’d probably just head back over the tracks and hope to find a good spot. If I were smart I’d buy some food and water for the road. But with the sun shining and it still being morning I’d most likely forget. More like I’d let myself forget because I didn’t have that much money left in my wallet, that’s a nice tragic hero tinge. Hopefully I’d fine a train quickly. It gets hot out there in the valley. Sitting by the tracks in the heat with dull scrappy grass would be a lot less fun than sitting by the tracks at night like I’m doing now. The whole trip south would probably be unpleasant. When you travel the length of California all you see are military bases, prisons and (illegal) migrant workers, a trifecta of sorrow – at least that’s what you see when you drive down the 101. Taking the Union Pacific through the valley would probably be different, though not different enough to make it interesting. It would be hot and itchy in a boxcar. I wouldn’t be able to really see the view, not that there’s a view to see in the valley. I guess that would mean lots of time to think, as if I don’t have enough of that already. I wonder if my thoughts would be any different hurtling down the central valley. Probably not. I’d start thinking about my parents but then force myself to stop. Maybe I’d actually think about what actually started it all. I don’t mean at first but after a few hours I might just because I had run out of things to think about. I’m starting to get a bit tired. I don’t want to fall asleep here. I don’t really have a choice but to head back to my parents’ place. Hopefully I can make it to bed without having to really talk to them. My dad is probably still awake, half waiting for me half getting work done he put off to be/deal with Mom. If it’s just him it’ll be fine. He probably doesn’t want to have to talk with me as much as I don’t want to have to talk with him, a weary truce. At some point I’m going to have to figure out what happens next. Right now I’m going to enjoy the walk home, even if it is through yellow street lamp light and past suburban lawns. I’m walking in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night! That’s got to count for something.