On Track Toward Superstition
I sat there daydreaming as usual.
The train was gently rocking its passengers. The tip of the sun was gleaming over the silhouette mountains, casting a warm ambiance to the metallic body of the train. I sat openly by the front row seats, wearing a red company polo shirt with blue trousers and black rugged boots—radio buzzing of railroad talk clipped to my side as I pretentiously carried a cheap clipboard of operation schedules and random doodles.
The train begins to slow down as we arrive near a commuter rail station. I stood up, shuffling to the door, accounting for any passengers that were about to exit. Finally, a slight rollback—movement of the train stops, the metal doors slowly slide open, and I step out to check if all the doors are aligned to the platform. I gazed to the opposite front-end of the train like a referee watching a critical down during a high school varsity game, as I waved my arm forward a few times, shaping my hand like a knife to the train engineer for a proceed go. The doors clunked shut and the train continued to move north.
As I moved forward on the train, I heard a, “gwaaahh”. I turned, trying to identify where this gwah sound was coming from—if a passenger was in dire need of something. Then I looked out a window, a man standing on the platform waiting by the track next to ours, waving his arms—screaming. It seemed he was waiting for the southbound train, as it was possibly running late. I radioed in to our dispatch, “disgruntled passenger on platform at station”, to give a heads up to the other train picking him up.
We reached the next station, as I waved a go to the engineer. She then waved for me to come to her. As I approached, she exclaimed in an anxious voice, “we’re going to be here for a minute; apparently there are people on the alignment”.
“People on the train tracks, like railroad workers?!”, I sputtered.
“No. Like trespassers!”, she added.
I then moved from standing by her cab window to inside the tiny engineer cab, squeezing next to her, listening to the radio for further instructions. After a minute, the radio sputtered that there was a dog on the alignment, and people were attempting to find it. Caught by surprise, I murmured, “figure I’d do my job and notify the passengers”.
I walked down the aisles, alerting passengers our reason for stopping. There is a dog on the alignment. Nearly, every passenger sympathized. However, as each passing yearning minute went by, slowly the passengers became uneasy—some people—sweaty and apprehensive. I was feeling nervous myself, so I walked through the aisles sputtering, “remember folks, it’s Friday, the thirteenth of October. This was bound to happen!.”
Finally, after waiting nearly an equivalent of a standard lunch break, the train began moving again. I realized it was dark outside, as if this night was going to be eventful, filled with horror. Security had removed all the people out of the alignment, however the dog has yet to be found, according to the all knowing and buzzing radio. I began thinking what if this was no ordinary dog—what if—a werewolf.
We picked up another batch of passengers from the following station. I sat by the group of men barking up the reasons for our odd delay. Theory after theory discussed, debated.
Heard a dog worth thousands was stolen, went missing.
Heard government operations were happening, dog story was just a facade.
Heard war in the middle east is the reason for the missing dog.
Train stopped. The passengers went quiet. The radio went buzzing, “Dog [hisss]... milepost [hisss]… over!” I jumped up, marching in doubletime through the aisles toward the engineer room. Each passenger moving their magnetic head, their eyes toward me. I glanced at each and every one; a few faces with the look of concern, while others—disappointment.
As I opened the door, the engineer was glaring out the window. The train’s auxiliary lights shined through the stone tied tracks, as the alignment was surrounded by cheap wired fences. The engineer realized I was standing behind her, then pointed out the window. My eyes followed her finger, but I couldn’t see what she saw, except for a black dot on the stone part of the ballast. I adjusted my glasses, squinting my eyes. A black puppy. But how? How did the engineer stop just—give or take—twenty feet from the little fragile spirit.
This is my chance to be a hero, I thought. I can put on my orange high-visibility and reflective vest, step off the train, pick up the little black turd, and board the train with cheers and applause as a local hero. I immediately announced my solution to the engineer, asking for permission from dispatch to step off the train. The radio hissed, “No, just remain there”. Talk about killing the vibe. Minutes later, the engineer was then instructed to sound the mighty horn, trying to lure the puppy off the ballast. The puppy, terrified, remained frozen. I thought, all this time, I’d been saved this dog.
Moments passed, police vehicles parked from a distance. An officer on the tracks, covering his eyes from the bright light, walked towards the train. The engineer quickly dimmed the blinding lights. I thought, this was supposed to be my moment. The cop picked up the puppy, as he kissed its forehead and the dog replied with a lick to his face. I turned around, shut the cab door, then unceremoniously told the passengers, yay, the puppy has been saved. One woman at the back cheered, one guy clapped, everyone else asked… so we’re moving soon, right?!
