RAIL RIDER

               The ground under Kelsie’s feet started to tremble. The tremble grew to a rumble, and the rumble became lost in the whistle that pierced the night air. She had expected it to be loud, but this kind of volume caught her off guard. She believed she could scream out all of the anger and pain of the past few months and no one would hear her. She matched the whistle scream for scream, volume for volume. The screams seemed to ease the pain but the fear was still there, and fear was the one thing that threatened her life most of all.

               She had fought the fear in high school, when the fear of rejection caused her to keep herself so distant from her peers that she was rejected. She had lived with such a fear of dying she grew afraid to live. She had been so afraid of change that she shut herself away in her own home, becoming her own monument to sameness. But change had come. And fear. And loss.

               The virus had wiped her out. First it attacked her photography studio. After all, who wanted a series of glamor shots in face masks? Her husband had contracted it. She moved into her studio to avoid getting it herself, and tried to take care of him. But when his fever climbed and the cough became out of control, she had to call an ambulance. As she watched it pull out of the drive, she knew she would never see him again. There wasn’t even a real funeral. No mourners allowed – just a brief graveside service performed by a local minister.

               She became depressed and was no longer able to capture the beauty and hope that once were the hallmark of her photography. With the financial losses, of course, came the loss of her apartment. Thus, there she stood, screaming for all she was worth.

               She had no place to go. Her mother was in a nursing home suffering from the liver and kidney failure her many years of heavy drinking had caused. Her father made it clear she was not welcome there. Their relationship had died the day she caught him with his secretary.

               So why was she waiting for a freight train to slow down in the middle of the night? Because someone had once told her, “Live what you have, and then find more.” In thirty-two years, she had never truly lived. Now she had little to live with. So now it was time to take it and find more.

               She had watched the train for several days and knew this was the point at which it would run its slowest. She ran along beside it, looking for an open door. Finally, she spotted one. Once she flung the pack in, there was no going back. She struggled onto the ladder then fell in on top of her pack. She did it! Her life-long dream of hopping a freight was coming true.

               She lay for a moment while her thoughts swirled around her. She knew this could be dangerous. She knew it was illegal. She knew it could get her killed. But she had nothing else to live for. She had to try.

               She was beginning to feel calm, beginning to feel at one with the rocking of the car. She was beginning to feel more peace than she had felt in quite some time. She was going to like this.

               “Birmingham’s thick with bulls, Miss. You’d best get invisible.”

               She suddenly was wide awake, all the calm and peace ripped from her being like an arm being ripped off a rag doll. She sat up, eyes wide, head turning to and fro. The only thing that kept her from screaming was paralyzing fear that had rendered her temporarily mute.

               “The bulls, Miss. Railroad police. They patrol heavy in Birmingham. We’ll be there soon. Best come back here with me.”

               “I know what bulls are.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

               “Then you know you need to be invisible. Can you stand?”

               “Yes, but who and where are you?”

               “Let’s deal with where first. Look at the stack of crates here. There’s a tiny opening between the last crate on your right and the wall. Throw your pack in then climb through.”

               She found the opening and went through, to be greeted by more stacks of crates. She looked carefully and found another opening.

               “Are you still there?” she asked nervously.

               The chuckle that followed helped to calm her nerves.

               “I am. Keep following the holes. Just like a big maze.”

               It was, indeed, a maze, with more twists and turns than a well-written mystery novel. Suddenly a hand shot out in front of her. She took it and was pulled firmly through the last opening.

               “Welcome to my palace,” her companion said cheerfully. “I’m Jim, but folks along the rail call me Pappy.”

               It was so dark she could barely see him. But she liked his voice, and he had gotten her to safety. She believed she could trust him; and realistically, how many choices did she have at this point?

               “Nice to meet you. I’m Kelsie Thomas.”

               “You’ve never done this, have you?”

               “No, Sir.”

               The laugh was quick and genuine. “Aww, honey, calling me ‘sir’ is like saluting a toilet before you take a dump in it! It’s Pappy.”

               She laughed in spite of herself. “I’ll keep that in mind, Pappy.”

               “Good girl. But we need to get you settled. Have a sit!”

               She sat gratefully and he settled comfortably beside her.

               “So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

               Though his tone was joking she realized he sincerely wanted to know her story. She found herself telling him all about herself, from her stormy childhood to her own awkwardness to the man whose love had turned her life around. When she told of her recent losses, her voice broke, and he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

               “How long have you been riding?” she asked when her story was done.

               “Forever, it seems,” he answered. “Oh, I tried the regular life. Even had a nice cushy desk job for a few months. But I think that old office chair must have been made of poison ivy, cos it sure gave me an itch.

               “See, I grew up near East Thomas Yard, right here in Birmingham. I used to haunt the yard as a little boy, watching those big babies come and go. Back then, hoboes weren’t such a dying breed. At night, I used to sneak out of the house and slip down there and just sit and listen to them for hours; reminiscing about the places they had seen, their adventures dodging bulls and the bad sort of rail riders, the kind that would just as soon kill you as look at you. It got into my system, and as the years went by I knew I’d one day end up here.

               “I got my education for what it was worth, got a job. Never married. Couldn’t see getting that settled. Then one day I was sitting in that old office chair and I just got up, clocked out, collected my check, and didn’t let the door hit me in the butt on my way out.

               “I jumped my first freight that night with an old gentleman they called Spooky Pete, cos he was so good at disappearing when the bulls came around they swore he was half ghost.

               “Pete taught me everything – which yards were safest, which to avoid. How to stay out of jail. We got to be best buddies.”

               He got quiet for a moment. Then:

               “They say if you live by the sword you die by the sword. One night up in Johnston Yard in Memphis, the law got a bit too close. Big old guy we called Frank – short for Frankenstein, cos he was one big ugly son of a – oh, sorry, Kelsie. Anyway, big ugly guy, always riding our butts. Well, he spotted us that night and started out after us.

               “We both lit out running, rounded a turn, and went between two cars. I went up and over the coupler. I was a bit spryer then. I started running, feeling good cos I knew I had given Frank the slip. But then I heard a screeching and screaming and a big commotion that put ice water in my veins. I walked on jelly legs back to that car.

               “I knew I shouldn’t look, but Heaven help me, I looked. Honey, I’ve got a cast iron stomach, but I lost everything in it that night. I won’t describe what I saw. I see it every night. I don’t want you seeing it too.

               “The guys that saw said we had Frank beat. He was giving up the chase. But when I went up and over, Spooky Pete decided to duck under. They said his feet slipped and he went down just as the front car rolled back.”

               Kelsie gasped. Now it was time for her to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. After a deep breath, he continued.

               “Old Frank had come running when he heard the commotion. Well, Miss, that son of a – that man – walked straight up to me and slapped me in handcuffs.”

               “Oh, no!”

               “Oh, yeah. But that ain’t the worst of it. He called for the coroner’s wagon then cleared the area. No one left in that yard but me, Frank, and what was left of Spooky Pete. Then he rounded on me. Called me everything but the Virgin Mary. And then he told me I killed Pete.”

               Kelsie inhaled sharply. “No!”

               “Yep. Said I knew I was breaking the law; I had no right encouraging an old man like Pete to be jumping freights at his age. Like I could stop him. Said everybody living like us was just a bunch of criminals and they oughtta all end up under a train just like Pete.

               “Then he took a step toward me, and honey, if I ever met the devil, I met him there in Frank’s eyes that night. He uncuffed me, and I didn’t know if he was gonna let me go, spit on me, or beat the crap out of me. He let me go. And as I turned to leave, he said, ‘I hope you end up under one of these one day. And I hope I’m here to dance on what’s left of your body.’”

               Pappy went silent for a long time. Kelsie could think of nothing to say. She merely kept her hand on his shoulder until she felt him relax.

               At last, he said softly, “We need to get some rest. There’s plenty of room for you to stretch out. I think I’ll sit up a bit.”

               She snuggled down into what seemed to be a pile of blankets, cardboard, and something that smelled distinctly like hay. She was asleep almost instantly.

               She woke early the next morning to find Pappy already awake. She lay still, eyes barely open, wanting to study her companion without his knowing.

 She liked what she saw. The face, though weathered, still bore evidence of a once handsome man. His hair was thick and curly and though now mostly gray still had traces of the jet black it once had been. The full mouth seemed to have a natural upturn, giving the impression of a permanent smile. But it was his eyes that fascinated her. A striking shade of light blue, thy reminded her first of the ocean, then of a misty mountain morning. They looked old. They looked cold. But they crinkled at the corners, evoking mental pictures of and old uncle or the kind of grandpa who would bounce you on his knees and make up funny bedtime stories. And suddenly she knew why they called him Pappy.

“Do I pass inspection?” he asked with a quiet chuckle.

Once again, he had startled her.

“I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Relax, honey. You couldn’t see me last night. I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t looked me over this morning. Gotta keep your eyes open out here. Well, you ain’t run yet, so I guess I look okay.”

“You look more than okay. In fact, there was another reason I was studying you. I’m a photographer, as you know. I want to document life on the rails. If I get enough of the right shots, I think I can sell them.”

“Shooting trains? There’s trains everywhere.”

“No, not just the cars and the rails. I want to shoot the feelings. Sunrises shot from an open car. The people who work the yards. The bulls. And the rail riders.”

“Well, now, that last part might get tricky. Most of us don’t like cameras much. We are outlaws of a sort.”

“I’ll keep the faces obscured. And you can help. I think you would be a great subject. And you know the inside stuff – the stuff I really want to capture.”

“Well, I done put one foot in it when I brought you back here. If I’m gonna step in it I might as well do it with both feet.”

Kelsie’s heart swelled. She really was starting to like this guy.

“Well, we can’t start without breakfast,” he said, and pulled a breakfast sandwich out of his pocket.

“Where did that come from?” she asked, once again surprised.

“Well, little lady, while you were sleeping, I’ve been out working.” He reached over and picked up a sign that read, WILL WORK FOR FOOD.

“You mean someone hired you and paid you with food?”

Pappy smiled. “Not exactly. See, you take this and sit near a convenience store. People come along, some pass you by. But some will go in and buy you a sandwich and maybe a drink. Makes them feel good.”

“You’ve been out this morning? How long? What time is it? Where are we?”

Pappy laughed. “Well do you want the answers in alphabetical order or at random? It’s about 7:00, and we’re at Johnston Yard. Yep, that Johnston Yard. I went out about sunrise, and it didn’t take long to score. Some guy stopping in to gas up before work, I guess. I didn’t hang around long enough to get his life story. Frank works nights, so we don’t have to worry. John’s on duty, and he’s a good guy. Might even let you get a picture or two. IF you finish that sandwich before sundown!”

Kelsie ate with gusto, got her Canon out of her bag, and started her first day of work. John was great, and even posed for a shot with his German Shepherd. They were switching cars, and Pappy helped secure the couplers, for which the foreman paid him under the table. She got several shots. She was careful not to show Pappy’s full face, but he still was an excellent subject.

Over the days and weeks that followed, she took lots of great photos, and at a stop at Bailey Yard in North Platte, she found a café with free wifi. She used the opportunity to upload several of her photos and send them to a friend at Modern Photography, where she had had several photos published in the past.

“They’re good,” they replied. “Some are really good. But you’re missing the cover shot. Get that and we’ll do a series.”

Early one stormy morning in Denver, Pappy was sitting in the open door of their car, just looking up at the sky. The sun was mostly obscured by grey clouds. Suddenly, she saw what she was looking for. She held her breath. That cloud was going to pass, and the sun was going to peep through. Yes, Lord, please. And there it was. Cutting diagonally across the sky was a brilliant sunbeam. And it lit up the sky around the silhouette of Pappy himself. It looked like a halo all around him. She had her cover shot. She was going to get the series. But what to call it? She scrolled through her photos and found a close-up of Pappy. On a whim, she cropped the shot. Now all that showed were those incredible eyes, his brow, and his hair. The background was a bit of misty mountain sky that matched his eyes.

She sent in the new photos and her series idea: Through Pappy’s Eyes: A Look At the Life of a Rail Rider. They loved it. It came out a month later.

She was sleeping in the railroad car. The whistle pierced the night air. Then suddenly it changed. It wasn’t a train whistle. It was car horns. Angry car horns. The daydream couldn’t have lasted over a couple of minutes, because she could see the back of the train only about thirty yards away.

The barrier had lifted. Traffic was already moving in the other direction. Behind her was perhaps a dozen cars. As she sat there in her pickup with her only possessions beside her in the seat, the old fear rushed back. She was starting a brand new life as a photographer for the Durango-Silverton narrow gauge railroad, an old-fashioned steam engine which daily carried tourists through the mountains from Durango, Colorado to Silverton. She had secured the job two days ago and had rented a small place to rent in nearby Mancos. There was no freight hopping. There was no Pappy. They were all figments of her imagination. But there were beautiful mountains. And a train. One with no bulls.

She looked at the gear shift. It seemed to exemplify her life. It was in Park at the moment, but it couldn’t stay that way. Reverse was not an option. Her only choice was Drive. She took a deep breath and put the truck in gear. Drive, Kelsie. It’s going to be okay.