Home About Bibliography Contact Fiction Links News Ramblings
JWR 2.17 - Like a Freight Train Coming Your Way
A few months ago there was an article in the Racine paper--The Racine Journal Times. The JT, as we all affectionately call it here in R-Town, is well known for being slightly more accurate than The Onion, so you know what kind of professionals youíre dealing with.
In any case, the story was about this girl who was stopped at the railroad crossing on State Street--for those of you who donít live here, itís not a great neighborhood, but then again, itís not so bad, relatively speaking. So, it was at night and a train was coming. This girl takes a look around and sees someone on the tracks. So, she gets out of her car and runs up to the person who turned out to be a middle-aged woman who was muttering something about wanting to die. The girl drags the two of them off the tracks and holds the woman down as the train passes. The woman eases up and then returns to something of a normal state. She thanked the girl and walked away. The girl called the po-po and cried or whatever. Hey, sheís a girl.
Then her picture and a story appeared in the JT and the womanís identity was never discovered.
I drive over those tracks on my way to and from work. I have been stopped by a train once. I was busy fucking with my radio to ever notice if someone was on the tracks. You can bet your ass I look around like a hawk now. I want some recognition. Iíve saved lives--you know who I am.
Hereís what I wonder: how long did she hesitate before jumping out of the car? Did she stop and turn the car off, take the keys and lock the door? Did she leave the door ajar? Did she run really fast? But, really, how much hesitation was there? Fiction--TV and movies, especially--uses a hesitation to give the audience time to stop and realize the severity of not only the situation but of how big a deal it is for the character that is hesitating.
If it was me, Iíd like to think that I would get out of the car. I probably would. Then again, the chance to see someone hit by a train is pretty rare. Iíve never seen anyone die before. I mean, you see the dying all over, but you donít get the chance to see someone die. Well, nurses and employees at nursing homes do but itís not the same as getting knocked out of your Keds by a freight train.
Iíve seen some of those Faces of Death pseudo-documentaries and thatís pretty bad but Iíve actually eaten while watching. If you are unfamiliar, allow me to proceed to attempt to explain in as little detail as possible what they are. Itís a bunch of video clips of people dying in a variety of ways--animals, too. Itís actually hard to tell if it is real or not. I mean, it looks so cheesy and itís pretty gruesome so it could be fake--like the magician who got a bunch of knives to the face. Then again, weíve been hit with nothing but dramatic deaths in all manner of entertainment for so long, would we be able to accept someone simply dying as real? If they do not say a clever line or profess undying love for someone as they slip away, is it death? Iím scared that the real thing will be so lame that it will be too late before it realize that itís happened.
Come to think of it, watching someone getting hit by a train wouldnít be all that. I mean, if she was off to the side a bit, as the train approached, it would get to the point where the train would cover her from your sight and then sheíd be splattered to the front of the train and youíd see nothing. I suppose if she was directly if front of you or a bit to the right and the train approached from that way, you would get a far better show. But just donít expect her to splatter and explode. You want an explosion, stick a firecracker up her ass. No, the human epidermis is rather resilient and a train hitting a body would shatter bones and cause fatal internal injuries, but I rather doubt sheíd wind up inside out. Now, if she was lying across one of the tracks, then youíd have a show. Or if she was hit by the front edge of the train and bounced off and away... Uh, a wholly unnecessarily, grotesque and god awful show, that is.
Iím surprised more people arenít hit by trains, the tracks being as unprotected as they are. Of all the ways to commit suicide, most people choose to do it in-house, you know? Where theyíll be found. I say, drive out into the country, park away from the tracks walk for a while so youíre a ways from your ride. The purpose of this being two-fold: 1) the distance will keep anyone who finds your car from finding you and 2) the time and fresh air will give you time to think and make all those who really arenít ready and willing to actually end it all realize that it is the wrong thing to do. Plus, as the train approaches, that will really make you think. Youíve got to be really hell-bent on doing yourself in if an approaching train does not dissuade you. And someone THAT determined, how can you argue? So, you see, when people ask me if I ever think about suicide, I canít honestly say no. A more accurate answer would be, Iím just trying to help others--think of me as a hands-off Kevorkian.
You know, I do have a conscience. I like to act like I donít, but things get to me. I think the guilt I believe Iíd have afterwards would drive me to get out of the car alone. Then again, I like people. Iíd do it just for her. Double time if she was a hottie. But what if she was a biggie and she wonít fucking budge? What am I supposed to do then? Die along with her? Fuck that. Iíll be over here on the lawn; there seems to be less traffic. Then when I get interviewed and Iím asked why I didnít help her Iíll have to say, ďShe was fuckiní huge. What we have here is a failure to communicate. Some women, you just canít move. You canít tell just how big she is now--sheís spread al over the place. Trust me.Ē Then I get asked: Is it true you said you wouldnít fuck her with a stolen dick? ďHey, if the shoe fits.Ē Then her family would be really upset--I mean aside from losing a loved one. Theyíd want blood and theyíd say that I didnít try hard enough to save her life and you know me, Iíd sarcastically say yes that was it. But Iíd appear serious and they would think I was admitting to it. What can you say? So, it appears that driving away is the intelligent thing to do. Some men you just canít reach.
Maybe I could carry around a little bag of cookies, that would get her off the tracks. I think they sell a box of individual packs of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies at Samís Club--without nuts so those freaks canít complain about how they donít eat nuts. I think Iíll go right now just to be safe.
Copyright © 2001 John Lemut