Dedicated to another unfortunate victim ...
It all began in the corners of my eyes on the drive home from work. After stopping at a traffic light, near the Lemon Street junction, I noticed a single-axle delivery truck speeding towards its destination on the other side of the road. Weaving in and out of traffic; the driver had a cigar clenched tightly in tobacco stained lips. Insensible to all save his next destination; the grind of making his daily quota was clearly etched on his face. This afternoon the street was congested with more traffic than usual; it was miserable. All vying for position; everyone seemed preoccupied, especially the prigs posturing in their air-conditioned yuppie-cocoons. It was stiflingly humid, and people shuffled along glumly on the sidewalks; all were seeking relief from the torrid sun.
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Across the street, nearer the tracks, pedestrians were milling around a lamp post and an empty news stand. Three were passing a liter of coke back and forth. Two were sharing a cigarette, and one was ardently rubbing her temples in an effort (I assumed) to subdue a headache. I could hear several complaining that the train was late again; most were glancing down the tracks, and at their watches, as if this ritual would somehow speed the train’s arrival. Heat waves were shimmering off the blacktop, in the hundred degree heat, and an old derelict man, standing nearer the tracks, was pouring a bottle of water over his head. Several cars behind me two men had exited their vehicles and began posturing like roosters with one another; the argument began escalating. Another street-fight, more than likely, I imagined, and I shook my head in disdain. On a whim, I checked to see if my revolver was under the seat - it was.
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On an adjacent corner I watched four young degenerate’s, in baggy low-slung pants, light cigarettes in unison as half a dozen young girls departed a community school bus. All living breathing examples of modern fashion, the girls were dressed scantily; pierced navels, too much breast showing, too much leg showing, haughty expressions, too much of everything showing except good sense and intelligence. Not at all furtive in their actions, the boys began ogling and posturing boldly as the young women swaggered by several feet in front of them. After they’d passed, and were several yards away, one of the girls turned defiantly and flipped the boys off. All their faces clouded at once and the girls began snickering with dark expressions. It seemed they didn’t think the boys were all that “cool” after all. After a series of expletives were exchanged, the agitated young men turned on heel and shuffled towards the gate crossing as the young women moved away down the platform. I glanced briefly to see if the traffic light had changed – it hadn’t.
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In the distance, the repetitive clicking of steel wheels on steel tracks was singing, and the approaching train’s horn began blaring. Tip-lights, and buck-lights, began flashing. Bells began clanging, and the crossing gate slowly descended to protect the approach. Everyone milling by the snack dispensers, and along the platform, ran to the loading lines and waited for the train to stop so they could board. The last few, (who hadn’t done so) bought their tickets with frantic expressions. The two men arguing behind me had been approached by a police officer. With a resonant authoritative voice both were sternly instructed to return to their vehicles immediately. I could see the officer’s watchful eye, and an unwavering hand on his weapon as they moved away. Both red-faced, the two men re-entered their vehicles and slammed the doors.
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The next few moments were a blur …
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As the train rolled into the station everyone adjusted their clothes and glanced at their watches again in preparation to board. The traffic light was still red to accommodate the train, and some around me had begun revving their motors impatiently. The beat officer had now approached a disheveled man sitting on the sidewalk drinking from a bottle hidden in a brown bag. A frantic woman, pushing a stroller, bolted across the tracks in front of the train so she could board on the correct side. The old man who had earlier poured a bottle of water over his head, was now rubbing his face and had begun stumbling backwards towards the approaching train. As the train moved into the station, the crossing guards rose up and the lights changed. Suddenly people began screaming. Glancing to the left, as I moved away, my heart sank and I began weeping. I could see the old man had somehow been hit and dragged by the train as it came to a screeching halt. There was nothing left of him but parts.
© Richard Lloyd Cederberg
2006
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This short narrative was powerfully presented depicting each character to a tee. The speakers voice was concise teaming with vivid imageries and setting gave a complete bird's eye view of all that took place in "It All Began". As for the conclusion it was a surprise to a certain extent but quite possibly it could have been expected if one rushed their thoughts before actually completing the read.
Thank you for sharing,
~Gwendolyn
"air-conditioned yuppie cocoons" is about as priceless a description of those ubiquitous Bavarian Motor Works mobiles as I have ever seen! Having been in the trucking business for 17 years, I have seen the exact expression you describe here:
"I saw a single axle delivery truck speeding towards its destination on the other side of the road. Weaving in and out of traffic, the driver had a cigar clenched tightly in tobacco stained lips; he seemed insensible to all save his next destination, and the grind of making his daily quota was etched on his face."
I believe Mark Twain and Ernest Hemingway would like to slap you on the back and buy you a drink for this one. I would imagine you could teach even them a few things about leading the reader down the path to understanding of what humanity has become. -a brilliant offering!
~Butch Howard
Elizabeth
Talent doesn't describe what you have, maybe humanity does.
Great short story!!!
Georg
We live with death every day; just don't know how close it rides to us. Reminds me of Crash Test Dummy (Me--I'm still paying) and my poem Road Warrior (Scary close call on the freeway)
Ron
Blessings,
Joyce B.
Great write though Richard.
Love Sissy Tinka