Date: Fri, 27 Mar 1998 15:46:21 -0600 From: jttapley Subject: BIO and SUB Greetings! I am new to this list and would like to briefly introduce myself and then jump in! My name is Travis Tapley, I'm 31 years old, married with a three year old son. I have been writing poetry and short stories for about 3-1/2 years, and while I have no SS published, I have had a couple of poems accepted on the 'net and in a couple of hardback anthologies. My stories are where I feel I need the work. So, I hope to get a lot of feedback on this one. All comments are welcome! Thanks, Travis Tapley "The Hobo and the Engineer" The first time I saw her, she was standing under the protective covering of the I-10 High-rise. She had dirty blond hair, long and tangled. And the appearance that she had not taken a bath in quite some time. She looked to be about twenty-seven to twenty-eight years old, and I was considerably stunned and how pretty she was. I wondered if she was lost. But her dress and demeanor and the people she was associating with left me with little doubt-- she was a hobo. Or would that be, hobo-ette. I wanted to talk to her, but the last thing I wanted to do was insult her by not being politically correct or whatever. There's nothing like a mad hobo! I backed the light switch engine into the cut of cars and began pulling on them, dragging them out toward the mainline. When my Foreman stopped me, he would pull the pin on the remaining cars and they would stay in the track as another cut for us to switch. The cars I held onto would then be switched into their proper tracks, and later in the day built into their appropriate train. Ah, the life of a Locomotive Engineer. The whole railroad industry is a job that somehow cannot be explained to the general public. Anyone who has worked in the industry will find it hard to tell you what we do. It's unlike any job anyone will ever have. When I stopped to make the cut, she ran up beside the engine and asked for some water. This too is a customary tradition, and most of the time if we have extra water on board, we happily oblige. Any other time I would have found a six pack that was hot and just tossed it out the window to her, but for some reason I told my Foreman I had to step down for a minute and gathered her six or seven cold ones from our inside cooler. I placed them inside one of the numerous garbage bags that was lying around inside the cab and climbed down to get a closer look and this young woman. I was stunned at how beautiful she was. In fifteen years of railroading, I had yet to run across a pretty hobo. I guess that's what was so strange about her. She definitely didn't fit into her surroundings. She took the bag from my hands, said thanks, and asked when the next train was going toward Florida. I told her probably sometimes that afternoon and she turned to walk away. For reasons that are beyond me and totally unlike me, I asked her her name. "Who want's to know?" She replied. Feeling a little embarrassed at my asking, I replied, "I'm sorry, I'm Jonathan, Jonathan Waggoner." "My name's Anna." "Nice to meet you Anna." I nodded at her, and she turned and walked back under the bridge. I told my Foreman that I was back on board and resumed my daily duties. Sometimes during the day, Anna disappeared, but she never left my mind. What was it about her that attracted my attention? I assumed that it was just the fact that she didn't fit in. She did and she didn't. She was dressed and played the part, but I couldn't believe this young woman was a bona-fide hobo. I intended to find out the truth. I didn't see Anna again for two weeks. But as is the custom, she surfaced under the High-rise, with the same old clothes on, same duffel bag and same soiled look. I remember thinking about the first time I saw her. That first up close look that day when I handed her the water. Those deep, deep brown eyes. The perfect teeth and what once seemed to be manicured hands. Maybe today would be my day to get to talk to her. I thought about lunch. When the rest of the crew got in the van and went back to the yard office, I would stay on the engine and somehow manage to get into a conversation with Anna. It was a terrible morning for me as I had managed to stay up later than normal watching a stupid baseball game. I say later than normal, but I had gotten quite good at staying up until eleven o' clock at night knowing I should have been in bed at eight thirty. When lunch rolled around and the rest of the crew left, I managed to do what every other engineer did when they stayed on the engine for lunch-- I fell asleep. The next feeling I had was the Switchman shaking me awake. I had blown my chance to talk with her. Now, it was time to go back to work. "Dang!" I muttered to myself. Would I get another chance? I coupled to the cars and pulled out toward the main-line. As I approached the road crossing, the draw bridge started going up. To avoid blocking traffic, I slowly applied the independent brake and brought the train to a safe and efficient stop. Almost as good as the book teaches I thought, reflecting on the train handling rule book. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw her. She was apparently having a disagreement with a fellow hobo on her bag. Simply put, he was trying to take it from her. I felt the instant impulse to go and protect her. Then the urge to call the tower and report it. I decided against the later, as I knew that would result in her being arrested by the railroad police and going to jail for trespassing. I didn't want to see her leave that way. Yet, why did I care? I was significantly shocked to see that I didn't have to do anything. With what resembled to be a few of them kung-fu style moves, she left Mr. Greedy flat on his back in the hard packed dirt and slag holding what I was certain a broken left arm. "That's no ordinary hobo." I laughed out loud. She turned and saw the engine and knew I had seen it all. She walked over to me and yelled up at my window, "Hello, Jonathan, got any water?" She didn't seem too concerned that I had witnessed her kicking this guy's tail and didn't seem to be going to acknowledge it. I thought better of asking where she learned those moves and kindly handed her some cold water. I couldn't however, keep my big mouth shut. "Anna, you don't fit in, where you from and what are you running from?" She got a serious look on her face, "I'm running from more than you would understand, and I'm from California." Then just as before, she turned and walked away, back under the bridge and her world. What a difference a few feet of slag makes. All that separated a hobo's world from a railroad man's. I left the railroad that afternoon unable to shake what I had seen from my mind. When you don't use your brain, people tell you to shake the cob-webs free and think. I was sure that saying applied to me except I was thinking and my brain had become a huge spider's web that had absorbed this image and refused to let it go until it had devoured it. Anna was definitely an intriguing woman. There was now no doubt in my mind that she had a terrible past. From just two short conversation with her--I don't even know if they would classify as conversations--I gathered she came from money. Money is a strange creature. It has made many a man and woman do unconventional things. I also noticed that there was a tan line on her left hand ring finger. It could be any type of ring line, but I was willing to bet it was a wedding ring line. For the next month, I went to work hoping to see her. I wanted to know what secrets this woman held. For the next month all I did was play out scenarios in my mind of her past. Then just like the other times, "poof" she was under the bridge one day. As much as I wanted to see her and talk to her, I didn't want my day to start off like it did. I coupled up to track 18 and the moment I started pulling on it I knew it was going to be difficult to get it on the mainline. Taking the turnover from my back pocket--a turnover is a piece of paper that shows the contents of every track in the yard--and looking it over, I saw that this particular track held 62 cars. From the strain the switch engine was under and the way the slack was pulling out, I knew they almost all had to be loads. We would be lucky to see 5 miles an hour on the speed recorder. With my finger on the sand button and my hand on the throttle we were slowly gaining momentum. Then just as swiftly as I had started rolling with the cars, the engine stopped in its tracks. I knew from the way we bogged down, what had happened. There was no doubt, cars were on the ground. We were derailed. And judging from the abrupt stop it wasn't going to be pretty. All I could do was sit and wait. The Foreman and Switchman would walk the cut and notify me and the Yardmaster of any complications. To say I had the railroad tied up and that I was going to sit there a while would be an understatement. I walked out the front door and sat down on the steps. The hard blowing south wind felt good and I closed and rubbed my sleepy eyes. When they opened there she was. "We've got to stop meeting like this!" She giggled. In much better spirits than the two previous times I had seen her. "Are you the only guy that works on this end of the yard?" "I feel like it sometimes." "I've been thinking about what you said." "Which was?" I asked back. "What was I running from. I didn't trust you, but when you didn't say anything that day I broke that guys arm, I guess...I guess I started thinking about telling you." "Why now?" "I'm confused. I know you have me figured out. You know I'm not a true hobo." "Oh, you know that do you?" "Yes. You're too observant. That's why I ran away both times. You notice things too fast." "You're right, I noticed you didn't fit in, excuse me for saying so, but you are just too pretty. I'm sorry, but you don't see many pretty hobo's. Especially female ones! So, what are you running from?" I couldn't believe my bluntness. But I was dying to know. "From a very abusive husband. He's probably turned every airport, bus station and ship port in this country upside down hunting me. A hobo was the only way. He'll never search for me like this. It's not me. I hope he spends all his money and rots a broke lonely old man." "Why didn't you just divorce him? Get a job and start over. You sound intelligent." "His family. I would never work in California. They own that state." "What kind of work do you do?" I asked inquisitively. "You wouldn't believe me." "Try me!" "Okay...I'm a..." She was cut short by my Switchman calling me on the radio. "Come in Jonathan YD 113 over." "Excuse me for a moment." I said and grabbed the mike off the control stand. "Hellllo, over!" "Uh, you did a fine job, buddy." "I knew that." I answered. It was his way of telling me it was one heck of a derailment. It almost made me forget about Anna, and want to run down the track to take a look for myself. I placed the mike back in its holder and stepped back outside the door and just as before she was gone. "Dad gum it!" I sputtered, would I ever hear the whole story? I wanted to know the rest now more than ever. I wanted to know the rest of the story, I surmise you could say, for six months. Everyday I would go to work and look under that bridge. No Anna. Just as she had appeared in my life, she disappeared. I thought I would never see her again. And I wondered if her husband found her or she had decided to start over in some other town and some other place. It seemed highly unlikely unless she had decided to face her past chase her demons away. Then one day, a brand new BMW 325i pulled into the yard on the south end. The door opened and out stepped a brown headed woman in shades and a dark blue dress suit. She looked vaguely familiar and as she pulled the shades from her eyes, I recognized her. It was Anna! I immediately threw the independent brake on and stepped off the engine. Boy, did she look stunning! I looked her over and wondered how any one could ever abuse her. "Hello, Jonathan!" She said enthusiastically. "Hello, Anna!" "Surprised?" "Yes!" That was a lie, stunned was more like it! "So you faced your past?" "Yeah. I never told you the rest, I'm a trial lawyer. I went to school at UCLA. I decided to quit running. I filed for divorce. I'm applying for my Louisiana license. I'm going to set up shop here. There's a fortune to be made. And that's just on the crooked politicians!" She laughed out loud. "I'm glad." I was speechless. I never dreamed that dirty faced woman was a lawyer. "If you ever need a good lawyer, here's my card. Well gotta' go. Just wanted you to know. Oh, yeah, thank you Jonathan!" The door on the BMW closed and just like those few times before, she was from my life again! The End!