Metrolink111: Sweet Engine Purring Delays, withdrawals, social butterfly, and a stressful day. This week it’s about the sweet engineer and the engine purring. Maybe I’m purring. Monday November 16 Oh Those Late Trains “Hi,” says Metrolink 606 Carrie. There are people gathered around the engine waiting for Amtrak. Amtrak 784, pacific Surf Liner to San Diego, is late, again. It was late last Monday. Bruce says later Amtrak 784 hit a kid in Oxnard. Good grief why cant people just stay off the tracks? Anyway, I don’t know that yet, and I lose track of Carrie. Carrie is somewhere. Suddenly he’s standing beside me, tapping me on the shoulder. “Take care ok,” he says. I’m not sure why he got out of the cab but there he is, like magic. I’ll have to ask him tomorrow. He gets back into the cab, he closes that door. Its click brings back memories of sitting on the café patio watching and listening to the freight engineers when they climb down from their perches and walk across track one and go into the café or to someone on the planter. Looking both ways like a good engineer or a child (remember when you learned to look and listen?), they claim their spot inside their private lairs and close that door, shutting out the gawking railfans. I’m one of them now, so I guess they’re shutting me out, too. Today, I’m not being shut out of the engineer’s world. I want to know, does Carrie get out of his cab for me? Maybe. I don’t’ know. Sweet Engine Purring It’s been an interesting day. I arrive late for work, I had to take care of some errands and I didn’t want to completely call out so I went in late. Since I couldn’t get my nails done yesterday, Sunday, I went today and had them done. This week we’re back to the red nail polish. I arrive at work, finish my four hours, go to the station. I am starving. I eat my turkey wrap before going over to Carrie’s train. There are kids on the elevator, play fighting or real fighting we’re not sure, we think they are only playing, they kick the elevator, each other, get inside the elevator, go across the bridge. I finish my chips and my soda and as a freight hurtles by, I get up and go over to Glen’s train. I hear it’s sweet bell. The bell is the older one, Carrie has one of the newer engines. I’m a little bit past the bell tonight. I stand beside the locomotive, not close enough to touch. Glen says hey or hi or something. “Hello,” I walk to the train. “How are you today?” “Pretty good,” he says. He sounds good today not so weary. “How was your weekend?” Sometimes it’s hard to interpret Glen’s one second silences. I think Glen thinks about the answers to questions before giving them. This might be my tendency for over analysis but I know people who really do think about their answers and so maybe Glen is in that category. I stand below my Alfa engineer, waiting. “Alright,” he responds in his friendly way, the signal calling voice. “I worked. Did you work Saturday?” “No,” I say. “I was home writing.” I didn’t tell him I was writing about the train station and him. He’ll find out eventually but tonight isn’t the night that happens. “Are you working the day after Thanksgiving? I could meet you in L.A.” “I’m not sure if I’m working or not.” “You’re on Sunday schedule right?” Janice calls Metrolink to ask about when the Christmas train will be here. December 12 is its date. She says they don’t run thanksgiving and Friday is Sunday schedule. This is why I ask Glen if he’s on Sunday schedule on Friday after Thanksgiving. Glen’s not sure if we’re on Sunday schedule. “They offered me a vacation day,” he says easily. “Take it, take it, take it,” I encourage, waving my right hand sideways across his window, three times. “You deserve it.” Glen really does deserve it. He works hard and sometimes he works six days a week. He may love his job, and may have other motivations for working six days. “they gave me a vacation day,” I tell him. “Do you work thanksgiving?” he asks. “No.” His hand revs that engine, its gentle acceleration signaling Glen’s imminent departure. Lately the calming and throbbing of that engine is like therapy, warm sweetness drizzled over my already lovesick attachment to trains. Some days the sweetest sound is the setting of those brakes. Lowering the pitch of that engine can also cause ecstatic joy. . Maybe knowing the man whose hands make that engine purr helps, but even last night, Sunday, sitting there listening to the locomotive on the Amtrak the reaction was the same. They’re just sweet sounds. They are sweeter knowing Glen runs that locomotive but that engine purring is music to a former music major’s ears. I’m desperately hooked, desperately curious. What fun Sweet. I don’t remember if he says anything else, he may have said bye, I know he didn’t say “have a good night” or “she likes trains.” I wave him away into the dark, on to his one hour and 22 minute run now to Ocean Side. “Bye, glen.” I go over the bridge and settle myself in my chair, moving my yellow bag. I really do like Glen. There’s something right with the world when I talk to friendly people, especially engineers. I can’t wait to see him tomorrow. I can’t wait to see Carrie, too. Talking to these two are really worth my whole day. Stay safe my engineers. Have a good night, both of you. And make that engine purr. Engineer Withdrawal I can’t believe, Tuesday, I’m sitting at CBS Pharmacy waiting for a medication refill, in tears. I missed the engineers. I got caught on a two and a half hour call and so then I got off of work at 6:30 with 35 minutes to catch two minutes of bliss with Glen on train 608. It wasn’t going to happen The bus schedule wouldn’t allow it. Maybe if I had wings or was magic like tinker bell. I missed Carrie, too, but missing Glen that was devastating. I must be addicted. I’m very emotionally attached, that’s for sure. I’ve only wanted to have some type of relationship with engineers since November, 2008 when I first put forth the idea to everyone on the patio. Here, I finally have it, two engineers look for me, they know my face, they look down from their cabs and see me. They might not remember my name but that’s fine. On a day when the nature of my business causes me to work an hour over shift end and I miss them I am heartbroken. Yes, I’d say I’m a schoolgirl with a crush. I’d also say this is so important to me, perhaps even more important than I realize. Well, the day isn’t a complete goner, I go get medicine I need to refill, so at least I do something smart with my evening. The good thing is I won’t have to do it tomorrow. I work till 4:15 tomorrow night so unless I get a really very complicated call there’s no danger of missing the engineers…unless there’s a train delay. We’ll pray that doesn’t happen. See you tomorrow sweet engineers. Train Delays Well, as it turns out on Wednesday there are train delays. “Hi.” “I worked late yesterday so I missed you.” “These engines are longer, the newer ones, we have to pull up further.” At least Carrie knows what he’s doing. “I mean yesterday I missed you because I worked late. Today is a better day then yesterday.” “How was your day?” That’s a Carrie question. “Good. I didn’t have to work an hour overtime. “I wasn’t here yesterday.” “I know that.” “How do you know that?” “Because you weren’t here yesterday.” Oh my Lord sometimes my brilliance in two minutes is stunningly superb. I just wasted two minutes with Carrie showing him how brilliant I am. “Take care.” “Okay I work late tomorrow so I’ll see you Friday.” Talking to my Metrolink Baby It is time now, after sitting on the patio for twenty minutes or so, to make my way back over to track 3 to meet Glen’s train. The Metrolink board flashes its lights, telling us that the train operating from Los Angeles to Ocean side is running up to fifteen minutes late. Dave stands on this side of the track with me, talking about the construction and the fact that all the black top is gone where there used to be parking. I look to the parking lot on this side, listening for the bell in the massive hubbub that emanates from both sides of the tracks. A huge group of children an adults waits for train 4. It is noisy over there, kids run up and down the stairs, take the elevator, supervising adults quickly halt this behavior. They must be getting on train 4. I don’t know. Glen pulls his train in, it almost gets by me in the rush but I’m standing right there how can I miss it? I’m used to waiting for this train, I don’t miss it. I walk up to the bell. Glen greets me, making this middle-aged adolescent smile. All is right with the world again. I’m looking at my Alfa engineer. “You beat 4 in here tonight,” I say. I am about to walk right into the train, the cane shows me the edge of the platform, I can reach out and touch the locomotive, but I don’t. “Huh?” Glen emits. Am I so confusing? Ha, probably. “You beat the Southwest chief in here,” I repeat. “Barely!” His answer is super! Oh my! That vocal inflection! I wish sometimes I could see his face. Do the expressions on his face match the vocal projections? I think he’s very expressive. I’ll have to ask someone. Moh knows him, maybe she can tell me if his face is as expressive as his voice. “They’re rounding Buena Park now,” he says. Buena Park is the first Metrolink stop after L.A. but Amtrak doesn’t make that stop, it just passes the station. “What’s going on?” I ask, because the train is late. Even Carrie’s train 606 is late. “It was restricted speed, 10 miles through the siding at Norwalk.” Norwalk is a familiar place to me. I grew up there. I’ve gotten off several times at that station shared both by Amtrak and Metrolink. Norwalk is the home of my childhood. Tonight Norwalk is an engineer’s reason for being late. “What’s going on?” He says something. Glen uses that signal calling voice. The only thing is he talks as if I’m standing right next to him. He says something about “they found something in the siding” and something about calling or falling, I don’t know. He’s just fun and quiet sometimes. No, Glen, you’re not standing right next to me, you’re sitting way over my head you’re going to have to project more. I bet you he’s fun to talk to one on one. I’ll get my chance. He’s so expressive. Ah sigh! “Have a good night,” he says, revving that sweet purring engine. “I won’t see you tomorrow I work I’ll see you Friday,” I say, not sure how much of it if any he catches. When our time is over it’s over. But at least he’s said goodbye oh and he did say “have a goodnight.” That’s such a common phrase I find myself using it with people, bus drivers, it’s just a friendly thing, a wish for good things to occur. With Glen, so far, all of it is good. Have a good night, Glen. I’ll go home and do some more engineer homework. And wait till Friday. Social butterfly Friday, it’s one of those days when everyone has something to do, I suppose. Janice is working. Larry’s not there. Bob Is there and I’ve had an egg salad sandwich from the café, something I’ll explain later. Dennis and Jose prepare for the bands. It is a quieter than usual Friday night, but part of that might be due to the nip in the air or the fact that we’re all starting to think of the holidays. Yes, again! Fun fun fun! Tonight it’s time to think of engineers. I head over to track 3 to await Carrie’s train. Lots of kids do the things they do on Friday nights, they hold their cameras waiting for trains to take them into the world of pictures and traffic subdivisions, signal types, engine specifications, and scanners. It’s a world of color, technical details, and probably for most, just pure marveling at such machinery. It’s love on the rails. Right now a train pulls up to its marker and sets the brakes. I wave. “Hi,” says Carrie. It’s his standard greeting. “Hello. It was a stressful day today but now I’m here,” I say. It really was a stressful day. “Thank you,” he says. I’m not sure what that means but okay. “Hey I won’t be here for a couple of weeks so have a good holiday,” he says. Unlike Glen, Carrie likes to take a vacation. Glen just wants to work. “Where are you going?” I ask. “I don’t know. I’ll just hang out.” There is a moment of silence. A lady approaches the train. “Hey I want to talk to a friend of mine,” says my second string engineer. “Okay, see you, Carrie.” Carrie, the social butterfly. He must know everyone. I walk back toward the stairs. Hope he has a nice vacation. Gentle Engineer The woman who married this man who runs the 608 and supposedly decided this wasn’t what she wanted doesn’t realize what she’s missing. She threw away something with both hands, it could be a bunch of things, but it was something. Friday has been the day from hell and if it hasn’t really resembled a true understanding of hell it sure feels like it. It was a fine day till I decide to go home early and maybe in reality the things that happen today aren’t so stressful. By the time I stand at Glen’s train touching that locomotive, caressing its edge it doesn’t feel like the day from hell but three hours ago it sure did. What happened? And what does that have to do with someone throwing away something? It was just one of those days when everything goes wrong, or at least everything you think is about to go wrong, does. I get home from work at 3:00. This is fine in itself. Checking my bank balance on one account shows me that I’m in trouble. A package containing my upgraded cell phone to replace the one that crashed last week is not in the office; it has been delivered to the FedEx facility and I’ll have to pick it up. The office management here is very nice. They print directions to the place, read my tracking notice, and tell me how to get to the facility. The office luckily is three minutes away. But wait, there’s more! Coming back home to check email I discover that the modem has lost settings again and the computer shows the wrong time. All this on one day! I’m almost in tears. I know it will all be fine, but right now I have no communication methods except physically going out and finding someone to help out and I’m just mainly disappointed that I didn’t get my phone today. It’s a phone that I can use for text messaging and that’s scary. But I can’t even do that because it’s not in my hand. Oh brother! I think it’s time for the train station! And I’m so broke I can’t afford dinner. I get myself together, crawl out from under the cables, and get my bag. I can’t do much about any of it anyway right now and maybe I can borrow one of the rail fan’s phones or find the pay phone at the station and use it to call the cable company to have them reset the modem. This is the state I’m in when I reach out to caress Glen’s train. Things are looking a little bit better. I have run up a tab with Jose, and I’ll find the pay phone after the train, but now here I am. My own love on the rails approaches. His bell passes me, I find it and stand waiting. “Hey.” “Hi Glen.” I am very happy to see him. You can’t imagine it. Maybe you can. I walk up to the train reaching out to stroke it. Its sweet four stroke Electro Motor Division 569 series twelve cylinder engine calls my name with its kind idle. The person sitting up there running it awaits me. “Pretty good,” he says. “It might rain.” “Yeah?” There is a nip in the air but who knows if and when it will rain. “Well it’s been a stressful day so that’s fine,” I say. I guess I kind of want him to ask me about it. NO trains tonight, just Shelley telling her engineer about her stressful day. He responds in the appropriate manner. “yeah?” he says gently. “How come?” His question is sweet and I can hear him. But I don’t have so many minutes for a sob story. Short, sweet, to the point, and positive. No tears. NO tears in front of this engineer. Besides who wants a crying girl standing at the side of the locomotive? Who wants to be the crying girl? Not me. It’s enough that he’s asked. “Oh, money and computers. And if those are the least of my worries I’ll be okay.” “You’re doing alright,” he says. It’s an encouragement. It’s Glen acknowledging my resilient spirit. Maybe it’s Glen saying thank God no tears. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe not? I have a feeling he is friendly and shows interest in whomever he’s talking to. It’s a nice quality to have, I wish I had it. It’s my gentle engineer acknowledging my stressful day. It is enough. “Computers are terrible,” he now says with feeling. Oh Glen you do have a way of summing up things don’t you, my sweet engineer. It’s enough to make this stressed out electronic-dependent girl smile. Anything you do makes me smile. But still, I wonder, how does he say such things? They are terrible. The thing is one can’t live without them. Kind of like humans can’t live without each other and we can be terrible, too, cant’ we? I cherish my engineer. He is the best. And he’s so right. Computers are terrible! “And money’s not far behind,” I say, smiling. Glen thinks about this in his one second of silence that sometimes characterizes his responses. “Yeah,” he says. It’s the way he says it; full of meaning like he knows what I’m talking about. Maybe he does. “Are you working tomorrow?” I ask. “Maybe. Tomorrow afternoon.” My gentle engineer always working. Kind of like me I suppose. “So are you going to take that vacation day?” I ask, changing the subject, Glen pushes the throttle into perhaps position one, preparing to move the locomotive and the train. “I think I’ll work on Friday,” he says. Maybe he does understand about money being a trouble. Maybe he just loves his job. Maybe it’s less stressful for him to work than to stay at home and maybe I’m just over analyzing it as usual. I know one thing. He rings his bell. I wave to him. “Bye glen, see you on Monday.” Tonight he is my gentle engineer running that sweet engine, that little darling thing that bids me give it respect. It’s my EMD locomotive, twelve cylinder, four stroke, 569 series engine and it’s purring. It occurs to me briefly as I make my way back to the patio faithful and stand out waiting for train 4 that I am not sure if Glen remembers my name. It’s okay. He’s asked me about my day. I head over to the other side of the tracks. Howe and Clarita are there. “So have you told him you’re two-timing him?” Dan asks. We all stand waiting for number 4. “No,” I say. “I wouldn’t hurt him.” I wouldn’t throw that kind of person away. If he asks about my stressful day after I alert him to its existence why would I hurt him? He’s just probably been around long enough to know that when a girl says she’s had a stressful day she wants him to ask about it. I usually ask how he’s doing so he’s just reciprocating. Why would I hurt someone like that? Besides, I know Dan is teasing, but I’m not really two-timing. He’s the best. We talk about how Clarita had to put one of her cats to sleep. Now that’s stressful. Talking about putting my cats down would be even more stressful than money and computers. Then I might really cry by the locomotive. Mo is there but I don’t’ ask her about Glen’s facial expressions. I make my way over to the Spaghetti Factory to use their restroom since apparently both the station and the café bathrooms are backed up. This sounds like a city problem, Jose says earlier. It’s definitely a problem. Making my way back over to the middle of the platform where the fans all sit, I attach myself to one of the groups. Kathy and Jim and I discuss something and in another corner there is another discussion going on. Mercifully the bands have gotten a late start, allowing me my quiet moments with Glen. I don’t think my mental state can handle metal tonight. After Glen, after being acknowledged by my engineer, I can handle it, as long as I’m far away. The distance down the platform gives us enough leeway so that we’re not overwhelmed, though it certainly is an omnipresent sound. It mingles into the conversation, the freights as they pass by. The worries of my day sort themselves out. Chris, one of the Fullerton regulars, graciously lends me his phone so I can call the cable company. He says he’ll buy dinner if I make it to the restaurant on time on Monday. The train travel group meets then and I work till 5:15 so we’ll see if I make it there. That is nice of him. Lending me the phone really helps because now I don’t have to find the pay phone (I know where it is), and we set up an appointment to fix the problem. So you see, coming here always helps. Here is where I learn lots of information on the locomotives that run the Metrolink trains. Those of you who want, and me who desires technical details, are happy. I have a place to start. I don’t have to bother Glen with asking about technical details. Well, he’s the one who told me to check EMD, and one of the fans, Tom who is a schoolteacher, knows a lot about them so I can use that information and get started. I still have the money problem. I don’t’ think that’s going away. But at least now I can think about how to solve it. I’ve been solving money problems since I moved out of my parent’s house twenty-two years ago so I think I’ll solve them. Well, something will happen and they’ll work themselves out. Slowly life begins to settle. I’ve gotten my egg salad, I’ve been acknowledged by my alfa cat engineer, and I’ve learned more about the locomotives. It has been a great week. Glen I hope you have a nice night and a nice day because you sure made mine a whole lot better. There’s just something about you and this whole place that makes things better. Oh, and let’s not forget the sweet engine purring. The hands that make those engines purr are the best. Make those engines purr. Maybe I’m purring.
Copyright © 2009 Shelley J Alongi |