Metrolink708: Prince Charming
Shelley J Alongi

 

Let’s see. The freight engineers say I get around good, 606 yells at me, 608 laughs at me, and 708 just ignores me. And then there’s the case of the new engineer: Prince charming. Ah sigh! Just another week at Fullerton with all my Prince Charmings! And yes, glen is stil the best.

All My Prince charmings

“You’ve got the right engine tonight!” The cool breeze, reminiscent of spring but smack in the middle of July accentuates the quiet night as I dance up and down below bobby’s cab on this Wednesday July 7. , Not many people on the train tonight, or is it that the hubbub of the station mingles with the pleasantness of the southern California summer and is hardly noticed now as the engineer switches off the bell on the Fp59, my favorite engine. There is no response from the engineer, at least not in relation to the engine. Bobby prefers the MPI’s. The Emd’s he says, load slow. He doesn’t share my enthusiasm for the EMD engine, unlike Glen who readily responds to my excitement about the engine he operates, especially when it is an EMD. Tonight, hustling up the stairs to see Bobby on the 608 I am comfortable with the rhythm of Fullerton’s historic landmark. The kids takin pictures, Ray or Bolder sitting in their respective spots embibing freely from the preholiday spirits, spirits that seem to inhabit the place year round. Curt makes his rounds on his scooter, Tom the gulfer shows up, chatting, someone smokes a cigarette Daisy puts the chairs away. They scrape across the concrete as she loads them into the cart. Once in a while Bob’s laughter drifts across the tracks, addin to the pleasantness of the evening. The amish who go down to Mexico for medical treatment line the platform, sit on the planters.

“Hey, Shelley,” bobby now says, acknowledging my wave. I used to wonder if Glen knew my name. Bobby knows it. Glen probably remembers it. I won’t say he wants to forget it; I’m hoping he finds me amusing. “My B day party in Ful at the Old spaghetti Factory on Sun July 11” I text to Glen. “Curt wants you to come.” Curt has taken my red and gold flyers, handing them to key people on the patio, letting everyone know that there is a cake for Shelley the night before her birthday, July 12. The flyer says6:00 but Janice has offered to make a cake for me and they usually come at 6:00 so the party has been changed to 4:00 on Sunday at the spaghetti factory, culminating in the cake at 6:00pm.

“My birthday party is on Sunday,” I tell bobby. “Bring your wife and kids.”

“Where?” he asks me. I wonder if one of my engineers will show up. We know Glen won’t come to the party. He is hundreds of miles away in a place known only to those who work or have a daily commute to Lancaster and srrounding cities in the Antelope Valley. The only reason I text him is that Curt in socialness suggests that wouldn’t it be nice if “the guy you met on the train”, Glen, he finally remembers, shows up? Of course it would be nice, but the likelihood of that is minuscule. I’m sure if he were there he would wish me a happy birthday; he is a friendly guy, but he’s not driving all the way down to see me. “He doesn’t respond to her” Janice says in reference to my texts. “I work nine days in a row. You would be proud,” I tell him. There’s something just fun about telling him things about me. Texting is a useful tool; no long conversations, no messages on voicemail. He can, should he choose to, ignore my texts or simply not check them. I am convinced he reads them. It’s like the pre vocal days when all I needed was for him to wave, to acknowledge me. He’s my first engineer love and he knows it. He responds appropriately. Somday I’ll talk to him againa bout railroad signals and such. Someday he’ll show up on the platform again and chances are he won’t tell me. Someone will see him ad tell me but I can bet that it won’t be him. It doesn’t matter. He’s stil my sweet Glen. He’s still the best. “You are still the best” I tell him once. “I have to train my t es to tell me if freights are coming.”

In the meantime, the drama at the station continues without Glen’s smiling face or his constant questions about whether I’m working today. Once in a while bobby asks me the same thing. What is it with these engineers? Do they want someone to work with them? Does misery love company? There is nothing miserable about my engineers, my prince charmings. In fact, there is a splash of excitement as a freight train pulls up on track two, almost parallel with the café. The engineer, looking both ways, comes across track one and comes to the café.

“How far are you going?” asks Janice as the train hisses ad idles, coughs, breathes, emits its usual sounds of liveliness, waiting for its master’s hand.

“Clovis, New mexico,” says the master. I would guess himat mid forties.

“How far do you go?” I ask him.

“Barstow. Lovely down town Barstow.”

I laugh; it’s a good amused laugh. He disappears into his train, leaving us to enjoy July’s unseasonably cool evening. No one is complaining except when it’s so cold one has to put a sweater on, not something anyone can remember doing in the summer here. By this time last year it was hot, sticky, I was on vacation applying liberal amounts of sun block to keep out the harmful rays. Sometimes here I do that, but tonight the sun block is not necessary. Something compels me to leave my spot on the patio and go down to the east end of the platform. I head back after havin some conversation and notice that the train is still on track two.

“I’m going to go talk to that engineer,” I tell the patio faithful. I make my way out there but the window is shut, there is no interaction with the engineer. Soon number 4 appears on track one, people load and unload, the baggage car does its luggage check, and the train is off to Chicago. Soon the freight departs. The story, however, does not end here. I skip a few days, caught up in the middle of my nine day working frenzy. Returning on Sunday. I have found a different bus route home, one that works on the weekends. This means I can come to the station on Saturday or Sunday now and not have to wait for someone to give me a ride home or pay cab fair. I have a plan now. It takes an extra amount of time to get home but I can do it and so that makes it worth while. I take the 143 to the Brea mall and then transfer to the 57 which lets me off about a block from my place. It’s retracing my steps but it works and it doesn’t cost me anything since I have a Disney pass. Sitting on Sunday night on the patio Janice tells me the following story. It seems the freight engineer reappeared on Saturday on track two again and comes to the café.

“Where’s the girl that was with you?” asks the engineer.

“Shelley?” Janice want sto know. He says yes.

“She gets around good,” he says.

“What? I missed my prince Charming?”

Yes, I missed my prince Charming. And yet, Glen, bobby, Cary, Frank, and even nameless 708, aren’t they all my prince Charming? We can’t forget Jason the other freight baby.

“Did you get his name?” I asked Janice. She says no she doesn’t. Well, fine, we’ll jus call my new engineer Prince Charming! Ah, sigh!

One day I miss Cary. He yells at me he says the next day, but I didn’t know it. I stood on the stairs ad watched as 606 highballed out of Fullerton. I had been sitting on the patio engrossed in someone’s conversation when suddenly I realized it was time to go. I did not make it that day, only to the second flight of stairs down, a great vantage point for someone sitting twenty or thirty feet from the ground, seeing everything. Cary had a bird’s eye view without being a pilot. It was alright, I saw him the next day and that’s when he said he yelled at me.

“What’s that on your face. Sun tan lotion?” he says to me on the second day.

I laugh. “No, it is sun block.”

On the patio Shirley and jaris tease me about the white splotches on my face. I don’t rub in sun block it seems to make my face or arms feel cooler.

“You don’t want your boyfriend to see that?” says one of them. “DO you want Cary to see you like that?”

So Cary is my boyfriend is he? Glen and bobby and Jason and Prince Charming? Wow some list! I never could get a date in high school. Now I have married, debt-strapped railroad engineers lining up to say hi to me? Well I guess I’m a late bloomer. My boy friends. That must mean I have the pick of the train litter. I’ll take Glen. Handhim over and no one gets hurt.

The only problem when Shirley and Jaris tease me is that I am so stressed out about money and whether or not I should get another room mate or whether I should ask her to move out and get another one is that I don’t enjoy the teasing. Either that or I have PMS Or I’m going through menopause. Wow, what if it is a combination of all three things? Yikes! I have to go talk to my engineers to escape! Maybe the next time I go down to the station I’ll see Prince charming! Everything will work out, I know that, and maybe, someday, all the engineers will show up at my birthday party. Maybe Prince Charming will be there, too.

“Word is getting around,” Curt teases. “They’re coming from far and wide to see you.”

“Does it annoy you?” Bobby asks on another day. Someone has asked me whether or not I need the train.

“Yes,” I gush. “It happens all the time.”

My number 4 or 5 or 6, whatever number he is, laughs. Bobby laughs easily. Maybe he’s been married more than once and he has to laugh. Maybe that’s why Glen never laughed except once; he’s only been married once. Let’s see. The freight engineers say I get around good, 606 yells at me, 608 laughs at me, and 708 just ignores me. Ah sigh! Just another week at Fullerton with all my Prince Charmings! And yes, glen is stil the best.

 

 

Copyright © 2010 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"