Son of the Train
Intro
In every lifetime, there is a focal point. Something that life revolves around. Everyone has their own focal point. Mine was a train. I thought of myself as a son of the train. From my experiences on this train, I would grow and learn to put up with many of the things that bothered me as an adolescent. One of them was my friends. Now, of course, individually my friends didn't bother me at all. However, together my friends did certain things that really got to me.
First off, was the common thought process they shared. Well, most of them shared it at least. They had this very "closet romantic" idea about love. True love is usually not found in the teenage years, but some of them thought they had found it already. This disturbed me. Why? Most likely due to the fact that I too had found love (or so I thought). The difference was, my love had escaped me, and theirs still existed, at least up until this point in the story. I was jealous. Sure, I'll admit it. Sometimes, I wish it were me. But other times, I am damned glad it wasn't. Sometimes, I don't think I ever want to be in love. Besides, the idea frightens me.
My life as I knew it was unfair. I always seemed to see things too late, or hear the wrong things from the wrong people. My life as it was didn't please me. I was not displeased, but I could certainly have been doing better. Especially in the romance department. This was an area of my life which even a miracle couldn't save. But it was only one of many problems I faced.
I reached an all time low during my middle high school years, when I was so depressed, suicide was a very common thought on my mind. I knew I would never do it, based on my intelligence, but it was there. Besides, I didn't like the idea of killing myself. Like the French philosopher, E.M. Cioran once said, "It is not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late". I realized that even if I tried it, it wouldn't solve anything, because I would have already gone through the pain. But, here I am now...I didn't do it.
An all time low couldn't begin to describe what I was going through at the time. I was near accidental self-induced death at least three times. All three of the occasions were brought about by alcohol. It was killing me. Inside and out I could see the effects. The depressant nature of the drug was beginning to take its toll on my mind and my spirit. And my head-on collision with so-called "love" didn't help matters at all.
I took the train down to Concord whenever I went down there. It gave me time to read. It also gave me time to think. That is what I usually needed to do before I went into any social situation. I needed to think just so I could make everything seem logical in my mind, so I could strategically break it all down and analyze it. Most of the time, I would get to the station out here in Cornish a little early, so that I could have a cigarette, but other times I made it just in time. Anyway, the ride itself was usually a time to myself. I could listen to my music and think about what I wanted to think about. I always knew there would be someone to pick me up from the station when I finally got to Concord, so I didn't think much about that.
The last of the near-death experiences was the worst of all. I had drank a bottle of JD alone, and choked in about half-a-pack of cigarettes before I was borderline passing out. My friend, Teddy dragged me up into a chair, and from then on in it was a living hell.
"Teddy," I said to him, "I really need to throw up." From that comment, he knew it was bad, even though he himself was drunk. He tried to get me down the stairs onto the grass, but I could feel it wasn't fast enough.
"Hurry up man, I'm gonna..." BOOM! It hit me. The worst feeling in the world had just set in. Self-induced, hangover causing, over-drunkenness. It was horrible, I was throwing up left and right. All over my shoes. You name it, I hit it. Finally it got to the point where I couldn't support my own weight. My friends, including Teddy and my other best friend Ally, dragged me up into someone's car (to this date I don't know whose), and finally got me home. I had just taken a vacation to hell, and I didn't really want to go back again. I never drank again.
It was a rock-bottom, sobering experience to be dropped like a bad habit by someone you love. Especially when you think they feel the same way about you. (Coincidentally, the ex-girlfriend ended up being my best friend, but I digress). From that experience, I concluded I would never again fall in love, an action I felt I had control over.
Her name was Allison Benes, or Ally for short. She had flowing blonde hair, smooth blue eyes, and a laugh that just made you glad to be near her. In fact, I had fallen in love because of that laugh. No matter how many people tell you looks, the laugh will make or break a relationship. I had fallen in love with her laugh. Ally knew this already. She knew she had me in the palm of her hand, and to tell you the truth, I rather enjoyed it there. It meant no matter what, I was always in contact with her. It was a great feeling. Love is the only thing that can control me. The story of our relationship is your typical make-up/break-up relationship. On and off was a good thing though. You couldn't have to little, and overkill was impossible. It was great.
It all started after a party for a friend. At that point in time, we were "best friends" whatever that means. We were the very typical "old item" that became friends after about the third or fourth time at a relationship. We had tried three times to make it work, but to no avail. In fact, the closest we came to a solid relationship was between the second and third tries. The first time we met was outside a movie theater. Nothing came from this first relationship, and the second was even less significant than the first. In between this effort and the final effort was the highest point in our relationship in the past. It was a one-night, "closet" affair, but I'll never forget it.
It started with a game of Truth or Dare and ended up breaking my heart. Teddy and his girlfriend, Mary Jane decided to play matchmakers, which was, at the time, a good thing. The four of us sat there, each knowing exactly what was going on. We were sitting in the guest room, lights out, Ally and I on the bed, Teddy and Mary Jane were on the floor. Then their fun began. They dared Ally to kiss me and me to kiss her so many times, that after awhile, it got repetitive (but it sure helped the ego). Finally we both gave in. It was great. There is no feeling that could match kissing the person you have had an enormous crush on for over four years. But after about ten minutes it ended. The night was officially over.
The next day, I was visibly aglow. I was the happiest man in the world, I had a girl who I thought I loved, and I was going to make something out of it. I called Ally the next night, and told her how I felt and participated in the most immature of teenage rituals, asking someone out. And it was going really well. I mean, nothing had gone wrong yet, until she said no. Then it really sucked. Let me tell you, there is nothing you can say to explain that feeling, although seeing a picture of me in a garbage can summed it all up. Love had strangely enough eluded me again.
The train schedule changed after this event, which was sort of coincidental, because my transport via mass transit slowly dwindled down to only a few train rides a month. I didn't go down to Concord as often as I had before. I decided to give myself a little breathing room.
A new cloud came over my life. I told everyone that I wanted to be single for awhile, as if it were a conscious decision. I then realized the real reason why I was to remain single. I didn't want to be with anyone else. It was a semi-conscious decision which would soon become the basis of a new morality that I would try.
At this point, I was all about being simple. My life would be simple again. I would turn inward and try to find a new spiritual existence. I began reading a lot of Salinger, especially The Catcher in the Rye, and Nine Stories. After that, I started reading Vonnegut, namely Cat's Cradle. For those that have read the book, you would know of the mysterious prophet Bokonon. I was drawn by the fictitious religion Vonnegut had created. In fact, it seems as if he had created the religion for me. But I read on. My next genre of particular interest would be the nineteenth century Transcendentalist movement, particularly the works of Henry David Thoreau. After reading some of his work, I felt as if I was sort of what he was talking about. I liked it a lot. Even though it was considered, boring, old literature by half of my class, I still really took a liking to it. Or perhaps it was Thoreau himself. There was one story in particular about him I enjoyed. Supposedly, "when Thoreau was teaching school... a school board member visited his class and reprimanded him for failing to cane his students. Thoreau walked back into the classroom, selected six students at random, and beat them vigorously. And then he quit." I really liked the attitude he showed. It reminded me a bit of myself. He had spunk. The only threat to my new idea of isolation from romantic encounters with the opposite sex was momentary. The reason for my slight faltering was what I referred to as "a bomb in a box". I had known Susan for about six years, but for about four of those years, she was not living in the country. When she did come back, it was in time for a rather large social event, a little bash for a few friends celebrating forward progress in life (a sweet sixteen party). I was taken back for the first few days. "Wow, Susan's home!" and in fact, I was drawn to her, but my subconscious took over when I was on the train again. It gave me time to realize, "Hey, if I'm good at being single, maybe I should keep it up for awhile. It hasn't hurt me yet." So I did. Individuality was a good thing. I had convinced myself of it. It was now second nature to recognize myself as the "eternal bachelor". I was sort of happy about it. But I took it too far.
I tried to also convince myself I could go clean. Off cigarettes and alcohol, or my one word, taken directly from the cult movie, Trainspotting, junk. I could do it, if not for the body, at least for the mind. Alcohol wouldn't be a problem. After my experience with my Mr. Daniels, I was nauseated by the sight alone of anything alcoholic. The problem would be the cigarettes. Addiction is addiction. No amount of coercion could get me to stop smoking. But I would give it a damned good try. I would get off junk if it was the last thing I did.
There was time on the train for everything I wanted to do. Time was the essence of a train ride. There were times though, that the train ride would end too abruptly for me to finalize any of my thoughts. Sometimes there wasn't enough free time during the fifty-eight minute ride to think about everything I needed to. Sometimes, time would just slip away. Four days after high school graduation, Teddy died in a car accident. It was a drunk driving incident, but both he and Mary Jane, the passenger in his car, were sober. In fact, he hadn't had a drink in awhile, neither had Ally or I. I had the misfortune of seeing the accident occur right in front of me. We were going through an intersection in Concord, and the drunk driver slammed right into the driver's side door of Teddy's car. The drunk driver's car wasn't to badly damaged, so he just reversed and sped out of the intersection. I was about to go after him, but Ally (who was in the car with me) told me not to, so that we could see what was wrong with Teddy. By the time the paramedics got to him, he was dead. Mary Jane was in critical condition for the night, with Ally and I at her side the entire night. My attempt to get off of junk would be impeded by this occasion. For the most part, I wasn't in the hospital too much that night. I was usually outside smoking a cigarette, trying to grasp what had happened. But as much as I tried I couldn't. There was something about the whole situation that would not stay down inside me. I didn't understand how Teddy could be dead, and the guy responsible could just drive away. It didn't make any sense. I needed to go to sleep. Either that or I needed a drink.
I opted for the drink. True, alcohol had been the cause of Teddy's death, but I needed something else other than cigarettes. I never did any of the hard drugs, so this was the only logical choice. The last time I had a drink was back in junior year. I had done well with regards to my promise, but this was a desperate situation. I found the closest bar and whipped out my fake I.D. I sat down at the bar at 11:45 and ordered a pint, and kept them coming until closing at 1:00. And even then I felt that I needed more. I walked back to the hospital and found Ally outside with a cigarette in her hand. Ally had been an off and on smoker since I had known her. She definitely wasn't an addict, but she could have smoked a little less. Not as if I were one to talk. I saw she was distressed and tried to ask her what was wrong. As soon as I did, she burst into tears. I knew what had happened. The entire situation finally sank in. Seeing one of her best friends lying in a hospital bed in critical condition, knowing another one was dead, and watching a third drinking himself into an alcoholic state of denial finally caved in her emotional strength. There was nothing we could do.
The train rides were cut short by the acquisition of a license, and also the unilateral purpose of the visits to Concord. I would go down just to see Ally these days. She was the only true friend I had left. The car rides began to outnumber the train rides, until finally the inevitable occurred. I was caught speeding and had my license suspended for six months. College was getting closer and closer. The days drew near when Ally would head off to UVM and I would head down to D.C. to begin my tenure at Georgetown. The separation would put a strain on the friendship, but it would make the times we did spend together a little more meaningful. While I was at school, I didn't hear too much from Ally, and I didn't make to great of an effort to stay in touch myself. However, when we did finally have time off, we did talk and make sure we kept each other posted on certain important issues.
When the first simultaneous vacation came around, I spent most of the time in Concord instead of being home in Cornish. Ally told me all about her new boyfriend, James, or JD for short. He came from Massachusetts and was spending Thanksgiving back at home. This meant more time for Ally and I to finalize the feelings about Teddy's death. Every Sunday, although neither of us was really religious, (I was very spiritual) we went to Teddy's grave. Ally would talk to Teddy, asking if he was watching us from above. While she would talk to Teddy, I'd sit on a bench nearby and just think. About him. About the times we shared, and about the times we wouldn't because of some stupid drunk.
I began going to church again. I hadn't gone to church since freshman year, but I knew this is what Teddy would have done if it were me. I started to live vicariously through what I thought Teddy's words, thoughts and actions were. There I came to the conclusion that there were only certain things we could do, and sometimes, we must let certain things go. I had to let go of what had happened to Teddy, and I had to finally come to terms with what had happened even before that.
There was a falling out between the entire group of friends. No one person was at fault. We all fucked up somewhere. There was nothing we really could have done to avoid it. Teddy began drinking too much. Ally was making choices that were screwing people over. I became a closet depressive and even and furthermore, an emotionless blob serving the sole purpose of taking up space. I remember times when I felt as if I was just slowly creeping through the entire day, stringing seven days together from weekend to weekend. I stopped existing to my friends. But I wasn't alone. Teddy dropped away for awhile. No one would talk to him, he wouldn't call anyone. It was just a failure to communicate. Ally's selfishly stupid decisions were severing the ties of many friendships, some which have yet to be reestablished. We all fell apart.
The next visit back to D.C. was a pretty calm as far as the departure. Ally and I left on good terms, Mary Jane was recovering from the accident. But there was something missing inside of me. I left something in Concord when I went back to DC. I didn't know exactly what it is, but there was a noticeable change in me. I was everything I wanted to be. I became a scholastic whiz, I ruled the intramural flag football games, and I was perfectly content alone with myself. I had finally achieved "omnipresent super-galactic oneness" as it is put in the sequel to Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. I realized what was missing from my life, what I had left behind. Thought. I had left behind thought. I began to do. I realized, any man could speak whatever he wanted. For instance, he could formulate the theory of nuclear decay in the twelfth dimension, but it would be to no avail unless he could prove it. I was walking the talk and was finally figuring out how to prove it.
And then it all went wrong. Ally became serious sick, and there was a good chance she wouldn't make it. I didn't have enough money for a plane ticket, so I decided to trust my life to Amtrak. I was on the train again. I thought about everything I had ever done because of these big windy mechanical worms. I was a son of the train. I was born and raised on the NJ Transit lines, and Amtrak was my ancestry. The train was the only fitting way for me to return home to Concord. My first destination was Good Samaritan hospital.
Good Samaritan hospital was the hospital we all saw Maggy Knowles get rushed off to on November 8, the same hospital where I was almost headed on September 18, and the same hospital where Ally and I saw Mary Jane recover. It was a place of resurrection for me. Life was renewed in the hospital, at least this one. The ivory walls were a haven for purity, the cool clean breathable air so different from what was in my lungs the last time I was here. The crisp, potable water, an enormous difference from what Maggy had inside of her that dreadful night.
Ally kept my view of the hospital in contact. Her recovery was quicker than expected, and when she was finally discharged from the hospital, we again split up. It was a rather tumultuous period for the two of us, obviously her experience during this time was much more stressful physically, but I like to believe my experiences were much more stressful psychosomatically. My tortured mind was relentless, and because of it my body suffered. I lost my will to do a lot of things, and lost the physical capabilities to do most of the remaining things I did want to do. Teddy's death coupled with Ally's sickness had resulted in my sickness, and brought me back to the state I was in during the summer prior to my junior year in high school. I was again over-thinking everything. I was going to simplify everything by creating "Sick-Boy"- ish theories that would sum everything up about my life. I would once again become a man of only thoughts, and very little, if any, actions. The son of the train had once again died.
