Somehow these seven segments survived from that phone. 3 fictional short stories. 2 jivestreams. 1 non fictional short story. 1 post-gig reflectional jivestream.
*****
(editor's note: this fictional short story is dated October 22nd, 2008 at 5:46pm - which means I was on the train commuting home from work at Berklee. I might describe it as a dark delve into the pysche of commuters. I must have been reading the short stories of Roald Dahl at the time. *Warning* explicit language)
"The Muck"
The train starts deep down the coast. I get on at the second stop. We then go through the real nice towns, where the mansions are right on the water and the Maids' Quarters dwarf my parent's pad. The Maids Quarters also have excellent ocean views.
Then you go right down the Ladder of Society. The houses get closer together and then, before you know it, there are apartment buildings with burned out cars in the lot, behind the Burger King. Then miles and miles of triple-decker apartments all packed into each other. Clothes drying on ropes from the fire escape, even now, after the first frost.
Then you go past the industrial complexes. General Electric. The nuclear power plant. Big generators, silos, and fenced in areas with giant red warning signs in Spanish.
The last leg of the journey is usually nice. From the generators and silos, you go through some muck before the train seems to hover for ages over the open ocean as the city approaches. We were in the muck when I first noticed it.
Actually, there were baby ducks swimming with their mother. Or father. I don't know how ducks work. But the scene was peaceful...
Then you go right down the Ladder of Society. The houses get closer together and then, before you know it, there are apartment buildings with burned out cars in the lot, behind the Burger King. Then miles and miles of triple-decker apartments all packed into each other. Clothes drying on ropes from the fire escape, even now, after the first frost.
Then you go past the industrial complexes. General Electric. The nuclear power plant. Big generators, silos, and fenced in areas with giant red warning signs in Spanish.
The last leg of the journey is usually nice. From the generators and silos, you go through some muck before the train seems to hover for ages over the open ocean as the city approaches. We were in the muck when I first noticed it.
Actually, there were baby ducks swimming with their mother. Or father. I don't know how ducks work. But the scene was peaceful...
Right then, I saw it. The boot.
I've always wondered about solo shoes and boots on roads and rails, and how they got there. Wonderful, nasty stories. This, I am sure.
The train was crawling along. We are usually at full tilt at this point, and the morning commuters were anxious because we were traveling so slowly, then stopping, then resuming a crawl. We would be at least half an hour late if we were lucky.
A nearby woman around my mothers age asked, "why the fuck don't they tell us what is going on?" My mother would never speak like that in public, but she's also never had to commute to the city for months, or years at a time.
So I was really checking out this boot when I noticed the distinguishing characteristic that made it much different from any other boot I had ever seen, or will see again. The laces were tied.
The laces were tied and I recognized the shape of a foot and leg protruding from it, plunging under water, into the muck. I felt sick. An announcer made a muffled announcement on the speaker system.
"Can you see that boot ma'am?" I asked the woman next to me.
"Will you please be quiet? I have been waiting for this announcement for 30 minutes so I can call my boss", she answered tersely.
"Ma'am please just look at that boot and tell me what you see" I begged her. We were crawling slowly down the track, but the boot and its ugly horror were still quite visible.
"Shhhhhhhhh" she spit at me.
I was baffled. Surely this was more important than Work.
"Does no one see the dead body in the muck" I finally screamed. All the people with window seats, instead of looking out their window and confirming my beliefs, looked instead right at me and began shushing me in the same nasty tone.
"Have you all lost your mind? Look there. We are nearly passed it. You in the back...Look. LOOK! Jesus...."
and I felt a sharp pain on the small of my back, and my arms were pulled together behind me. The next sharp pain was on my left knee, and I felt myself being dragged, my legs powerless.
"That's enough of that boy. We apologized for being late but there's always One who can't handle it. You're upsetting the regulars. You're off at the next stop." The train conductor had intervened. My wrists were bound together by a locking plastic tie.
"Sir, I am a regular. My pass is in my wallet, take it out if you don't believe me. Sir, there is a dead man in the muck back there." I pleaded.
"Im sure of it. And you'll be right there with him." he replied, looking me directly in the eye, and smiling. I noticed he was holding a blade...
In a flash, he spun me round, cut the tie on my wrist and pushed me out the door, onto a platform at the last stop before the city. I hadn't even realized the train had stopped while I was being detained.
"Next train ain't for two hours you might wanna take a cab to work from here, Boy. And next time you go shouting about dead people I won't be so compassionate."
His words got softer and softer as the train pulled away.
I've always wondered about solo shoes and boots on roads and rails, and how they got there. Wonderful, nasty stories. This, I am sure.
The train was crawling along. We are usually at full tilt at this point, and the morning commuters were anxious because we were traveling so slowly, then stopping, then resuming a crawl. We would be at least half an hour late if we were lucky.
A nearby woman around my mothers age asked, "why the fuck don't they tell us what is going on?" My mother would never speak like that in public, but she's also never had to commute to the city for months, or years at a time.
So I was really checking out this boot when I noticed the distinguishing characteristic that made it much different from any other boot I had ever seen, or will see again. The laces were tied.
The laces were tied and I recognized the shape of a foot and leg protruding from it, plunging under water, into the muck. I felt sick. An announcer made a muffled announcement on the speaker system.
"Can you see that boot ma'am?" I asked the woman next to me.
"Will you please be quiet? I have been waiting for this announcement for 30 minutes so I can call my boss", she answered tersely.
"Ma'am please just look at that boot and tell me what you see" I begged her. We were crawling slowly down the track, but the boot and its ugly horror were still quite visible.
"Shhhhhhhhh" she spit at me.
I was baffled. Surely this was more important than Work.
"Does no one see the dead body in the muck" I finally screamed. All the people with window seats, instead of looking out their window and confirming my beliefs, looked instead right at me and began shushing me in the same nasty tone.
"Have you all lost your mind? Look there. We are nearly passed it. You in the back...Look. LOOK! Jesus...."
and I felt a sharp pain on the small of my back, and my arms were pulled together behind me. The next sharp pain was on my left knee, and I felt myself being dragged, my legs powerless.
"That's enough of that boy. We apologized for being late but there's always One who can't handle it. You're upsetting the regulars. You're off at the next stop." The train conductor had intervened. My wrists were bound together by a locking plastic tie.
"Sir, I am a regular. My pass is in my wallet, take it out if you don't believe me. Sir, there is a dead man in the muck back there." I pleaded.
"Im sure of it. And you'll be right there with him." he replied, looking me directly in the eye, and smiling. I noticed he was holding a blade...
In a flash, he spun me round, cut the tie on my wrist and pushed me out the door, onto a platform at the last stop before the city. I hadn't even realized the train had stopped while I was being detained.
"Next train ain't for two hours you might wanna take a cab to work from here, Boy. And next time you go shouting about dead people I won't be so compassionate."
His words got softer and softer as the train pulled away.
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