I spent that whole day on the mountain. Hunger pains growled in me like wild dogs. It was dark out, nighttime; the clouds slipped over the moon, creating a silver coin through the blackened sky. I watched it as I made my descent.
The worst part of the hike was over. The faint trails of civilization could be seen through the barren trees. Sounds of the night played like theme music. Crickets sawed their legs to a high pitch squeal, owls hooted their question to an absent night, and a lost coyote howled, signaling a roll call to its brethren. None of it scared me. I felt part of it: the dying woman amongst the creatures of the night, methodically walking the hills, cherishing her freedom.
A new sound came, abrupt and unnatural. The nightlife scurried away in a mad dash. Don’t worry my fine furry friends, I thought, it’s only a train. The metallic beast returned, delivering its passengers home from a day of discontent.
I made it to the road. The train track was down a trench, off to the side. A six-foot fence stood between us, acting as security. Six feet? Who was it likely to stop besides the weary? If one was so inclined they could hop that fence with ease, and walk down the track like in the adventures of Stand By Me.
I grabbed the fence, its rusty metal gripped to my fingers, and I started to climb. I was up and over in the matter of seconds. I could hear the train leaving from the station ahead. At first, I walked against the chainlink fence and away from the track, my hand slowly gliding in and out of the metal grooves and feeling the power of the train through its steady vibrato. I stopped, put my fingers back through the fence and held it firmly. I let my weight dangle back, while my shaking hand held me up.
Choices swarmed in my mind. Do I let go? Do I hold on? They seemed like a deeper questions for deeper minds.
But than I thought, what was the point in holding on, when you have nothing left to hold on to? That was the question that let me go, and before I knew it, my feet were on the tracks, walking from one plank to the next.
The train was still out of sight, but the moon had slipped off its cover as the clouds swept across the sky, clearing a bright spotlight in the navy blue night. It outlined the track in a fine detail, displaying that treacherous third rail and its never-ending source of myth and legend. I stayed clear of it, with no desire to prove the myth wrong. A game of chicken lay ahead. It was a game I would win.
I walked on, hearing the chugalug of the train as it picked up speed. The ground below me shook. I could feel it like pins and needles in my feet. The adrenaline dump was palpable, its sour taste began to sweeten. There was a curve up ahead, and a rush of light coming from around its bend. It was the train, on course to do its job. It was ready to play, and I walked on.
Each step I took with purpose, one railroad tie at a time. I thought about cancer, its Death was a faint yet steadfast voice, whispering its caution. But on the train track, Death had a battlecry, coming straight at me. I have to admit, I had never been more turned on in my entire life.
I walked on.
It was a meandering stride on the outside, but inside, my nerves had been twisted and tangled. The train didn’t look the least bit worried. It rounded the bend, and its light—brighter than the moon’s—shined ahead and engulfed me.
When the engineer finally saw me I imagined the sight came with a proclamation of “Holy shit!” as the train’s horn clamored through the night, breaking up the peaceful gathering of grazing deer, chirping crickets and restless raccoons. It froze them like statues, but I walked on.
Not only did I walk, but I had a holler of my own. I surged forward, opened up my timid mouth and exhaled a rebel yell. The train chugged on, unconcerned, but I could see the engineer’s face through the oncoming window as he pulled down on the horn again.
The brakes clanged and squealed. Blue sparks exploded from the train’s underbelly. My strut wouldn’t waver; it couldn’t. The hot flares rained into the dry brush along the side of the rail, almost setting them alight. The beast was no more than fifty yards away and closing the distance. But still, I walked on.
Have you ever felt your heart beating without putting a hand to your chest? Have you ever felt it through your breastplate, through your muscles, through your flesh? I felt it pounding from inside my body, as if my conscience left my mind and went inside myself, granting me life inside a moment so surreal, and so extraordinary.
I felt alive.
The train was twenty-five yards away, I could see the engineer’s eyes: scared and hopeless. He knew that with a smile like mine, I wasn’t going anywhere but forward.
The beast was slowing down rapidly. The shriek of the brakes pierced my ears. Fifteen yards away, with its dimming speed, would still crush me into oblivion.
I walked on.
Ten yards, the train was at a crawl.
“Local crazy woman, walks into train as way of suicide,” I heard a reporter say in my mind. The embarrassment of that was not beyond me.
With it so close, what better to do than scream? I stopped walking, spread both my arms wide, tilted my head to the clear night sky, and let loose a nerve shattering wail, calling to arms everyone on that train. Every Dick and Jane who sat there, looking out their window, searching for the local crazy woman, who—from somewhere deep down—they found themselves jealous of, I screamed to. Letting them know, it’s okay to let go.
My war-cry trailed off and I opened my eyes to look forward, I saw the train, the beast, a good foot away from my face. It’s nervous heat radiated onto my skin. I breathed in and out in short spurts, exhilarated, flabbergasted, and I’m shamed to say, horny as hell. I looked up and into the face of the engineer. His forehead soaked with sweat, and his cheeks were flushed of life. I waved, and smiled. I stepped to the side and off the track and made my way alongside the train.
Passengers were aghast. Their faces plastered against the windows, staring at me as if I were an apparition, or some supernatural force. Towards the end of the train I saw James. Unlike the others, his face was drawn with wonder. He raised his camera to his eyes, eager to capture the moment. In the midst of my strut I caught his lens and smiled. I lifted my hand and extended a ladylike middle finger right as the camera flashed.
I felt his eyes glued to me the whole time. Before I was gone and out of sight, I turned back as his camera flashed again. I wondered what he would do with those pictures? Create a memorial for a dead girl, perhaps?
It didn’t matter. I had lived three lifetimes in one heart pounding moment, and I yearned for more. With my eyes glued ahead, and my smile larger than life, I walked on. For I had the world to see.