Runaway Train

The scary people across the street have moved back into the burnt-out, meth-lab house. Or at least, they've been seen milling around, carting things in and out at strange hours of the night. They always come in mid-spring when the wisteria blooms. I notice because the rest of the time, the ramshackle shanty is deserted, and I'm always tempted to go pick a bloom off their over sized wisteria outside their gate. I don't because it's stealing. But I mostly don't because I know they're around, lurking behind the corroding wall and disintegrating foundation.
I live in fear of these neighbors, whose patriarch used to help himself to my water and electricity until I asked him to stop. My mailbox is across the street, right in front of their house, and it makes me too nervous to check the mail if I know they're around.
This morning, I noticed a package strapped to my mailbox, so I drove up and gathered several day's worth of post on my way to work. The package was from my cousin-- I assume it's for my birthday, so I've not opened it. There was a propane bill and an ad from Qwest. I had a bank statement regarding my savings account, and opening it made me happy that all my study on budgeting and provident living has not been a waste of time. But the most interesting envelope was a wedding announcement from a former boyfriend. The colors were beautiful. The brown patterns on the top and bottom of the announcement evoked a gorgeous elegance. Even the map insert was beautiful (save the registry information-- though the font was one of my favorites, I just can never get behind people including it in their announcements-- tacky, tacky, tacky). The thing that really caught my attention, though, was the engagement picture. The bride is beautiful, and a very sweet person. I liked that they chose sepia, because it went so perfectly with the announcement. But the bride and groom are pictured sitting on train tracks. I think they meant to suggest they were beginning a long, eternal journey together. But I couldn't help thinking that the groom (bless his heart) is a bit of a train wreck, and that his wife will be tied to the tracks. I sincerely wish them luck as they untie and rescue one another, and pray they don't get hit.
I'm a train myself. I chug along, doing my job. Passengers come and go, and in the case of several erst-while boyfriends, hop off and on several times before they move on to another train, another destination. I carry the goods to those who need it. My cars hold compassion and artistry, insulation and food. I make deliveries and chug, chug, chug along. Occasionally, I warn people to get out of the way, but sometimes I can't stop and I run over those who play on the tracks. Most people watch respectfully as I pass, but a few cars on the road honk and moan, waiting for me to get out of their way. I loudly announce my presence wherever I go, and some find it comforting. Some find it disturbing. So people just think I should keep quiet, but then there is a greater risk of someone getting hit again. I move from place to place on a sure path that will take me where I'm going, though sometimes the journey seems a bit out of the way. I love being loaded down, being useful, but there are times it feels so wonderful and free to be rid of whatever it was I carried, so I can race on to my next destination and pickup, unhampered and at lightening speed.
Sometimes I turn into the Little Engine that Could, chanting "I think I can," when all around me the skeptics laugh and tell me to leave it for one of the bigger trains or the grander models. I pass others on parallel or diverging tracks, interested in what they carry and where their journey will take them, though inevitably, it is at some point far away from me. I love the independence of hauling a load by myself, but I often look forward to working in tandem with another engine so we can haul twice the load and not have to go it alone. I don't mind being the second engine-- the follower. A cross-country trip is not any less of an adventure rolling behind someone as they pull me, and I pull the weight behind me. I look forward to that kind of power.
Workin' on the railroad all the live-long day is a good life. There is joy to be found hauling the things people need. The traveler in me is fulfilled in the journey. I love fixing things and running the show like a real engineer. Even carrying an occasional bum isn't so bad, because I get rewarded with a sweet little tune on the harmonica, reminding me that I'm not lonely. The bum can't stay, but he makes the ride more interesting. And sometimes, when I'm lucky, that chant to Dinah and her someone in the kitchen goes from "I think I can" to "I know I will."