The Conductor

Willie, the Engineer of the month for Amtrack, was peaceful for once. The sharp clack of metal on metal was soothing as he watched the Pacific Coast through the left window. It was far superior to the undeniable chaos that had followed him for the past week. Beads of water slid down the side of his can of Pepsi, daring him to take a sip. He refused.

He bathed himself in the relaxation of the moment. Because he was working today, he was securing a little more of the American Dream for him and his own. Willie was generally quiet, almost reserved at most times, with an unremarkable face, and a body by Haagen Dazs. The sunset over the ocean was mesmerizing.

He thought about Betty, and her shopping habit. It seemed like days had passed without him seeing her. He realized that he was unsure of what she had been doing for the last week. Admittedly he had a lot on his mind lately.

What had happened to his youthful exuberance? The intangible quality that would cause him to suddenly jump into his battered Camaro, surprise Betty at work, and take off for Palm Springs or Vegas for the weekend. The simple and pat answer was that years of responsibility, child rearing, health concerns, and long hauls on the tracks had eroded his fantastical and creative nature; replacing them with mortgage payments, stock options, and expensive college educations for his children.

This, of course was total and complete bullshit. The simple fact was that he had become complacent.

This is not an uncommon revelation to a man of his years, he had become his father, and it scared the shit out of him.

And here he was, insulated from life by a hundred tons of flying steel and glass. It wasn't that he hadn't had accomplishments, and were he in a less contemplative mood, he would have let it drop then and there. But he continued into the night wondering how it had all gone so wrong.

He was pulled out of his reverie by a horn sounding in the southbound tracks. He was sweating, and lightheaded. A voice in the back of his head suggested blood loss, but he was unsure as to what that could mean. He had no intention of taking a physical inventory as it might upset him. He wondered again where his wife Betty could have been.

He spied the letter under the can. The condensation had obliterated some of the words. Didn't matter, he knew it by heart:

Dear Will,

I have known that this day would come for some time. I just didn't have the courage to come to you with it. We haven't been happy for some time. I have had a lot of time to consider it, and I won't be changing my mind. I'm going to stay with my mother for a while, at least long enough to begin divorce proceedings. I want you to know that I still love you but there is no way that I can be with you this way, and I don't know how to fix this. I hope that we'll always be friends.

Love,

Betty

His wife had left him. His sense of contentment and security which had gotten him back to work was now shattered.

There was something important that he should remember. It hurt so badly to go to that place in his mind. He remembered that he had packed his gun in the duffel under his seat. He was a terrible shot, only used the damn thing on the target range. It was, loaded with six bullets and was oiled and clean. The original plan had been to drive up to his mother in laws house and make the bitch pay. But why should she be at peace while he was likely looking at life in prison? Instead, he pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote:

Betty,

I just want you to know that all of this is your fucking fault.

Will

He had put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. It had taken a while to build up his courage.

If he had used a .38 instead of a .22, he probably would have been successful. If he hadn't been hung over, he would have taken better aim. Unfortunately, neither had been the case. The bullet had bounced off of his cheek bone ricocheting and neatly clipping his spinal cord. Though the injury would inevitably be fatal, it would take some time for him to die. He was dead, his body just didn't know it yet.

As he spent those last moments of clarity, he thought "If only I had more time I could have fixed everything.

Clickety Clack of the wheels hitting rail.