TRAIN TRACKS & BLACK FACES. Pt. 1

THE TRAIN CLATTERED DOWN THE TRACKS, AS TWO YOUNG MEN RODE PERIOUSLY ON TOP. NOTHING BUT THEIR SENSE OF BALANCE, AND TENTATIVE IT WAS, KEPT THEM CLINGING TO THE BACK OF THAT IRON BRONCO.

THEY WERE YOUNG THEN, AND FULL OF SPIRIT AND VINEGAR. THE WAR YEARS WERE STILL AHEAD OF THEM, AND STILL OBLIVIOUS OF ALL  THEY WOULD ONE DAY SEE AND EXPERIENCE; THOSE HORRORS WHICH WOULD MAKE THEM OLD MEN BEFORE THEIR TIME.

THEY WERE DETERMINED TO RIDE THIS TRAIN TO GEORGIA, COME HELL OR HIGH WATER; WHICH THEY SUBSEQUENTLY MANAGED TO DO. HOWEVER, THEIR EXPECTATIONS WERE TO BEAR SOUR FRUIT.

IT HAD STARTED WITH A DARE AND AS THE DARE TURNED INTO REALITY, THEY REALIZED WHAT A BAD IDEA IT HAD BEEN.

‘Henry, let’s go back to Florida. We came up here to pick beans, and we discover they’re picked out.”

WITH THIS, HENRY SCRATCHED HIS HEAD AND HAD TO ADMIT DEFEAT, THOUGH THIS WASN’T A WORD HE WAS FOND OF, NOR A WORD HE OFTEN USED.

“Well, Earl. As much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re right. But understand, I don’t say that often and you’re not likely to hear it again soon”.

EARL LAUGHED WHEN HE HEARD THIS AFFIRMATION BECAUSE HE KNEW HENRY, AND KNEW HIM WELL.

AND AFTER HAVING BEEN IN GEORGIA LESS THAN A DAY, THE BOYS HOPPED ON A TRAIN VERY MUCH LIKE THE ORIGINAL, AND RODE IT ALL NIGHT. AND AS THEY LAY ON THE ROOF OF THE OLD BOX CAR, THEY ENJOYED A BOTTLE OF LIQUID REFRESHMENT.

THEY WERE HAVING A WONDERFUL TIME, AS THE WIND BLEW PAST AT NIGH ON 50 MPH. LITTLE COULD THEY KNOW THAT SOMETHNG ELSE WAS BLOWING IN THE WIND. FOR YOU SEE, WITH THE WIND CAME SMOKE, AND WITH THE SMOKE CAME SOOT.

ONLY A MIRACLE KEPT THE BOYS FROM ROLLING OFF THE TRAIN CAR THAT NIGHT.  THEY WERE DRUNK AS SKUNKS EVER HOPED TO BE, AND THEY SLOWLY DRIFTED OFF TO SLEEP; HEARING THE CLANK, CLANK, CLANK OF THE TRACKS FAR BENEATH THEM.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 35. Copyright pending

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