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Train out of Oakland
recently discharged, after years of taking orders from
high school dropout sergeants & peach-fuzzed lieutenants.
the whole thing was a search&destroy cruise down
Gunpowder road. hard rot-gut in my canteen & an
occasional whore to share it with. I was lucky to get out
alive & only slightly damaged.
after boarding the Chicago-bound train, I stowed my gear &
made for the club car. I spotted her right away, along with
every other G I & snake oil salesman in the car, but the wall
of ice surrounding her kept them at bay. me, I had nothin’ to
lose & nothin’ much worth saying, but I would walk up to her
like a damn fool & say it anyway:
‘I just got out. the Army left me tired & cynical & beat up pretty
good, but if it led me to this spot talkin’ this crap to a woman
that looks exactly like you, then it was worth it. I’ll go quietly
now, I just wanted you to know that.’
her dark hair tumbled in gentle waves over her shoulders, & the
deep maple flames in her eyes held secrets that I would never
know, & a familiar eager passion that maybe I would. she grabbed
my sleeve & said, ‘stick around. you’re not the only cynical loner
on this tin can trolley.’
so we talked & drank for a long while; things that strangers talk
about, without hesitation or good sense, because they are strangers.
when it got late & there was no steward to pour drinks, we went to
the sleeper car, found an empty bunk, & commandeered it.
I touched her warm skin, & felt a desire that I had not encountered
in a long time. maybe never. she responded as if I were no longer a
stranger, or that it didn’t matter.
we held each other as if we were falling away from the world; where
nothing existed except this passion that we were forging. a passion
that could not be spoken, even in the language of a poet. or a
disbelieving soldier. it was a contraband romance that only happens
on a wayward train slicing the silver moonlight.
I slept hard after, right through the next stop. when I awoke, she was
already gone. but the matchbook memory that we made was on the
bunk, like a crumpled love note. I picked it up & stashed it in my pocket.
one day, when I’m defeated & lonely, I’ll pull it out & dream on it…
Published 27th Nov 2014
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likes 20
reading list entries 6
comments 14
reads 1699
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The author encourages honest critique.
27th Nov 2014 4:35am
27th Nov 2014 6:03am
yours is a nostalgic style that's made for cinema the way it's supposed to be shot - in black and white
27th Nov 2014 8:30am
This is probably my favorite write of yours. Really good story telling here, John...
Amazing...
Amazing...
No analysis in bits n pieces.. Speechless JF. Touched n struck me in familiarity n exuberance at many of ur story telling spots! Lovely mustadd to my list, that i cud read n number of tymes. Tq kindly:)
27th Nov 2014 12:25pm
I thoroughly enjoyed this honest piece of writing it reminded me of Harry Chapin "A Better Place to Be"
You seriously should collate and publish your stories I would be first in the que to buy
You seriously should collate and publish your stories I would be first in the que to buy
27th Nov 2014 12:52pm
I just cant explain how great this is..
I really enjoyed the read and can't wait for what else you come up with.
I really enjoyed the read and can't wait for what else you come up with.
27th Nov 2014 10:11pm
Oh Mr Feddeler there r no words that i could use to express how much this touched me. I was so drawn n i felt as if i was there witnessing the events unfold.
Absolutely beautiful piece
Absolutely beautiful piece
27th Nov 2014 10:26pm
i thoroughly agree with LSP... your film noir approach to poetry is sublime, Mister Feddeler.
29th Nov 2014 00:45am
"her dark hair tumbled in gentle waves over her shoulders, & the
deep maple flames in her eyes held secrets that I would never
know, & a familiar eager passion that maybe I would. she grabbed
my sleeve & said, ‘stick around. you’re not the only cynical loner
on this tin can trolley" This stanza thrilled me! You are the Master of prose, John. Thank for this one! She is very beautiful!
deep maple flames in her eyes held secrets that I would never
know, & a familiar eager passion that maybe I would. she grabbed
my sleeve & said, ‘stick around. you’re not the only cynical loner
on this tin can trolley" This stanza thrilled me! You are the Master of prose, John. Thank for this one! She is very beautiful!
30th Nov 2014 1:34am
You've got quite a way with words for "a cynical loner." There's a midnight special coming down the line.
30th Nov 2014 3:46pm
Anonymous
5th Dec 2014 9:07pm
Enjoyed the story, never a slow/boring point in it
"on a wayward train slicing the silver moonlight." -favorite line
"on a wayward train slicing the silver moonlight." -favorite line
Anonymous
25th Jan 2016 12:31pm
<< post removed >>
10th Jul 2016 7:39am
Hey John,you're takin' over my reading list.Two cynical souls just passing through.......touching in a sad,lonely way
