Why crawl under a moving train? To get to the other side.

My poppi yelling at me, and the train cars screeching as they gathered speed, neither one of those noises drowned out the big loud voice in my head telling me I was stupid for even thinking about doing what I was thinking about doing. These were the tracks. The train tracks. The train was on the tracks. We were never supposed to be on or near the tracks. Doing so or even thinking about doing so meant we would die. But here we were. Not only was I thinking of doing this thing, of crawling under a moving train to get to the other side, here I was about to do it. Poppi had already done it. Except he didn’t go underneath. He probably would have if the doors would have been closed or maybe if he could reach the opening. A calm came over me. I knew I was going to die. I wasn’t afraid. How could I expect to live after all the stories I’ve heard about playing on the tracks and people dying? I can’t count the number of times I tried to keep from falling asleep at night because I had thought about playing on the tracks. Surely I would not wake up in this world in our bedroom in our house because earlier that day I had thought about playing on the tracks. But I did wake up. Here I am. So what does this mean? I am supposed to die now because of all those thoughts, for what I’m about to do.

Cade! You do no such a thing.

I’m going to try.

No! Stop it! Do not move! I’m going to be right back over there.

I’m going to come over there.

Cade! You do and you will die! And if you don’t die I will kill you. Do you hear me? And so the only way for you to stay alive is to stay right there. I’m sorry I did this. I should not have been a show off for you. Just stay put. I’ll be right over to you again.

Legs were all I see of my father. The calm had left me. I was disappointed Poppi wouldn’t let me even try. I sat down on the dirt road and watched my father’s ascent into the train car. He never came out on the side where I was. So heartless, thoughtless, even ignorant, the train continued on. And then it didn’t. The train was gone. And so I yelled and yelled for it to stop. I didn’t what I was never supposed to do. I ran down the tracks as fast as I could. I commanded the train to stop. Bring my poppi back right now! I was angrier at the train than my father was angry at me when I wanted to crawl under the train to get across the tracks.

I stayed there for the longest time. Nobody walked by, not another train sped by as they usually do when they come through town. I was hungry and thirsty. I couldn’t yell anymore. Nothing came out. I cried with every muscle in my body, with every hair on my head, with all my teeth and bones. Where did my poppi go and why did the train take him? This was worse than death. Maybe this was the kind of thing that happens when you think about doing the things I’ve thought about doing, and when you almost do what I almost did.

No. It’s what happened to Poppi because of what he did. I see it and understand that now as clearly as my memory of that moment. And much more clearly than I have shared with you here.