RR X-ing

could of happened, maybe it did.

My wife and I were retuning home from grocery shopping when our small pick-up truck was abruptly stopped by a clanging railroad crossing gate. We sat snug on the truck’s bench seat and waited. Soon a strange sight crossed our path. A typical, diesel train engine, nothing antique or unusual, pulling a rusted, nondescript freight car with no affiliate markings stenciled on its sides flaunting wide open doors. But tagged on the end, like an after thought or subterfuge, was coupled a silver passenger car, or more precisely a silver private passenger car. A custom job, polished aluminum, sleek and out of place. Just three cars, nothing more. The linkage traveled at “on-a-mission” speed, and didn’t slow down or sound its horn while shooting through our small town as required by law I looked at my wife who looked back and blinked once. Neither of us had seen anything like this coursing through our small town before. Maybe in the past, like when Lincoln traveled to his next whistle stop speech, or Lenin hurtling through Mother Russia for a proletariat rally, but never through out little freight stop town. 

I kept my speculations to myself as my sweet wife makes it a personal point to refrain from entertaining conspiracy theories at all- opposites attract I guess. I thought or rather imagined, that maybe huddled inside that clandestine, aluminum container was a germ-a-phobic, agoraphobic, “Howard Hughes” billionaire type, rushing to some private hospital to get a viral delousing or some such. A conspiracy theory? Could have been. Prove it otherwise.

In a flash, the truncated train whisked by and the crossing gates rose. In its rarefied wake, the mysterious linkage left an eerie silence and swirling debris that resembled glittering confetti trailing off to other, unknown dimensions. We crossed the tracks and then a bit further on, crossed the old Teddy Roosevelt steel bridge spanning the Kootenai river. Once safe on the other side we breathed fresh mountain air to clear our heads. Now traveling on the opposite, non-jurisdictional side of the river bank I asked my wife to pop open my ritual can of travel beer for our trip around mountain cutbacks, leading up toward our remote, off-the-grid homestead. We didn’t speak about what happened back at the railroad crossing The beer was good. My wife pointed out various woodland creatures, deer, eagles, bears along our way. The neighbor’s dog we care for in his owners absence barked an enthusiastic greeting as we pulled into our gravel drive. Not only could this have happened, it did. 

Author's Note

like the end tag says, not only could this have happened, it did. Critiques and comments more than welcome.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Well, ya just never know. As you suggested, there might have been some rich bigwig in there, rushing to witness sasquatches pushing trees over or whatever. Clearly, speed limit laws weren't of concern. I imagine a drive to get groceries in your part of the world is a mostly pleasant event.

[roarke]

Heh, Sam, define, “mostly pleasant” lol You know, I tell these stories, you guys read these stories… but I get a funny feeling NOBODY believes me…. Thanks for the read my friend.

[FlatDaddy]

Oh, this is rich. I posted my review, but the site crashed, as it so often does now, but knowing it might do this and being a smart feller (or a s "fart smeller" as my grandmother would have said) I copied my review just in case it DID crash, and "voila" it does. So I paste said review into the blank space awaitin' and 'WHAM!" -- it crashes again. So I paste again and hit the "submit" button for the third time, and now I see my review has been posted THREE times!, including the note I left with the third effort. Figures, huh? It did the same thing when I posted a review of a story by Sam Dickens, but I just deleted the extra ones and left it at that. Now, if this little blurb doesn't print, I'm not sure what I'll do. Let's find out:

[FlatDaddy]

Damn, this site is killing me. This is effort #3 to post my review:
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Oh, come on, Bill, you know as well as I that any time an author closes with, "Not only could this have happened, it did," that we, the readers, get to say, "Oh, come on, Bill, ..." and you know the rest. So I suggest you back up that story a bit and tell us how you dropped off your Missus at your shack, double back, and catch up to that silver thingamabob where it's been knocked off the tracks by a massive moose that's still staggering around like some ear-shot one-shoed president shaking his fist at the sky, rescue the still-dizzy occupant of the thingamabob -- who happens to be Taylor Swift, who is so grateful you saved her she bakes you a dozen chocolate chip cookies and ... Uh huh. But, come on, Bill ...

[FlatDaddy]

Oh, come on, Bill, you know as well as I that any time an author closes with, "Not only could this have happened, it did," that we, the readers, get to say, "Oh, come on, Bill, ..." and you know the rest. So I suggest you back up that story a bit and tell us how you dropped off your Missus at your shack, double back, and catch up to that silver thingamabob where it's been knocked off the tracks by a massive moose that's still staggering around like some ear-shot one-shoed president shaking his fist at the sky, rescue the still-dizzy occupant of the thingamabob -- who happens to be Taylor Swift, who is so grateful you saved her she bakes you a dozen chocolate chip cookies and ... Uh huh. But, come on, Bill ...

[FlatDaddy]

Oh, come on, Bill, you know as well as I that any time an author closes with, "Not only could this have happened, it did," that we, the readers, get to say, "Oh, come on, Bill, ..." and you know the rest. So I suggest you back up that story a bit and tell us how you dropped off your Missus at your shack, double back, and catch up to that silver thingamabob where it's been knocked off the tracks by a massive moose that's still staggering around like some ear-shot one-shoed president shaking his fist at the sky, rescue the still-dizzy occupant of the thingamabob -- who happens to be Taylor Swift, who is so grateful you saved her she bakes you a dozen chocolate chip cookies and ... Uh huh. But, come on, Bill ...