The Buffalo? The Story of A Buffalo
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So, many decades ago, the ‘adventure’ began at the sidewalk of Nostrand Avenue. From there we took the train all the way to Manhattan, NY , USA. We would take that long, long, dreaded train ride. The cars, at one point, were elevated so high up in the sky. But for me, the shrimpboat kid, the hardest part of that train ride was the moments that it took that curve. The taking of the curve seemed like it was a , like they called Superman , ‘a speeding bullet’. You’d be sitting in the train , and it would be rolling along quite nice, and then all of a sudden, ” SCRRREEEECHHHH”! And the impossible screech continued as the train twisted around that impossible curve on the tracks.
Or, yikes, was it really on the tracks at all?
Did the screech mean that the train had, indeed, left the tracks?
All I knew was this, I was a little kid, probably about nine or ten years old or younger. And there I sat on that train seat, s i l e n t .. ever so silent … s i l e n t .. as the screech continued for what seemed like a lifetime. The curve continued, and the screech continued..and there I sat silent.
Sure, I was with an adult or two.. but they paid no attention to me, since I was the perfect, quiet, silent kid. Maybe they figured that since I was so invisible, so silent, maybe perhaps that life-threatening, ear-bursting screech didn’t bother me at all, perhaps.
Yea, I looked around. I dared not look up. I looked at everyone’s feet, their shoes, their knees. I noticed that nobody seemed to care anything about the noise nor about the curve.
What were these people, ghosts, goblins or just plain cardboard cut outs in a dream ?
I looked again. Naw, they were real people. The curves in the track were real and the screeching was so unbelievably earth-shattering. Everything seemed real, except me, of course. How can a little kid of that age, sit so quietly on the train as it screeched around the bend, as it howled those horrible screeches, and not say one single word? How’s that humanly possible. The little kid that thought for sure that in that next moment of the curve, that train was going to go smashing into the walls and the floors, and everyone would be hurling around in that train car, and smash…we would all be dead or at the very mutilated beyond recognition. How is this possible.
And perhaps what was worse than anything is that this was not the first ride like this, no. This ride had to happen every month or so. And still, with every month and with every train ride to the very same place, the train screeched, and howled, and shook, and cried out as if this was the last leg of the train. I was so young, yet, I knew for sure that one day, one morning, that train would send us hurling into that wall that it tried, so hard, to curve around. It was just inevitable. How many times can you screech around a curved wall without smashing into it? Who knows how fast that train was going anyway.
How is it that the little kid that couldn’t even see anyone’s face, that this little kid was the only one that thought the train was going to crash and that this was going to be the very last day of life , life taken by train crash? Was she really in that train? Was she really being swirled about by the screeching machine in New York City, USA?
Or, was she just sitting at the typewriter, years later, re-writing the story of her tormented life?
Here’s How ..
to be continued
THIS IS THE END OF THIS ENTRY