Five Steps

My fingers tapped furiously as the seconds waned, fewer times in my life had I felt such urgency. The undertaking seemed so simple, write a note explaining what I was doing, where I was going, and when, if ever, I would be back. However, I soon realized that I could not explain in absolute terms what I had dreamed in the abstract: I was going far away, to forget this life and begin a new one. Those train tracks had always given me solace, now they would be my ticket out of the hopelessness of pre-set futures and a typical existence. Five sentences was enough, they were simple and sparse, merely explaining that I was leaving at age fifteen, to find something I’d always felt I was missing but could never put into words.

As I walked out of the house that had never quite been home, I wondered when I would see it again, but with headlights approaching, I ducked behind a tree, and the question was gone and my thought process diverted to more important things. With a strong step forward, I set off on the five-hundred foot walk to the tracks.

It was there, at the foot of the mighty train tracks, the symbol of the “Go west, young man” movement, where I hoped my exodus would begin. The clock struck 1 Am and as the roaring train crept into view; my blood ran cold thinking about hundreds of tons of steel barreling towards my fragile being.

One boxcar, two boxcars, terrified, I counted, aware that I would have to jump inside one of them, and knowing full well how dangerous this practice was. However the terror of staying in small-town America wishing for more than an average life frightened me more than the possibly impending death.

Finally, on the fifth boxcar, I jumped on, fingers grasping for a grip on anything to pull myself to safety. As one hand slipped off I felt the rush of adrenaline, but my second hand held fast, fingers gripping a handle, enduring by willpower alone. Suddenly another hand appeared out of the blackness and pulled me inside. As I sat, fearful and exhausted, I could barely see that sitting in front of me was the owner of the hand that saved my life; an old man in tattered clothes who introduced himself as Manny.

“So, youngster, decided to try your luck with the rails, eh?” He asked with a knowing grin. “I guess so, the age-old escape method” “I see, where are you headed?” His question threw me for a moment when I realized I had no set destination in mind. “I’m not sure; I suppose it doesn’t matter, anywhere, everywhere.” With his reply, my heart stopped beating: “Son, don’t you know that everywhere is just five steps away from here?”