“Whack!” My heart skipped a beat as the startling bump of the train threw me down on the hard wooden floor of the box car. I began to breath deeply and calmly again after I realized where I was. Trains had become a commonplace for me over the years. All the rides seem to blend together, and yet I always dream about the first time I set foot on a train. I see a tear running down my mothers face as she runs beside my window. I could tell she was crying and shouting at the same time, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. That dream used to be a nightmare for me, but as the years have gone by, it became the only chance I got to see someone that actually cared about me. I rolled over to see my younger brother, breathing softly with a slight shiver, thankfully asleep. Being away for so long had really brought Jonny and I closer together. The tiny wool blanket barely covered his tiny legs. The car we had hopped onto tonight had an open side door, so the wind blew in easily. I knew I had to give him the blanket tonight. Jonny and I are from a small suburb outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Me at sixteen, and Jonny at ten, this will be our sixth year out on the rails. My father lost his job at the factory in Phili and from what I remember, we started eating less and less as the months wore on. Finally, against my mother’s will, we piled into the buggy on a Saturday morning, with my mother screaming, shouting, and kicking the entire way into the train station. Next thing I knew we were on our own, fending for ourselves. The plastic bag with three small cans of soup rolled towards me. Luckily I had woken up to keep them from rolling out the door. Our goal was to make it to California, where it was warm. Rumor had it we could make some money there. Today we hoped to make it to a church we had heard about in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, where we could warm up and have a hot meal. The only down side was that we had to work hard for it and sit through some boring church sermons. The hardest thing to do when living the hobo life is to find food, but these kinds of places give us a glimmer of hope. The train entered a rail yard and lurched to a stop in what I assumed to be a small town in Oklahoma. I found this to be odd because usually the trains stopped in marked stations. All of a sudden the latched door that connected the cars to each other swung open, and a broad looking man with a lantern towered over my brother and I. My brother let out a shriek. The bull grabbed us by our shirt collars and tossed us into the dirt below the train. He then leaned off the side of the car and shouted, “Were good!” Back in the direction of the conductor’s car. The train slowly lurched away down the track. My little brother sat up, sobbing. Underneath his sniffling, I heard him say, “What are we going to do now?” This is the question that has plagued me practically every day since we started hopping trains. And yet somehow, I always seemed to find an answer to that question. After finally calming Jonny down, we walked from the rail yard to a small town convenience store. Along the way, we saw several deserted hobo camps. Each site left their shelter necessities neat and tidy. It seemed like whoever was there last did not want to disappoint the next hobos to show up. However our goal was not to find shelter. We needed to find food. I was not surprised that my brother and I were the only ones inside this tiny store. The only thing that stood between us and a nice meal was an old looking store. I introduced Jonny and I. The store owner said, “Names Jim. What can I do for ya?” Jim looked about 65, had wrinkles that were visible from a mile away, and a grey cane. My eye was quickly drawn to an empty barrel entitled, “RICE.” I asked Jim, “Could you do me a huge favor?” Jim responded, “I can try my best.” I replied, “Can you check in the back to see if you have any extra rice you could give us on the house. You see, my brother and I hear haven’t seen food in three days. We’re tryin’ to make a stew back at one of the camps.” I had gotten used to telling white lies like these over the years. “Let me see what I can do” said Jim. He went through the door behind the counter, just as I had planned. I gave a quick hand motion to Jonny and he was off. He grabbed a small, stray basket off the floor and began filling it with every piece of food in sight. I found another basket and did the same. We picked up some meat from the freezer, a few cans of nuts, bananas, and some juicy red tomatoes. After filling my basket, I heard Jim continuing to rummage around in the back. I gave Jonny a tug on the shirt and we slipped out the door. I ran across the dusty ground until I got a good hundred yards away from the store, then darted behind an abandoned house. Something wasn’t right. Jonny wasn’t right next to me like he usually was. Then I heard Jonny’s scream, a shriek that will live in my memory forever. I heard a loud popping sound. It was like the sound a stone makes when you slam it against the pavement. I new it was a gun as soon as I heard the sound. Then there was silence. Nothing but the wind blowing the dust on the ground. Jim shouted, “Nobody steals from my store! Maybe this will teach you a lesson!” My brother’s death allowed me to see the dangers of being a hobo. His death made its way into my nightmares just as the last image of my mother did. Only this time, the image of my brother was never able to transform itself into a dream.
STEALING DEATH (THOMAS)
“Whack!” My heart skipped a beat as the startling bump of the train threw me down on the hard wooden floor of the box car. I began to breath deeply and calmly again after I realized where I was. Trains had become a commonplace for me over the years. All the rides seem to blend together, and yet I always dream about the first time I set foot on a train. I see a tear running down my mothers face as she runs beside my window. I could tell she was crying and shouting at the same time, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. That dream used to be a nightmare for me, but as the years have gone by, it became the only chance I got to see someone that actually cared about me.
I rolled over to see my younger brother, breathing softly with a slight shiver, thankfully asleep. Being away for so long had really brought Jonny and I closer together. The tiny wool blanket barely covered his tiny legs. The car we had hopped onto tonight had an open side door, so the wind blew in easily. I knew I had to give him the blanket tonight.
Jonny and I are from a small suburb outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Me at sixteen, and Jonny at ten, this will be our sixth year out on the rails. My father lost his job at the factory in Phili and from what I remember, we started eating less and less as the months wore on. Finally, against my mother’s will, we piled into the buggy on a Saturday morning, with my mother screaming, shouting, and kicking the entire way into the train station. Next thing I knew we were on our own, fending for ourselves.
The plastic bag with three small cans of soup rolled towards me. Luckily I had woken up to keep them from rolling out the door. Our goal was to make it to California, where it was warm. Rumor had it we could make some money there. Today we hoped to make it to a church we had heard about in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, where we could warm up and have a hot meal. The only down side was that we had to work hard for it and sit through some boring church sermons. The hardest thing to do when living the hobo life is to find food, but these kinds of places give us a glimmer of hope.
The train entered a rail yard and lurched to a stop in what I assumed to be a small town in Oklahoma. I found this to be odd because usually the trains stopped in marked stations. All of a sudden the latched door that connected the cars to each other swung open, and a broad looking man with a lantern towered over my brother and I. My brother let out a shriek. The bull grabbed us by our shirt collars and tossed us into the dirt below the train. He then leaned off the side of the car and shouted, “Were good!” Back in the direction of the conductor’s car. The train slowly lurched away down the track.
My little brother sat up, sobbing. Underneath his sniffling, I heard him say, “What are we going to do now?” This is the question that has plagued me practically every day since we started hopping trains. And yet somehow, I always seemed to find an answer to that question.
After finally calming Jonny down, we walked from the rail yard to a small town convenience store. Along the way, we saw several deserted hobo camps. Each site left their shelter necessities neat and tidy. It seemed like whoever was there last did not want to disappoint the next hobos to show up. However our goal was not to find shelter. We needed to find food.
I was not surprised that my brother and I were the only ones inside this tiny store. The only thing that stood between us and a nice meal was an old looking store. I introduced Jonny and I. The store owner said, “Names Jim. What can I do for ya?” Jim looked about 65, had wrinkles that were visible from a mile away, and a grey cane.
My eye was quickly drawn to an empty barrel entitled, “RICE.” I asked Jim, “Could you do me a huge favor?”
Jim responded, “I can try my best.”
I replied, “Can you check in the back to see if you have any extra rice you could give us on the house. You see, my brother and I hear haven’t seen food in three days. We’re tryin’ to make a stew back at one of the camps.” I had gotten used to telling white lies like these over the years.
“Let me see what I can do” said Jim.
He went through the door behind the counter, just as I had planned. I gave a quick hand motion to Jonny and he was off. He grabbed a small, stray basket off the floor and began filling it with every piece of food in sight. I found another basket and did the same. We picked up some meat from the freezer, a few cans of nuts, bananas, and some juicy red tomatoes.
After filling my basket, I heard Jim continuing to rummage around in the back. I gave Jonny a tug on the shirt and we slipped out the door. I ran across the dusty ground until I got a good hundred yards away from the store, then darted behind an abandoned house. Something wasn’t right. Jonny wasn’t right next to me like he usually was. Then I heard Jonny’s scream, a shriek that will live in my memory forever. I heard a loud popping sound. It was like the sound a stone makes when you slam it against the pavement. I new it was a gun as soon as I heard the sound. Then there was silence. Nothing but the wind blowing the dust on the ground.
Jim shouted, “Nobody steals from my store! Maybe this will teach you a lesson!”
My brother’s death allowed me to see the dangers of being a hobo. His death made its way into my nightmares just as the last image of my mother did. Only this time, the image of my brother was never able to transform itself into a dream.