Addiction - Chapter IV

Gave you a bit of a scare, didn't I?

Well, don't worry. I did not die. How could I if I'm telling the story (keep up, people)?

What that little...hit did for me was give me a chance to meditate and think about what I wanted to share with you. I've already talked about the home, the family, the truck, my father and mother...my sister...

Dear sister...

I keep mentioning her without giving too much away, I see. Well, it’s not her story, is it?

Not yet.

*

So, I was a dropout who ran away from home and wondered what would happen to me. Like a thief who doesn’t want to be totally free, I left when I knew someone would be home; when someone would still care about me. That someone was my mom. She was sympathetic and teary-eyed, but she let me go, as long as I stayed in touch.

“And you had better eat.”

Sandwiches were handed over in the same paper bags I always took to school (no real clue there as to what I was up to, neighbours). And I will never forget her standing on that porch in the bright sunlight, apron and tears and waves. She said I could come back whenever I needed to end “this special moment in your life”. I wondered if I would have to; I really did.

It only took me three days to figure out how to make a lot of money.

One thing about our town that made it stand out was the railway line. Now, I know that every small town you read about in those books of yours probably had a train that passed through some sleepy station every other month. Ours was probably the picture postcard version of such a place; faded fencing around a propped up waiting room; a platform all splintered and ugly; with an office that had seen better years. The thing that I noted was the days when the train did pass by. I was staying in a hotel not too far from the place – still had some of my own money; more from the family, really – and I kept track of the schedule. Nothing was posted for the public. People just seemed to know when the train would show up. You had people from all the small communities passing through there and they would pile up on the platform as the trains steamed in and brought them out of town. You would have also noted that people left and arrived at certain times of the day, too. Not much to figure out – workers, day-trippers, tourists and such – but I guess I had a little bit more imagination than the rest. I noticed what people did not seem to bother with when they bought tickets and found their seats.

What else was the train carrying?

It seems hard to believe, but the trains then had passengers riding on the same line with cargo that had nothing to do with their luggage or favourite pets. Wheat, car parts, oil, fruit, vegetable and the like were all included on the runs. I guess someone understood that they could save time if they just got all the stuff out of there at the same time as someone’s family found them lucky enough to get away on a long weekend.

And I guessed that they needed someone to organize all that stuff when the train was not yet in.

Right, that was me. I found out that there was only one person keeping track of shipments, and that he was a little bit...oh, how shall I put this? “The light was on, but no one was home,” as my school teacher would say (Ms. Patterson, I thank you). I saw that he was not really recording the number of supplies that were coming and going. It was not hard to miss. The screaming match I heard between him and one of the farmers desperate to get his goods to market was right in front of a small crowd of us. It was a real life lesson.

The farmer was old, like good leather that has had years to get tougher and tougher. And he had something to say.

“You must have sheep shit between your ears...”

“Sir, I have told you before...”

“And I’ve told you to write this down! How many times do I have to tell you how it’s done before you finally do it? Write it all out on that pretty little notebook you carry around and pretend to use and you won’t have to worry.”

The manager of the place was a small man, looking like he needed retirement more than anything else in the world. Mr. Prescott, I learned. Never knew him before. Would never forget him now.

“Jeffords, sir. I have a clear memory of your last shipment and can recall all the details of it. You should not think that this is some main thoroughfare...”

“Thorough what?”

I had to laugh, catching the farmer’s attention with confused eyes. A good sign.

“Thoroughfare. A place where you get a lot of traffic.”

The farmer turned back to his prey.

“You must be a dunce’s dunce to think that your...clear memory is enough to work here. We could get a chimp to do your duty and he’d actually learn to write down the orders. One day... Just you wait.”

And that ended that. No fighting, spitting or more cursing to follow, and some of the people around me seemed really disappointed. Not me. I was standing there, all by myself, thinking about what to do.

I needed to chat with that farmer.

“Sir?”

He was a little distracted by other thoughts, but he turned on me very quickly.

“Ah, you. Wet behind the ears... What you want, kid?”

An insult, but he was listening. So, I kept talking.

“I heard what you said. They never keep track of a shipment?”

He had to laugh. It was almost as if I could hear the bones rippling with the air in his body as he sat on a bench and invited me over.

“You paying attention to what that pea-brained shit said? He is the schedule for hisself. Not for the working men here; not for me.”

“So, you need someone to keep track of these things?”

That was when that thing that people talk about in books; that particular light going on that made him stare me down with a much harder face.

“Well, well, you are ambitious.” He was looking me up and down, taking in my scuffed shoes and one proper dress shirt that I had just pressed myself. “You have a nerve about ya to look for something that ain’t there.”

I just swallowed and let him go on.

And then, he smiled that brilliant tooth-hard arc that reminded me of an animal about to take out a slower animal.

“Kid, if you can plan out a schedule and keep track of what I’m up to, you will be the greatest help. But you gotta keep it written down someone, not just stuck up in your head with baseball stats and the measurements of your favourite movie star.”

“I think I can do that. I am good with numbers and...”

He cut me off.

“Just get the books and the schedule right and I’ll test your math skills later.” He put out his hand. “Don’t even know your name, but I think you might actually have something beside sheep shit between your ears.”

We both grinned, shook hands, and I got to work.

But I seem to be coming back now...

I’ll get into the money real soon.

*

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