Charlie B and the Train

I have older siblings who refer to me, in my childhood, as a juvenile delinquent or “bad” kid. I've even heard Monster tossed around like so much caca dust. I like to think of my childhood as a series of unfortunate, poorly planned misadventures. What did I do wrong in this story?

Stephen King wrote a similar story because he’s one of us. Every kid in my generation has a story similar to this. King said that the friends we make at age twelve are the best friends we ever have. He left out the part about the worst friends we ever make are also at age twelve. Sometimes they're the same thing.

At the time I was living on an Army base. Interesting place to live but had a big drawback. I had no rights. The Military Police had to prove They didn’t have to accuse me of anything. All they had to do was ban me from the base and my parents had to either move off-base or send me to live someplace. I had a friend who was living with his sister. The army didn’t care if you lived at another base as long as it wasn’the one that banned you. This made adventures even more adventurous. It didn’t really change anything though.

My friend Ben was the biggest kid in our crowd. He wasn’t just a large fish in a small pond, he was a large fish in any pond. Even the high school kids were leery of him. Part of that was size and part was attitude. Part of that was his beating a high school freshman. I told him he might have gone a little too far. He said that might be true. He allowed me to say things about him because I always told him the truth. That was like I would tell him a lie...and not get away with it. Just once.

His attitude was to fight until you were a bleeding wreck. He had no sense of proportion at all. Mostly, people just didn't do anything to piss him off. Some people, though, got him worked up by just being their own natural selves. Charlie B was one of them. Charlie B was the kind of guy you didn’t want as a friend but it was easier to keep an eye on him that way. He had no scruples and would steal anything you had. Everyone wanted to kick his ass but only the Puerto Rican kids did. They got away with it by saying, “No comprendo.”

One of the things Ben and I liked to do was watch the train on Saturday afternoons. It was just something we liked. Charlie B found out about it and asked if he could come along. Ben said he could if he accepted the fact that he wouldn't be coming back. Charlie B just laughed. I laughed too but not as heartily. I knew Ben too well; I knew Charlie B too well. It was as if Ben was dynamite and Charlie B was a match, a lit match. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go.

We went down through the woods behind our housing. The woods were one of the perimeters of the base. It was crisscrossed with tiny roads, paths, and a creek. At many places along the way, garbage had been dumped. Most of it was set on fire. The dumps were so burned out they acted as firebreaks so the Army didn't bother with them too much. Some of them weren't burning until we lit them up. We liked to help keep the woods clean. We were the original environmentalists.

The creek was just a tiny thing and not very deep unless you’re thirteen years old and then it’s a river challenging you to cross. After the creek came to the railroad line. Next to the line was a pile of old ties. We’d sit there, leaning against them, waiting for the train. As I sat there a thought came to me. Just as the train started to pass us I said, “You know, the train moves pretty slow though here. If we were to run alongside it I bet we could jump up and grab the ladder and go for a ride.”

Ben leaned forward and asked, “Now, is this something you're thinking of doing or something you're just thinking?” Ben worried about my ideas since he couldn’t not do something and be thought of as a sissy. I had no real sense of fear then. I thought I would always survive.

“Nah, I'm just thinking about it.” We both relaxed at that. We should’n. That Charlie B was hurt wasn’t. If he could moan he’d be okay. That Charlie B was hurt wasn’t.t have. Charlie B suddenly got up and ran right at the train and jumped. He didn’t run alongside, he ran at it and leaped. The good part for him was he didn’t land in-between cars and end up as hamburger; the bad part was he didn't grab the ladder either. He hit the middle of the train and bounced off. That stunned both Ben and me. No one is that stupid. Then we realized Charlie B wasn’t getting up; he wasn’t moving at all. Oh my, he's dead! How are we going to explain this? He was stupid enough.

“Explain it? We aren’t going to explain it. We’re going to get out of here and be quiet. You just know the MPs will try to pin it on someone and I don’t want to be that someone.”

Was that a moan? Was Charlie B alive? “That chump. I’m going to beat his dumb ass for this stunt.” Ben said. Of course, Charlie B already looked like his ass had been kicked but good. Then Charlie B moaned again. We had to go take a look-see. He was lying there, not moving and looking like a goldfish after it had jumped out of the bowl and landed under your bed and you not finding it for two weeks. He was all gray and mottled-looking. He was still moaning and then he sat up! . If he could moan he’d be okay. That Charlie B was hurt wasn’t.

Me and Ben jumped back a couple of feet. We’d heard of this voodoo stuff from the movies and here we were seeing live and for real. We wanted to run but we also wanted to see what would happen next. What happened next was Charlie B vomiting all over himself. Then he laid back down. He looked bad and smelled worse. He smelled like that dead goldfish that jumped out of a bowl and flopped under a chair, not being found until the smell led to it. It smelled and looked all gray. Ben wanted to leave him. I said we couldn’t.

“Why not?” Ben said. I accept he didn’t like Charlie B, but the guy at least deserved a decent burial and not end up like the goldfish?

“Why not? Oh, yea, it would’t be right to just leave him here. Plus, God only knows what his body could tell the guy that cuts him. Yea, the coroner. The Army might have some secret way of knowing we were here with him. That was worth worrying about.

“Okay, we get him home but I’m not getting puke on me. I mean it, I get puke on me and he’s going to wish that train had killed him.” Ben said.

“The train may have killed him. He still might die.”

“Yea, there is that.”

We got Charlie B to his feet and started half walking and half dragging him home. We were doing okay until we got to the creek. Part of the way across Charlie B lost his balance. This caused Ben to lose his balance and step into the creek. He was wet up to his ankles. This caused me to slip and go down on all fours. Now I’m soaked from the knees down. Charlie B sat down and and got soaked from the waist down. No one is very happy now though it's doubtful Charlie B. Ben was yelling and cursing; I was yelling and cursing; Charlie B was grinning.

Ben and I grabbed him and rinsed the vomit off by swishing him around in the creek. It cleaned him pretty well. We managed to get him home where Ben left it up to me to tell his mom what happened. “You lie better than me,”Ben told me.

I told Charlie B's mom the truth. I couldn’t think of any story she’d buy story to explain the way he looked. After listening to the story she said, “Nonsense. No one would be that stupid. I bet it was the Puerto Rican boys again.”