Chapter 4: Amtrak home
Needless to say, good thing Sammy the bartender bought a round trip ticket home, I told him not to that, “I’m sure I’ll be able to handle the cost of the fare home...”
But nope.
Apparently according to the lottery people I’m rich except for the small detail that I don’t have any money.
Yet.
“Mr. Blue on paper you are a millionaire.”
Uh huh, but ON THIS TRAIN I still poor.
Feeling better now though, got some Burger King before getting on the train home to Boomer and my gig tonight.
Slowly with a jerk forward and back the train leaves the station in Schenectady.
Got me a seat on the right-hand side of the car, got me a Hudson River view home, that is what of it I will be able to see, gets dark now early, be all dark out there most of the 3 hour or so ride.
Train crosses the Hudson River
That’s the Hudson down there, used to fish that as a boy, fished it with my Uncle Jim, his wife Aunt Irma used to make a picnic lunch, caught me some Bass, always threw them back, never saw them again once I got shipped out, Aunt Irma died first, Uncle Jim didn’t do well with her death, lost his business then lost his mind.
Wow, pretty farmland out there now. Uncle Jim, he a victim of the war too, he’d survived the heart break if I’d been here, by the time I got back both them gone, both of them gone, they raised me you know, loved me more than my parents, I loved them more than my parents back. My family get mad when I say that. Truth sometimes make you happy, sometimes sad, often mad. Family gave me beatings, Uncle Jim and Aunt Irma gave me hugs, easy choice.
Getting dark now out there…
…I look out only see me looking back, train ain’t much filled, that’s good ain’t feeling like conversating with anyone.
Two million bucks minus some government greed, taxes, wonder how much they, how much mine.
Two million bucks, Woo-hoo.
Train slowing down…
…Ah Bard College got some great music there boy, men and women born with the gift, people who cannot, not do what they do...Play...Play like hell their music.
Here we go again speeding up, town of Rhinecliff lights out there just a blur, wow.
Roger, boy, Roger he ever got into Bard boy he would tear the place up, he told me, makes me smile thinking of it, he told me he learned to play the drums without no drums to practice on.
Huh, that’s the Vanderbilt Mansion out there, getting closer tohome.
Roger, roger played the drums without having any drums to play, told me he had Two 3-pound Sanka coffee cans turned upside down on a pole on each side, large 5-gallon plastic paint can upside down on the ground in front of him. Played on them in his backyard as long as there was light. Told me he “borrowed” a hubcap to try and use as a cymbal, didn’t work well...and his neighbor wanted it back.
Hey, slowing down, um, oh Hyde Park.
Between us, you know what you can do on this train, what I love to do, you see Old Mrs. O’Grady one back Christmas she bought me a pair of headphones for this fancy phone I have, told me I can listen to music on it, huh imagine that, and so I do, got me two songs and one of them songs, you know if you start it just right while you on a train like this Amtrak, gotta start it just right, lean back, look out the train window at the lights, and sometimes yourself, and you can get the groove of the train...
…got it…matches…come on now…come on…hey…there we go…in sync…volume up…
…Roger’s favorite song, come on Amtrak keep up…
…we all played this song over there, especially this song…
Croton-on-Hudson…
…Roger he be banging his fingers on whatever was close to bang his fingers one, he’d sway back and forth mouthing the words, sometimes he’d be drumming without drums on my back, one time as we are on are bellies on patrol, he starts mouthing the song and drumming on my helmet...
Cuomo Bridge…
...Roger, boy he would be beside his self for me about this lottery money, I can hear it now, he’d be saying “Blue...blue...real drums I can really drum on...get yourself your own Grand-Ass Piano...we get a couple of those Brooklyn & Bronx grunts in Ivy who seem to play air guitar well and...
Yonkers…
...that boy, that Sax player in the Puking Buzzards, you know the guy, damn Blue we could damn near put a Jazz Band together with just the Boo Koo guys we know here. Except for one thing, Roger, he ain’t here…
…ain’t here…here.
Penn Station.
“Sir, sir, hello sir, wake up, everyone has exited the train, you okay sir, this is the last stop, you okay, hello.”
I’m awake, yep.
I’m ok, nope.
Miss ya Rog…
It is still snowing in Manhattan.
Almost as many people as snowflakes.
None of them matter none, only the snowflakes.
As I stand on the corner of W. 30th St and 8th Avenue warmed by the glow of Molly Wee Irish Pub I slowly stick out my hand.
Palm up and wait.
Wait to see if Roger will reach out.
Wait.
Wait.
Then a single snowflake, amongst a million snowflakes, lands in my hand.
And as I watch.
Watch.
It doesn’t melt, it just stays in my hand as a snowflake.
Yep, going to get all that million-dollar mumbo jumbo stuff done, and then, then I’m going to take the money and use it to find those old Ivy and Puking Buzzard friends of ours...and probably a few other vets...
...and start the band Roger wanted to play drums for.
Oh, and buy some real good, fancy dog food.
For Boomer.
But not until the snowflake, melts.
Take your time Roger buddy.
Love ya…
…miss ya.