In the Shadows of the With or Without Café

Normally he would give her an open mouthed grin before trotting off out of view–a quick appearance she believed was meant to reassure her. This morning he was running toward her and then running away, back into the path of the storm. He did this several times and then Francie saw something she had never seen before in all of her morning walks. Through the trees in the distance, she saw the light of an on-coming train. And without thinking of her safety or her dry, clean home, she followed the coyote and walked towards the light of the train and the light in the sky.
The storm was closer and with the next flash, the sound of thunder was almost simultaneous. And as she looked in wonder at the oncoming horizontal light, the next vertical lighting of the sky illuminated the black and white of Ray’s cruiser sitting behind green bushes. His car would be facing away from the train. She needed to warn him. Francie ran. She was not aware of her age or weight or the heaviness inside her lungs. She ran towards the car, focusing only on the contrasting metal, ignoring the creature beside her, who ran on ahead.
The rain hit hard, suddenly pelting her with icy fierceness. It smacked down on her face, making it hard to keep her eyes open to the sting. Her clothes already sodden with her perspiration became leaden with the sudden additional liquid. She had to get to Ray. Francie tried so hard to fight the wind and water pushing against her. She focused on the amber light heading towards the police car. Another jag of white appeared with the simultaneous crack of sound, obscuring the train’s warning but illuminating the danger Francie perceived.
She ran as hard as her fifty-four year old body would allow her. She ran to help the boy she once imagined marrying her daughter. She ran to help the only other person who shared her private time. She ran to the aid of the young man she had been resenting for interrupting that time. She ran to help because it was her nature.
As the train bore through the strong rain, approaching the spot on the tracks where the police car sat still, Francie’s view was momentarily obscured by the thick shrubbery. She could not see anything as the train came to the dip in the tracks, but she felt herself scream and heard through the wind and the whistle and the cracks of electricity, a lonely high-pitched howl.
When she ran by the dark wet leaves, she noticed for the first time the slender red and white guardrails lowered in front of the tracks. A red light flashed overhead. Francie had never realized these had ever been in place. Having never seeing a train cross at this spot, she had never paid attention to the warning signals. Unseen by her eyes until now, they had blended in, seemingly nonexistent. But their sudden appearance, along with the quick and short-lived illumination, added to her confusion. It was as if she was in a different time and place. Nothing seemed as it should. Where was Ray?
The train was passing, water flying off the tracks from its impact. That water hit Francie sideways as the rain continued to pelt her from above. It was so hard to see anything but a blur of metal and light of different hues coming from all directions, but her hand could feel the smooth glass of the cruiser’s window. She pounded on the glass, desperately trying to get Ray’s attention. There was no response, so she tried to brush away the streaming water to see inside the vehicle. There was no one there.
She could hear a continuous wail breaking through all other sounds. It sounded so fragile, a thin thread of animal fear surrounded by the noise of nature and machine. She stood helpless in front of the tracks as the never-ending stream of railroad cars pushed through the wet darkness. Francie was no longer aware of the rain or the heaviness of her soaked clothes. She couldn’t feel her muscles twitch as they reacted to the unexpected demand placed on them. She felt nothing but terror at what lay on the other side of those tracks.
The end was coming; the speed of the train could not be altering, but it seemed to be slowing down as those last few cars sprayed the accumulated water. Francie could do nothing but stare at the passing rusty colors, covered with letters–angular company logos and the spray-painted amorphous blobs of the taggers. Some of the cars were open, shadowy movement within. She felt helpless as she noticed these details, while holding herself still by gripping the handle of the driver’s door. The drops were now coming with less force; the lightning seemed to be behind her. Waiting for the final car, she felt drawn towards the moving metal. The slender guardrail seemed to be no real barrier. It was the wind and water that pushed her back, restraining her; while the need to reach that wail, to help whatever was making that sound, acted as a magnet, causing Francie to focus on holding onto the police car door.
When the final car passed her, Francie let go and broke through that natural force, not waiting for the rails to glide all the way up and out of view. She ran towards the middle of the road between them, and then listened for the source of the cry. It seemed to be coming from the train station and Francie saw with relief that her coyote was fine. He was pacing in front near the metal dog, but ran behind the building when she approached. The yell could now be recognized as human, the voice masculine, the cry–HELP!