Untitled - CSUN ScholarWorks - California State University, Northridge

The second time my aunt attempted suicide, it was on
a hot sticky summer night. Like many other towns that
formed on the plains in the late 1800s, my home town grew
up along the railroad tracks. Farmers from the outlying
areas would bring their harvested grains into the grain
elevators, where it was transferred onto the trains for
transport east. Tracks crisscross the town. The tracks even
cross the entrance to the housing community just east of
town where my parents live and I remember waiting at the
tumoff from the highway for trains passing through,
ritually waving to the caboose man as the train passed.
My brother listens to the police scanner in the
evenings. On this particular night, he heard a call come in
that a car was sitting on the tracks just east of town, at the
tumoff of a private road into an old abandoned farmstead
about a half mile from where my folks live. The voice on
the radio identified the color of the car and license plate
number. My brother immediately recognized the number as
belonging to my aunt's car and quickly called my folks. The
line was busy and he had to call the operator to break into
the line. Meanwhile my parents, who still do not have air
conditioning, were sitting at their kitchen table in front of
the open windows in want of a cool evening breeze. They
could hear the loud repeated warning of the train whistle
and the horrible screech of wheels on tracks, metal on
metal, of a train applying its brakes hard. The sound filled
the house. Simultaneously, my father took the emergency
call from my brother, who told them about the police
scanner announcement. They quickly ran out of the house
to their car, knowing exactly in their minds, where she was
sitting, waiting.
When they reached the tracks leading out to the
highway, the train was stopped, blocking the entrance. They
had to tum back and travel several miles in the opposite
direction on a maze of gravel roads to get to the crossing
where my aunt had parked her car. My brother was already
there, as well as a high patrol officer, waiting along with my
silent aunt, whose life was spared by a fast thinking and
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