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