The Railroad

by Neil Douglas Newton

  At first Eileen was livid; she hadn’t gotten the reaction she wanted from either of us. But she softened after she watched me laugh for a moment. After a few seconds she grinned feebly and sat down.

  *

  The peace was not to last. Watching Megan was like watching someone do a one woman show, a series of characters and vignettes. Once she became bored with “Megan watching TV in disdainful silence” she switched to “Megan sitting on the floor and barking like a dog”. This was followed by “Megan goes into the bedroom and makes retching noises”.

  Her repertoire was endless. The awful part was that her mother kept responding and giving Megan the attention she asked for, prompting her to new dramatic flights of fancy. By the tenth act, I'd had it. I searched my mind for a suitable excuse to leave but found none. And in the end I realized that they were in my house and I didn’t owe them any explanations.

  I finally decided that vagueness was the best gambit. I casually sauntered out of my room with my car keys dangling and spoke to no one in particular. “I thought I’d do some shopping. Do you want anything?”

  Eileen studied me intently; I obviously hadn’t been convincing. “No,” she said. “But thanks for asking.”

  I felt a twinge of guilt, figuring she could see through my thin pretense. “Uh…there’s a lot of food here. Feel free to have anything you want. Oh and there’re a few more bottles of wine in the kitchen. Have as much as you want.”

  She studied me uncertainly. “Okay.”

  I left, feeling like I’d just abandoned a sick child.

  *

  What do you do when your life has taken a surprise dive into hell and, insult to injury, you find two people in your ugly house that are more damaged than you, if that’s possible. The universe seemed determined to remind me that it was a malignant rolling juggernaut bent on keeping me in my place. I was not happy to accept my lot in life.

  So of course the night included large amounts of alcohol and some space between me and the Invaders. I went to the Holiday Inn.

  The glitz and pretense were hard for me to take. What I had come to realize is that, out in the burbs, going to the Holiday Inn bar could be considered a big night out. A lot of people were there, wearing their going out clothes, laughing just a bit too loud, and making me nervous with their forced camaraderie. There were the usual groups of females in provocative clothing, arrayed in Conestoga wagon style near the bar; they had formed a defensive circle, daring groups of men to brave their perimeter. And, of course, those men were there, arranged far more casually in little knots. The two would never meet.

  I found a stool near the end of the bar, near the service area, and watched the men watch the women. The women did their best to seem unconcerned, but would flick glances towards the men as if simultaneously telling them to stay away and come hither. I’d participated in this ballet at one time in my distant past and, like those days I was appalled at the perversity of the whole system.

  I reviewed my options. It seemed that I didn’t have anything to lose by joining that game. But I also felt like a horribly damaged individual. So I watched and I drank. Eventually I entered that haze that was true inebriation. Somewhere along the line the bartender offered to call me a cab which I must have accepted because the next morning I woke up with no car in the driveway.

  *

  There was no breakfast waiting for me that morning. Megan was watching some TV show and ignoring me which suited my mood. I noticed the Eileen wasn’t there. The door to their bedroom was open and no one was inside.

  Concern seemed to be required; I shook the cobwebs from my head. “Megan.”

  No answer. “Megan?”

  No answer. I wasn’t really in the mood for childish crap. “Megan, where’s your mother?”

  She turned to stare at me. Then she made a squeaking sound. I became angry.

  I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I found that I resented being saddled with this type of responsibility. At that moment I felt that they were at fault and I had no responsibility to be kind to two houseguests I’d accepted in their hour of need. I stood up and walked in front of the TV. Megan immediately began moving her head back and forth like a demented giraffe to underscore the fact that I was in her way.

  “Where is your mother?” I demanded.

  She made a retching sound; it seemed to be one of her favorites. “I asked you something.” I growled.

  She made a farting sound with her hands and mouth; that was a new one.

  “Are you going to tell me where your mother is?” There was a growl in there, half anger, half hangover. She looked up suddenly and there was fear in her eyes.

  “I want to know where your mother is,” I said sternly.

  She gauged me for a second wondering what I might do. Then she made a rooster noise.

  I turned around, walked over to the TV and turned it off. Then I yelled, “Where is your mother?”

  It was loud and I immediately knew I’d done the wrong thing. She began to cry.

  As I began to stalk off and search for her mother, she scampered off the couch and ran to the back door. She gave me one wide-eyed look before she jerked the door open and ran down the steps.

  I ran after her. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I screamed.

  I was halfway down the stairs before I almost ran into both her and her mother. Eileen looked at her daughter and then back at me. Mouth open, she gave me the Momma lion look and I knew I was in trouble.

  “What happened?” she rasped.

  I tried to collect myself so I didn’t look as guilty as I felt. “I was worried. You weren’t around and…” Some ammunition came to me. Puffing myself up self-righteously, I asked, “What were you doing outside”.

  She seemed taken aback for a second. “I planted some flowers,” she said.

  “Did it occur to you that the lady behind us might very well have looked out and saw you?”

  “She doesn’t know who I am.”

  “And that’s a good thing. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Why is my daughter crying?”

  “Because I was worried about you and I wanted to get some necessary information so I didn’t have to be scared. Of course she wouldn’t tell me because, she just can’t.” I threw up my hands and turned back up the stairs.

  “It’s not like I thought you give a shit where I was,” she said from below me.

  I turned. “What?”

  “Do you think I don’t know that you don’t want us here? So I went out to try to do something nice for you and now Megan is crying.” She gestured toward my ratty flower bed where she’d planted some seeds that she must have found somewhere in the bowels of chez Moosehead.

  She grabbed Megan’s hand, suddenly, and hustled past me into the house. I stood staring at the door, wondering how I’d suddenly become a villain. While I pondered what to do I heard the guest bedroom door slam.

  *

  Twenty minutes later, I knocked on the door. “Can I talk to you?”

  Megan made a horse noise. Silence followed.

  “Hello?”

  The door opened. Megan was looking at the floor. Eileen gave me a cool stare.

  “I just wanted to apologize. I got worried about you and Megan wouldn’t even...”

  “Megan is just a little girl. You can’t expect adult behavior from her. I guess you haven’t been around children much.”

  “That’s probably true. But I...”

  “I know that I owe you. But please, for the short time we’re here; don’t ever scream at my daughter again. She’s been through enough. I hope you can manage to respect that.”

  I felt the righteous indignation that had driven me out the night before ooze out of me like blood from a wound. I felt like a piece of shit. Eileen must have realized that fact. She simply smirked and closed the door.

  *

  The door remained closed for the next hour or so and all my staring at it didn’t make it open. I stewed angrily, turning
the TV up just a bit too loud to show my disdain. What followed was a bit of mental ping pong; one moment I felt like a monster for yelling at a child; the next I felt angry and unconcerned; at least I told myself that. The mental gymnastics were fueled by a few glasses of single malt which also was an expression of my disdain. What I found was that disdain doesn’t work well when there is no one to see it.

  After I calmed down I came to the reasonable conclusion that, even though I was being an asshole to Megan, I was also being asked to deal with a lot. Even if I’d been a well-adjusted person, having Megan in the house would be a trial. I vowed to myself that I’d simply stay away from her. When she got difficult, I’d go to my room or leave the house. If staying in a motel once in a while would help me maintain my sanity, that was what I’d do despite how much I’d resent being pushed out of my own house.

  There was still enough guilt floating around to make me feel uncomfortable, especially with the source of that guilt only yards away. Sighing, I decided that it would be best for me to leave again until things became less strained. This time I had the wisdom to pack a small bag in case I decided that I simply wanted to take a room in the Holiday Inn where I was sure I’d be drinking.

  *

  I went out that night and the next few nights after that. I drank, I ate, and I had some meaningless conversations. Sometimes I drank alone. It was fine with me. There were moments when I almost wanted to thank my boarders; they’d gotten me out of the house and I felt a lot less depressed getting up with my hangovers in a hotel room than I did at home. There was breakfast right down stairs and the décor was a lot better than at chez Moosehead. I considered that I might find a cheap hotel deal and spend at least half my time there.

  Leaving them alone didn’t bother me quite as much since I had the bright idea of giving them my number at the hotel; I’d hear of any disaster within minutes. I’d stumble home every couple of days and take grocery orders and that covered the essentials. All in all it wasn’t a bad lifestyle considering my alcoholism and severe neurosis.

  I came home one evening, about 5 days into my new hotel binge, and found that neither Eileen nor Megan was there. In a panic, I searched the whole house, the backyard and the surrounding area and couldn’t find them.

  There was no sign of violence or forced entry and the door was locked. I doubted that if Eileen’s husband had found her that she would have let him in. Or the police; they would have had to break down the door as well. I took another look around the house, hoping that I’d find some evidence of what had happened to them. All their belongings were still in the bedroom, looking pretty much like they hadn’t packed up and left. I couldn’t decide whether that was a good or bad sign; they might have had to leave suddenly and leave everything behind, perhaps against their will. Or it might have meant that they hadn’t left in a hurry and that there was no crisis.

  Another fifteen minutes of thought didn’t bring me any closer to a conclusion. I stared out the window a few times, hoping that I’d hear their voices or see the lights of a car. After a few minutes of that I returned to the backyard hoping that they’d be out there.

  I ran out of hope after that. I knew I couldn’t call the police so I just had to sit there with my worry. It hit me suddenly that they might be gone for good and that I’d have no way to look for them or get the authorities involved to help find them. I cursed myself for being away so long and then cursed both of them for putting me in this position in the first place.

  I paced around for a while longer until I decided to give up. I wasn’t responsible for them and they might have had a good reason to leave, I told myself. It made me feel only slightly better.

  *

  A few hours later I was awakened from a light sleep by the sound of knocking. I bolted up from the couch and took stock of my surroundings, disoriented. I realized that I’d fallen asleep on the couch with the TV on, and that I was in my living room and that someone was knocking at the door.

  My heart beat wildly as I walked to the door imagining the worst: that the police had found Eileen and Megan and had come to talk to me. Or that her husband had somehow found out that she was in my house. My fears spiraled out of control as I walked those few steps to the door.

  Through the peephole I saw the two of them, bundled up in layers of clothing. I jerked the door open. For a moment Eileen and I stared at each other. Her eyes widened as she saw me with my hair all askew and my eyes wild with fear.

  “Can we come in?” she asked finally.

  I listened to my heartbeat slow. “Of course,” I said backing out of the way.

  As they walked in I noticed that Eileen’s hand was under her daughter’s arm; the child was walking slowly. “What’s wrong with her?” I hissed.

  Eileen barely gave me a glance. “She’s sick.”

  “Where the hell have you been?” I shouted.

  Eileen spun around. “Shut up! She doesn’t need to hear you screaming!”

  They moved away from me toward the bedroom. Without thinking I followed, watching as Eileen removed Megan’s coat and helped her into bed, clothes and all. I could see that the girl was shivering.

  “Oh god,” I whispered.

  “You don’t need to get involved,” Eileen said without looking at me.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Strep.”

  “Oh shit. We have to get her to a doctor.”

  “She’s already been to one.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “She’s seen a doctor. You don’t need to worry.”

  “How did you go to a doctor?”

  She pulled the covers up to Megan’s neck, and then stroked her head. Finally she looked up at me. “She had to see a doctor.”

  I shook my head. “Didn’t he ask questions? Didn’t you have to tell him who you are? Did you use your credit card?”

  “I have some cash for emergencies.”

  “He’s still…” I struggled for the term I’d learned from a friend’s sister who was a social worker. “He’s a mandated reporter. He’d have to report you to the police.”

  She snorted. “It’s a she. And she isn’t reporting anything.”

  “Why not? You can’t be sure of that.”

  She stood up and gestured me out of the room. “We have to let her sleep.”

  I walked out in front of her and went to the couch. She stood in front of me looking down. “You don’t need to worry about this. Or about anything. Just to calm you down, I’ll tell you that she started getting delirious and I got worried. I found the name of a woman’s shelter in the phone book and took a cab there.”

  “Weren’t you worried about the cab driver recognizing you?”

  “Mike, sometimes you’re an asshole. I had no choice. And we were bundled up. We both had scarves over our heads. I went to the shelter and told them my story. Most of them knew who I was from the papers. They got a doctor to come to us.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That Megan has strep. She gave us some pills and…well. Not that I have any place to go but you’ll have to put up with us for another week or so until she gets better.”

  I stared past her into the bedroom; Megan’s breathing was somewhat labored. “Oh God. I’m sorry,” I said lamely.

  She shrugged. “I’m grateful to you for giving us a place to stay. You’re not responsible beyond that.”

  I felt like a piece of shit; I just stared at her. “I’m going to see how she’s doing,” she muttered.

  “Is there anything I can get for her?”

  “No,” she answered as she closed the door.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning found me with a hangover. There was no way I was going to fight the guilt I felt the night before; I’d found it impossible to relax. Sleep finally came after about a half a bottle of bourbon.

  I stumbled out of bed to find Eileen and Megan on the couch. Eileen was sitting up. Her daughter had her head in her lap and was staring listlessly at the T
V. Her breathing was better than the night before but I still heard some wheezing. Eileen looked up as I came out; Megan continued to stare at the kid’s program she was watching.

  “Is she okay?” I asked, trying to keep the sound of guilt out of my voice. Despite feeling responsible for what had happened, I still felt some resentment that this responsibility had been foisted on me. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of knowing how I felt.

  “A little better,” Eileen said simply. She turned away.

  For some reason I felt the need to do something. “Uh…does she need any special kind of medicine?”

  “We got medicine last night.”

  “Well that’s doctor medicine. I mean something to make her more comfortable.”

  “I gave her aspirin. It’s bringing the fever down. I don’t think there’s much more that I can do for her.”

  I nodded, trying to pull some information from the dustbin of my brain. It was while I was downing a Hot Pocket to calm my queasy stomach that it came to me. I went into the bedroom and put on some proper outside clothes.

  Eileen looked up as I went to the door. “I’ll be back in a second,” I told her. She just nodded and I doubted she believed me.

  An hour and a half later I walked through the door with one arm wrapped around a giant plastic bag and the other holding a much smaller bag. Eileen stared at me but said nothing. I put the big bag down on the floor by the dining room table. Then I went into the kitchen with the smaller bag. I put water in a mug I took from the cabinet and then went to work. I pulled some bags of herbs out of the small bag and placed a small portion of the contents of each bag into a tea ball that I’d bought years before. Then I filled the mug with water and placed it in the microwave. In a minute and a half the water was heated and in went the tea ball.

  I’ll admit that I was letting the suspense build; I knew that Eileen would be more than curious. Once the herb mixture had steeped for a while, I took the cup to the dining room table. With a flourish I pulled the big bag off the floor and pulled it off of whatever was inside it, revealing a giant stuffed gorilla with a doctor’s coat and a stethoscope. Then I picked up the steaming cup with my free hand and went to stand in front of the couch.