The adults happened to choose one of my favorite haunts where there was a small area of smooth sand scooped out of the otherwise pervasive brush around the riverbank, and a nice pool, about 5 feet deep at the middle just before the water began pouring over rocks a little downstream, where it turned more turbulent. The trees there were tall and overhanging the river which made it a very pleasant spot for relaxation.
I was actually a little bit miffed that they were trespassing, but I knew it wasn’t my river or my riverside so I kept my mouth shut and didn’t let on that I had even been there previously. In fact, I enjoyed the little secret, even though they wouldn’t have cared one way or another. It was just that it felt like my spot; it was where I felt comfortable when I was by myself, and I didn’t want to share that with anyone else.
It was mainly because they were all there and I liked being alone that I decided to strike out in a direction I hadn’t taken before, more upstream and farther away from the river. So I guess I have them to thank in part, for my big discovery.
I was just coming out of the woods into a clearing on the side of a steep hill, watching the rocks at my feet and stepping over an old, rotting deadfall and deep in thought about the things Steve had said about Charlotte Painter, when my attention was diverted by the sudden realization that I was walking past something with a symmetry not found in wild nature. It was about 15 feet to my right and the first thing I recognized was a large concrete slab supporting an upright, rusty iron beam.
Continuing to look up and expand my gaze, I found that I had wandered under a very old, very dilapidated railroad trestle, the top of which must have been eighty to a hundred feet above me. Looking left and right I took in the uprights and the wooden cross beams – that is, those that were still there and not broken or hanging down from their original positions – and I knew that I had to find a way up to the top.
First looking left, I could see that the trestle stretched on into the trees that had grown up on both sides of it over the years. Knowing the river was to my right, I decided to go left first. I followed the route of the old trestle for about a quarter of a mile, slowly climbing up hill until the trestle top was only about thirty feet overhead. That was where it ended. I couldn’t tell what had happened to the rest of it, but at some point over the many years that it had been decaying in disuse, the rest of the trestle had fallen away and at the end of what was standing was a couple of rusty iron rails, twisted out and down in separate and odd angles, looking like nerve endings sticking out the stump of a severed arm.
There was nothing more to be seen here, and no access to the top of the trestle, so I headed back in the opposite direction.
I hadn’t trekked more than about a mile and a half from the river so it only took about a half hour to get back to where the trestle crossed over. I found a way to the other bank, stepping on rocks at a shallow spot, and continued on until the ground suddenly rose sharply. I had to use my hands in some places in order to keep my feet and climb to the top over the loose shale and gravel that blanketed the hillside. When I got there I found just skeletons of what at one time must have been a water tank and a small worker’s shack. The trestle ran right past the iron frame that had once supported the tank, and the ladder, also made of iron, was still in place.
I climbed the ladder, taking care to avoid some ragged edges of rusty metal that had shaved away from the surface over the years. When I reached the top I was only about three feet from the top of the trestle, and easily hopped from my perch on the top rung of the ladder to the old tracks. From my new position I could see quite a way down river. I knew that the spot my family was swimming was just around a bend I could see winding to the southwest. Looking farther up tracks to my right, I saw that the trestle ended at a cliff face about two hundred yards farther up and the tracks continued from there on solid ground, where it seemed to parallel a narrow jeep trail winding around the hill. So I turned back to the left and looked straight down the tracks toward the direction from which I had come. I decided I had to see how far I could go, assuming that enough ties had rotted and fallen away that eventually there would be nothing to walk on. This did not turn out to be the case. The old creosote-treated ties between the rails had held up pretty well.
Having to move slowly, it took me longer to go back the way I had come when on the ground. I also had to be sure of my footing so as to avoid stepping into the empty air between the ties. Looking down and seeing how far away the ground was gave me vertigo, so I tried to focus only on the tie in front of me and catch it with my foot.
Finally, I was over the clearing where I had been when I found the trestle and knew I was directly over the spot I had first noticed it. When I stopped walking I suddenly realized that I was not standing still. That is, I was moving, but not forward nor back. I was swaying left and right, and I was just as suddenly very nervous. Accompanying the movement of the entire trestle from side to side, I could hear what sounded like something between creaking and moaning, as though the iron beams were straining and complaining against the old, rusty bolts that kept them together. There was also an occasional crackling noise that I was pretty certain was wood giving way to time and weather and weight.
I turned my head and looked back over my shoulder and realized that I was a very long way now from that ladder. My heart was trying to escape my ribcage and my breaths were very choppy, and I knew that I had to get off that trestle, but for a moment my legs wouldn’t obey my mental commands to get moving.
I remembered that up ahead near the end of the broken trestle some of those trees were within just feet of the structure because no one had to keep the tracks clear for so many decades. If I could just get to where I could jump and grab a limb…
I began to make my way slowly toward that end, acutely aware now of the swaying motion under me. At one heart-stopping moment I felt I was losing my balance, then I realized I needed to walk as perfectly down the center of the trestle as possible, so I centered myself there and continued on. Finally, I was into the trees again and the clearing was behind me. I considered that if the structure collapsed now, it might get caught by some trees or at least maybe I could grab a branch on the way down. But I could not calculate the enormous weight of all this iron and wood falling as one piece and I could not be certain the trees would slow it enough for me to be able to use them at all, and I could not be certain I wouldn’t end up underneath it all when it finally came to rest.
The first few trees I passed were too far away to offer me any help. I came to one on my right that was only about six or eight feet away, but the branches at that height did not appear strong enough to hold me.
As I moved along I felt the swaying less and that was encouraging. The ground below me was rising now and I wasn’t as high off it as I had been; but it was still a good forty-five or fifty feet and I wasn’t going to survive if I dropped. Finally on my left and just about ten feet ahead there was a tree that was only about three feet from the side of the trestle and had grown until its top was a good ten to twelve feet above my head.
Just hold on until I get there, trestle… There was no other way down for me. I couldn’t climb on the beams that were too far apart from each other, and most of them looked rotten anyway. So as I drew even with the tree I studied it until I spotted a branch that, if I could just grab it, would probably support me until I could get my bearings for a descent. I held my breath, took two short steps toward the edge of the trestle, and leapt. Several lesser branches scratched at my arms and the side of my neck as I entered the foliage of the big pine, but I made it to the targeted branch and managed to hook my left arm and left leg over it, hugging it until the swinging caused by my momentum ceased. Looking down I saw that the next big branch was only about four feet under me and almost directly under the one I clung to, so I held on with both hands and lowered my legs until I stood on that one. From then on it was just a matter of finding footing and hand holds until I was close enough to the ground to drop safely.
Feeling a great sense of relief, along with scratched up and covered with pine pitch, I made my way back to where the families were picnicking.
As I approached the group my dad looked up from the lounge chair he was folding and asked, “Where have you been?” Before I could open my mouth to respond, my mother said, “We were just talking about getting a search party to look for you, Cole! We were worried! Oh, my gosh. What do you have all over your clothes?” Again, before I could begin to formulate a response, Nancy chimed in. “Cole, you missed it! Fern fell in down by the rapids and Daddy jumped in and rescued her. It was a-maaa-zing!”
Dad started to object to the hero worship, “Well…” and Fern’s dad shot in, “We are very thankful that your dad was a quick thinker, Cole. Don’t let him tell you it was nothing.” He smiled and picked a blanket up from the ground. I had arrived just as they were all preparing to leave, which had added to their concern for me because they didn’t want to leave me behind. But now that they knew I was safe everyone’s conversation went back to the big rescue scene in the river and curiosity about my absence faded quickly.
I decided not to tell them about the trestle. “I was climbing a tree.” They all seemed satisfied with that answer. It explained the pine pitch and it’s not unusual for a kid to be climbing trees so nothing more was said. Besides, I didn’t lie; I did climb down a tree.
CHAPTER 5
The holidays came and went without any excitement to speak of. My 14th birthday came in early December and I had a small party with Lee and the Lagorio girls in attendance. It was really just an ice cream and cake and sit around and chat kind of party. Yeah. Boring.
We didn’t have visitors for Thanksgiving or Christmas, and we didn’t go anywhere.
My trips to the woods were on hold for a few months also. There was never much snow there, but winter in Trinidad had its rain and its cold temperatures like anywhere else; so I spent a lot of time going back and forth to the library and in my room reading.
I don’t remember having much trouble from the Christmas Club during that time either. I suppose even sleazy hoodlums take holidays.
The commercial burglaries on main street started during that time. I usually heard about them when my dad would say, “Someone broke into ________ over the weekend”. And the name of the business would be different each time. There weren’t more than six or seven break-ins total, but in a town that small six or seven add up to about one third of the business district.
It was my opinion that the Christmas Club was committing the burglaries. I’m not certain why. I guess there could have been others in town who might have done such a thing; and it also could have been some burglary ring from Stockton or Modesto I suppose. But as often as I saw their Chevy 210 coming and going, they remained my primary suspects. The fact that they were my own personal tormentors may have played a role in my hypothesis.
During a night of Christmas Caroling, when the youth group was all bundled in warm winter jackets and scarves, going from house to house singing and then back to the church for hot chocolate, I discovered that Yolanda Lagorio looked like a dream with her rosy cheeks and wavy hair falling down out of a blue knit cap. She even smiled at me, which caused me to erroneously conclude that she knew I was alive.
Lee Hansen’s eyes were not wool-covered. He knew that Yolanda was an unreachable star and that I was making a fool of myself over her. He was a good friend and tried on several occasions to bring me to see it for myself, rather than just saying, ‘Hey, Cole! Give it up, you don’t stand a chance!” But he was subtle and I was an idiot, so I didn’t pick up on his efforts to lead me gently back to the world of sanity.
I did my best to flirt with her at the youth group meetings, much to the disgust of her step-sisters. Then Valentine’s Day came and I left a card stuck in her locker at school. Several days later, when I hadn’t gotten any indication from her that she had found the card, I told Lee I thought she hadn’t gotten it. “Someone must have stolen it”, I said. “No, Cole,” he said in a tired voice, “she found it.”
“How do you know?” I challenged, assuming this was just another of his attempts to discourage my folly.
“Because I was there in the hall when she went to her locker, and I saw her looking at it!” Lee’s hands were held out, palms up as if to say, “Can’t you see it yet?”
“So, what did she do?”
“Cole, what do you mean, what did she do? What was she supposed to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know…smile? Anything?”
Lee shook his head, looking at the ground in hopelessness. “She stuck it in her binder and walked away. That’s all.”
I looked at him for a minute, trying to picture what it was he saw. She just walked away with my card in her binder, but that was three days ago. Yesterday was Sunday. She saw me at church. She said nothing.
Lee interrupted my thoughts. “Cole, I’m trying to tell you. Yolanda wants to be your friend, but that’s all.”
I looked up into his eyes again and finally realized that this revelation was coming, not from some intuition, but from a conversation.
“She tell you that?” I asked. “Yes, she did. Weeks ago.” He said, resignedly. “I was talking to her during lunch period and I just decided to ask her if she liked you.” He sighed, “She said yes, as a friend, but that’s all”.
I think it was sometime in March or April, still not entirely willing to accept facts and still dreaming about a storybook love affair with Yolanda, that I saw her after school one day. She was getting into a yellow, ‘62 Dodge Dart being driven by some guy I had never seen. He was too old to still be in school. I was enraged with jealousy. I was also fairly certain Yolanda’s parents probably didn’t know about him.
As though the day and my mood were not dark enough, I had just found Steve heading for the busses and stopped him in a quiet spot at the side of the library, wanting to ask him if he knew anything about the older guy Yolanda was with, when suddenly Ron Clay stepped around the corner. I swore under my breath wondering why this clown always seemed to know where to find me. Clay started getting in my face. Once again, Steve began to voice an objection but Ron, without taking his eyes off mine, pointed sideways at where Steve was standing and said in a low growl, “Move on, turd, or get some of this too”.
There was just a brief pause, Clay still staring into my eyes and I into his, then there was movement to my left and I turned my head to find that Steve was gone. I was very disappointed. He was just staying healthy and I knew that, but I had been abandoned.
Clay knocked my books out of my hand so they scattered on the ground. It wasn’t new. We had been this route before. Sometimes I got off with just having to pick them up. Sometimes as I did he kicked them farther away so I’d have to crawl after them. This time he kicked me in the face. My glasses fell off and my nose felt like it was spread all over my face. It wasn’t, but blood poured down into my mouth and past it and dripped on the walk, as well as one of my books. Using a sleeve I stifled the flow as best I could and picked up my glasses with the other hand. My vision through them was mottled and hazy as they also were smeared with blood, but at least Clay was gone by the time I looked around me, so I gathered the rest of my books and started the walk home. On the way, thinking about Yolanda, and Steve’s discrete abandonment and the pain in my nose, I concluded that my life couldn’t get much crappier. Little did I know at the time that it not only could, but would.
On a Saturday in early May, Lee and I were discussing what we would do with the day. I suggested riding our bikes out to see the Lagorios. He balked at first, probably more at the thought of the physical exercise than at the knowledge that I had been pining over my broken Yolanda dream. But with a little more coaxing from me, he agreed.
Around mid-morning we struck out and rode for the thirty minutes it took to get to the Lagorio ranch. As we rode up the dirt drive and the house came into view, we could see that their dad’s truck was gone. That was not unusual because he was of
ten gone either working on the ranch or doing business in the city. But their Olds sedan was gone also, which meant that their mom and probably the girls also were gone shopping or something.
We had stopped about 50 yards from the house and were talking about turning and going back to town, when I saw a splash of color through the pear trees, on the other side of the orchard and near the house. Walking my bike about fifteen yards up the dirt drive I saw the yellow car Yolanda had gotten into in front of the school. It was parked at the side of the house, almost out of view of the roadway.
I looked at Lee and he looked back with an expression that said, “Uh oh…”
All of my common sense took a vacation. “C’mon,” I said, and laid my bike down by the roadside. As I began walking toward a blind corner of the house out of sight of any windows, Lee objected in a hiss, “Cole, no. Let’s just go.”
“I just want to see if I can see them”. I said. I don’t know what I expected. I know I did not expect to see what I eventually saw.
We rounded the back of the house where we knew the girls’ bedrooms to be. The shade on Yolanda’s window was pulled up. They lived in the country, after all. Stepping up very quietly to the lower corner of the window, I covered my eyes from the outdoor light and peeked in.
What I saw burned into my retinas and stayed there for a long time. Yolanda was on her bed wearing only a bra and her jeans, and the guy from the yellow car was on top of her and they were kissing.
Lee saw it at the same moment, and we both jumped back. I think Lee was mainly embarrassed; I was shocked and guilty and angry.
We made our way back around the house and as we went Lee said, “Her family must be all gone for the day. Her dad would kill this guy…”
The Everman Journal Page 3