The Sign
Never. Good. Enough.
Laura looked east from the bench as a train approached. For an instant she thought, “Change of plans,” but in her head she remembered reading the story of a train engineer whose worst fear was seeing someone crossing the tracks in front of the train, either intentionally or trying to get across the tracks before the train, and there was nothing the engineer could do to slow down the train in time.
She couldn’t do that do a stranger.
“No, stick to the plan.”
She noticed the fence that had been put up by the tracks. Thinking back to her younger days there wasn’t a fence, and you could easily cross the tracks to the other side. She guessed that the fence was installed to keep the kids away from the tracks, and Laura almost felt bad for the kids who weren’t given the chance to explore.
As the blare of the train whistle got closer and the rumble under her shoes sent a slight tremble into her legs, Laura noticed two signs on the fence.
One sign seemed like it belonged. Across the top, in large letters was written, “DANGER” and below it, in slightly smaller letters, “No Trespassing.”
“Duh,” Laura thought. “Why do they even needs signs like that? Who doesn’t know it’s a railroad track, and you can get hit by a train. If you’re that dumb, maybe you deserve to die.”
The stick figure image of a person trying to cross the tracks, with a bright red circle and a line through it, seemed like overkill to her. “Subject to prosecution.”
A phone number was listed on the sign which had her wonder “What is the purpose for a phone number on that sign? Who is calling that number? ‘Hello, I’m by these railroad tracks, and there are kids running across them.”’
To her it was just another thing in life that seemed stupid.
She shifted her gaze to the sign next to it.
“There is help.”
Her breath stopped for a moment.
Someone had put a smiley sticker on the second sign. As Laura’s gaze shifted to the sticker, it had the look of a caring smile as if it was someone simply saying, “I’m here for you. I can help.”
She paused her breathing again.
At the bottom of the sign, in large letters, read, “Suicide and Crisis Lifeline” “Want to Talk?” “Call 988”
Laura shook her head and mumbled, “They forgot the rest of the phone number. How stupid. ‘Hello, I want to talk, but you didn’t give me the whole ‘effin phone number!”
Mockingly she took out her phone. With disdain for the sign and its message she angrily pressed 9, then 8, then 8, and jerkily put the phone to her ear.
Suddenly she heard, “You have reached the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, also serving the Veteran Crisis Line. Para Español oprima el número dos. If you are in emotional distress or suicidal crisis, or are concerned about someone who might be, we are here to help. If you are a US military veteran or current service member, or calling about one, please press 1 now. Otherwise, please hold while we route your call to the nearest crisis center in our network.”
Laura sat there confused how there was an answer on the other end of the line. In the brief instance it took for the call to connect to the crisis center, Laura’s breathing quickened as she heard, “You can talk to me. I’m hear to listen.”
Laura watched the train going by. She noticed a boxcar filled with coal. The car had a graffiti smile painted on it, in bright yellow, reminiscent of the flowers she planted in the Birkster’s yard.
Slowly speaking, Laura asked, “Why can’t I be happy?”