Angel of the Lord

The trains were coupling in the trainyard. Metal on metal and loud clanging banging that would wake anyone who hadn’t heard it before. It was almost six A.M. I was walking home from work.

I’d gone in early last night, at nine. The new guy had called in sick and I made the mistake of answering the phone when it rang. I wasn’t looking forward to slopping a mop all night on my night off, but I needed the money. and the overtime was good.

Now the sunlight washed over the empty tracks ahead of me. Behind me, the huge metal cars loaded with lumber and military machines crashed into one another as the day began. I liked this time of day before the rest of the world was awake. The birds sang their good mornings to one another and the air was sweet with rain and cottonwoods.

Walking across the trainyard, though, my nose took in freshly cut trees, oil and grease, and the smell of old. Only two more blocks until I hit the front step. And I knew Mary Ann would have coffee on, and I could imagine the sound of the bacon sizzling in the cast iron skillet.

As I picked my way carefully along the railroad ties, I spied a man sitting in the shadows of the buildings along the tracks. As I approached him, he stirred, and, hearing my boots crunch over the gravel, he spoke.

“Spare any change?” he asked.

“No thanks,” I replied, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“You ingrateful little fuck,” he rasped. “You ain’t got no respect.”

I had walked just slightly past him by this time, and I slowed my pace.

“You’re a punk!” he yelled.

I turned and walked towards him.

Only last year, I too had found myself evicted and jobless. I was lucky to have Mary Ann to go home to. To now have a roof over my head, and to have a job that pays the bills, even if I was slinging a dirty mop over dirtier floors night after night. My stomach tightened at the memory of having to find my dinner in a Dumpster, having to hope that the police were feeling tolerant that day.

I stopped in front of him.

Article Author: Marc

Visit Marc's author page — Marc's Blog