The Tracks

     He had exactly one hour to gather a piece of clothing, preferably worn, of each one of his sleeping family members and drive to the train station two towns away, to be ready for the Regional Express. The last items Andrew put on were his father’s overcoat and the mittens his mother had knit before Christmas.

     He pulled into the deserted ALDI parking lot and took the key out of the ignition. For memory’s sake Andrew chose the lot his parents always used during their weekly shopping trip. His mother had never learned to drive. Andrew looked at himself in the rearview mirror, spiking his hair as he raked his fingers through it. He was pleased. Just a month ago he had gotten new highlights and they finally came out the way he liked them. The first time they were too yellow and thick. He had to let his hair grow out, and then ask for a different girl at the same salon. She nailed it so that Andrew waited an extra week, delaying the date. Suicide was flexible like that. He’d spent the bonus days in constant amazement, watching himself operate on borrowed time.

     He stubbed out his cigarette and opened the glove compartment where he had hidden the good-bye letter in which he attempted to tell his family how sorry he was and asked them for forgiveness. It is nobody’s fault, he wrote, and there was nothing they could have done. He placed the letter and the keys on the passenger seat and looked in the mirror again. His hair was really good and brought out the color of his beautiful eyes. Damn shame. It felt like such a waste, but he had no choice; tomorrow would only be worse.

     It had started to snow and the flurries blew into Andrew’s face as soon as he opened the door. A wind gust blew it shut immediately and he sat for a moment, enjoying the warmth inside the car. He adamantly opened the door, got out and closed it. The world turned dark in an instant. Andrew opened the door again and looked inside. The gray seats, half full ashtray, an empty paper coffee cup, green lighter, the open letter, his cell phone and keys. He grabbed the lighter for his last smoke on the tracks and pocketed the phone. Habit. He left the keys on the seat, locked the car door and slammed it shut. Final. Dark and cold and no way back. He turned and headed towards the station, but didn’t bother using its doors. Instead he jumped over the gate and stood on the platform, a few yards from the building. It was just him and the night, and he was early. He walked across the first track, feeling the gravel under his boots, the steel beams, then the pavement before stepping onto the next track, the one he’d chosen in his mind. The one he’d always used for his rare trips to Ulm or Munich, when he needed to get away. He might as well have left the planet, as misplaced as he felt whenever he was away from the little farming town where he’d spent all his life.

     Andrew pulled the collar of his father’s coat up to his face. A strong wind had begun to blow. He rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. A tremor had started inside him, right behind his stomach. He stopped. Right here, he felt, would be good, and sat down. He stretched his legs across the tracks, his butt resting on a wooden slat. Andrew wiggled until he felt almost comfortable and lowered his head on the steel beam, ready.

     He opened his eyes and looked at the snow-flurried sky, something he had always loved to do when he was a child and the first snow held all the promise of winter and Christmas. Now Christmas felt dull and predictable, not special anymore. Andrew had waited for the excitement to build up, but Christmas came and went and felt like any another day. The magic and joy of the season had vanished with his childhood.

     “Please God, forgive me, do not look on my sins but at my faith in you. Let me be with you in heaven,” he cried out, knowing full well that the RE Ulm-Friedrichshafen was on its way. To him. Andrew closed his eyes and felt the snow melting on his face.

     “Who’s there?” a sharp female voice commanded.

     Andrews eyes popped open.  He sat up and looked around in astonishment. “Hello? Is somebody there?”

     “Yeah, over here. Who are you?”

     “Uh…my name is Andrew. Who are you?” Now he could make out a lump a few feet away.         

     “What are you doing?” the woman snapped.

     “Nothing! Uh…I’m waiting for the train. What are you doing?” His heart was beating like crazy in his chest. What if she tells him to leave? Or calls the cops? He couldn’t believe it.

     “Darn it, I can’t even do this in peace. Why did you have to lie right here? This is my spot,” the woman said annoyed.

     “I…I didn’t know you were here, okay? I didn’t exactly expect anyone.” Andrew paused, unsure of suicide etiquette. “D’you want me to move up some?”

     “No, you stay right here where I can see you. Next thing I know you’ll be calling the cops on me.”

     “Uh…why would I do that? Duh,” Andrew added as an explanation.

     “Harumph. Well then, what’s your reason? I’m Gertrud by the way.”   

     “Nice to meet you, Gertrud. Uhm…I’m just totally fed up with everything. It’s the same old crap every day, nothing going on.” Andrew lay down again and folded his hands behind his head. “I’m bored out of my mind. My life is too predictable, there’s nothing to look forward to. I’m totally stuck, so I’m checking out early. And don’t try to talk me out of it, I’m doing it no matter what you say.”

     “Yeah, me too. I already tore up my plane ticket.”

     “Plane ticket to where?” Andrew looked in Gertrud’s direction.

     “Back to New Jersey. But I am staying here this time.”    

     “New Jersey? In America?”
     “Yes, America.”

     “Wow. You’ve actually been there,” Andrew said.

     “Twenty-six years. Did everything you can think of. Family, dog, cat, the house, cars, Girl Scouts, high school, college, the whole lot. And every morning I woke up and missed home. I’m so tired of flying away from my family after every visit. And they’re all getting up in years. I dread the day when I get the call that someone has died. This way they can just bury me here, makes it easier for everybody.”

     Andrew watched Gertrud lay down again. “Shit. You had a ticket out of here. Why don’t you just move back? Couldn’t you stay with your folks?”

     “It’s too expensive to buy health insurance for myself now. And to find a job at my age, forget it. It’s either back to the states or else. I should have never left, or at least come back after just a year over there.”    

     Andrew thought for a moment. “You must speak English really well, right? You would get a job. My uncle is always looking for people who speak English, he’s a manager at Bayer. I’ll ask him. Shit, I mean I would have asked him,” Andrew corrected himself.

     Gertrud propped herself up and looked in his direction. “How old are you?”

     “Twenty-one. Last month.”

     “That’s the legal age in Jersey. Kids can’t wait to turn twenty-one, it’s the big one. They can officially go to a bar and drink. But anyway, how can you feel stuck at twenty-one? Are you married?”

     “No, but I can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything. My life is set in stone. It’s small-town living and my father’s farm until I retire and hand it over to my future unlucky son. Church on Sundays, pub on Wednesdays, a week in the Allgäu in the summer for the rest of my life. It’s too damn predictable.” Andrew groaned. “I hate it here! I can’t wait, where’s this damn train?”

     “We have about ten minutes, but that’s exactly how I felt at your age. Every evening I walked to farmer Simmler and fetched the milk and sometimes I sat outside with him and his wife and we watched traffic. All they talked about was who didn’t sweep their stoop on Saturdays or who got a new car, and it hit me. If I didn’t get out of there I’d sit on the same bench twenty, thirty years from now, still watching folks turn in for the night.”   

     “How did you get out?” Andrew asked into the night and pulled out his cigarettes. “Here, do you smoke?”

     Gertrud declined. “Nah, that stuff will kill you.”

     “Ha ha,” Andrew said sarcastically.

     “I decided I wanted to go to America and found an au-pair agency that arranged for young people to live with American families, kind of like a babysitter-housekeeper deal, you know. It was great, but I should have come back and stayed home after my year was over.”

     “You just stayed in America?” Andrew asked.

     “No, I had to come back to Germany when my visa was up, but I turned around and went right back to my friends. Then my visa ran out again and I came home and met a GI in Ulm and the rest is history. We lived all over the States because of the Army.”

     “Man, that is so cool. I wish I could just go anywhere I want to,” Andrew said. “But I can’t. There’s just no way. I have to take over the farm.”

     “Are you an only child?”

     “No, there’s four of us, but I’m the oldest son. I have a twin sister, so she’s out. My middle brother is slow and can’t do it.”

     “What about the other one?” Gertrud asked.

     “Well, he is the youngest and who knows what he wants to do.”

     “Sounds pretty old-fashioned, if you want my opinion. Why should you be the only one who can take over the farm? We’re not in the middle ages anymore.”

     “That’s exactly what I mean. It’s my father’s rules, and no arguments. He’s so thick! I just can’t stand it anymore.”

     Gertrud sat up. “Oh-uh, I see lights. Ready?”

      “Yeah, ready. Finally,” Andrew said and stubbed out his cigarette.

      “Okey-doke. Here it comes. Well, see you in heaven, I hope. One less Kramer in Kirchberg,” Gertrud said and bedded down.

     “What did you say? I’m a Kramer from Kirchberg, too! Holy shit.”

     “Get out of here! I live practically in New York City with millions of others and now I meet kin on a railroad track in Altenstadt. Who’s your father?”

     “Bertie. Bertie Kramer.” Andrew looked at her. “We can wait for the next one, all right?”

     “You sure? I’m freezing my butt off.” Gertrud flailed her limbs to get the blood moving.     The lights came closer and they stared at them spellbound and when the train was almost upon them they pulled their legs back and scuttled away from the tracks. They watched the huge engine with its cars roar past and disappear into the night.

     Andrew threw a rock after it.

     “Darn it, we didn’t do it,” Gertrud said. “There should be another one soon, I believe. Bertie…Hm, that doesn’t ring a bell. Who else is there in your family?”

     “His two brothers, Reinhard and Herbert, the youngest,” Andrew said, still staring after the train.

     “Wait a minute. I went to school with Reinhard, he had a crush on me once! And my sister was in Herbert’s grade. Now I remember Bertie… the chubby one, right?”

     “Yeah, he was kind of heavy, but he lost a lot of weight. We think he is sick but he won’t say.”

     “So, what about your sister?”

     “What about her?”

     “Why can’t she run the farm? Did you ever ask her?”

     “No, she’s…she works in the city. Accounting or something,” Andrew said.

     “Just ask her.”

     “Now?”

     “Yes! Here, d’you want my phone?” Gertrud offered.

     “Uh, thanks…I have my own. You think?”

     “Sure, go ahead. Ask her.”

     “This is crazy. We’re in the middle of the railroad tracks, in case you haven’t noticed.”

     “So? She can’t see you. Come on, you don’t have to tell her where you are.”

     “I don’t believe this. All right, all right I’ll call her.”

     Andrew sat up and groped for his cell phone. He could make out Gertrud’s shape. She was leaning on her elbow in what looked like an expectant posture. With stiff fingers he selected his sister’s number and felt his stomach churn.

     “Dani? It’s me, Andy. Listen…I’m still out, yeah. I was thinking…would you like to have the farm? I really don’t want it.” Andrew listened for a few moments, then said: “Okay, cool. No, it’s really cool. Bye.” He closed the phone and stared at it. 1:23A.M. He placed it next to him on the track.

     “Come on, tell me. I’m dying to hear what she said,” Gertrud said. “Uh-oh, there’s the next one, d’you wanna wait?”

     Andrew squinted in the direction of the approaching lights. “I think it’s on the other track. Yup, that’s not ours.”

     The train roared past on the track behind them and Andrew lay down again. “She said yes,” Andrew whispered more to himself. He couldn’t believe that it could be so easy.

     “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.” Gertrud got up off the tracks, walked over to where Andrew lay, and sat next to him. “She said yes?”

     “Yeah, she said she would love to. She and her boyfriend were thinking of opening a health food store. They would turn it into an organic farm, with sheep and stuff. She sounded excited.”

     “Well, there you go. Now you just have to convince thick Bertie that women can run a farm as good as anybody. Don’t you feel better now?”

     Andrew chuckled. “Considering the circumstances, I guess.” He closed his eyes again and mumbled: “God, I can’t believe you had the guts and left home. I wish I could just go out into the world like that. Would you do it again?”

     “Sure, but I wouldn’t stay away this time. Only for a few years and then move back home.” Gertrud looked him up and down. “Darn it, I’m freezing. At least you’re wearing boots.”

     “They’re my brother’s. And I’m wearing my other brother’s sweatshirt and socks.”

     “Why?” Gertrud asked.

     “Just so. To feel close to them, I guess. Look, that’s my sister’s ponytail holder,” Andrew said and pulled on the scrunchy on his left wrist. He let it snap and looked closer. “Wow, there’s still some of her hair snagged in it.”

     “Did you leave them a good-bye letter?”
     “Yes, it’s on the car seat. You?”

     “I just made a list of who gets what. And I have a Last Will because I have a kid. Poor Schatz, I feel bad for her,” Gertrud said and sighed.

     “Yeah, but at least you did it. You know what– you did it! You left. You gave it a shot. And now you know what it’s like out there. Me? I’m a coward who’s only ever been to Munich. Big whoopdeedo.”

     Gertrud leaned on her elbow and studied Andrew’s handsome face. “Let me tell you something, kid. I carry my father’s red comb in my purse. I have my mother’s ironing board in America, and my sister’s coffee mug with her name on it. And our old couch and my grandmother’s table and chairs. When my daughter left for college I turned the spare computer room into a Kirchberg-room. How pathetic is that? Do you want to know the truth? Every day I regretted that I had left. And had I not left I would regret every day that I stayed in Kirchberg. That’s why I’m here on these damned tracks. I don’t even know which is home anymore. My first twenty, completely happy years by the way, I spent in Germany. Now I have lived longer in America than in my own country. So my question to you is this: where do I belong?”

     “But that’s the beauty of it – you can choose! You know both places and can live anywhere you want, don’t you see?”

     “Yes, I know what it’s like both places, but I could have found that out during a vacation. I didn’t have to uproot myself. Someone once said: If you live five thousand miles away from home, it’s like you’re five thousand miles away from yourself. It’s so true. But if you want to see the world, go! Everybody should leave for a while. Just don’t forget to come back.”

     “Why are we talking about the future? We’re supposed to hand in our number tonight, remember?” Andrew said. “It’s funny, though. You’re homesick and I’m sick of home. We should just switch.”

     “Sorry, I tore up the plane ticket.”

     “And I locked the keys in my car. You can just print out another ticket, by the way.”

     “And you can call a locksmith.”

     They were quiet for a while.

     “Let’s just do it and get it over with,” Andrew said and lay down again. “Kind of fun to have someone to do it with. I’m glad you’re here.”

     Another train approached and the two of them held their hands and braced themselves. They heard it pull into the station where it stopped and let out passengers.

     “Thanks for being there,” Andrew said. “I was a little scared.”

     “Thanks for listening. At least you understand what I mean.”

     The train let off steam and turned off its lights and engine. All was quiet. Andrew sat up in bewilderment.

     “It stopped running! Is this for real? Argh,” Andrew groaned. “What have I told you about small-town life? That was the last train tonight.” He started to laugh, becoming more and more hysterical about the situation.

     Gertrud sat up in a daze. “What are the odds of this anyway? Meeting you, missing the train, sharing the same last name? I can’t take it anymore, I need to warm up.” She unfolded her stiff limbs and laboriously got to her feet. “Let’s see if we can find a place that serves coffee this late. I think McDonald’s is still open. Come on, my treat.”

     Andrew had recovered from his laughing fit. He got up, too, and brushed the snow off of his clothes. Walking on the tracks toward the train, he stopped and smirked as he placed his hand on the cold engine. “Okay, you win” he said and patted it. “Either way, actually,” he added as an afterthought and followed Gertrud to the terminal.

     She waited for him by the door: “You better give me your uncle’s phone number, you hear?”

     “Yeah, and you can tell me all about life in America. Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon? Or Texas? What about the top of the Empire State Building…? Hey, maybe you could teach me English so I could work with my uncle at Bayer and if I’ll get good enough I could go on business trips to America…”

The story is completely fictional, but Andrew Kramer really existed. There was no Gertrud on the tracks waiting for him on that cold night of December 27, 2009, and the trains did not stop running. This is in memory of a boy from my hometown in Germany whose obituary I found online in my New Jersey home during the Christmas holidays.

R. I. P. André