Twenty minutes later, we were in the kitchen of the Community Room of the Village Hall. Spread out were papers, report forms, and Eric taking notes. How fast; what did I see. What did my conductor see. What did I do, what time, road conditions. Is this a true statement, made voluntarily. Sign and date.
Then, time for a urine specimen. Brad had been working a Coke. I’d nuked the last cup out of my Thermos, so we were ready. In comes one of the EMS guys – still in his gear, but driving a private car. Carrying a case.
“What – the fire department is doing drug testing, now?” Eric just stared.
“Sort of,” said the paramedic. “I’m with the volunteer fire company. But I own a drug-testing company. We just got a contract with CSX Transportation.”
“So, you were out there at the accident scene. Did you talk to either of these men?”
“No, ” said the drug tester, apparently sensing accusation of collusion. “I saw this man”- pointing at Brad – “looking at the scene, but we didn’t speak.”
“Hey, relax. I’ve been doing this ten years. I’m bonded and DOT certified.” Eric said nothing.
The voice was familiar – but I’d not talked to him; I hadn’t gone back to where the EMS crew was working.
Brad provided ID, filled out forms, and ducked inside the men’s lavatory to supply a specimen. The tester sealed it, had Brad sign papers...all done.
My turn. I dug out the ID, proffered it. The name on his white shirt was, SCHMIDT.
He looked at my ID. A moment longer than he might. Than at me.
“You ever live on Mackenzie Road?”
Okay. I knew this guy. “Sure did. How ya doing, Brian.”
“Pretty damn good, all things considered.” Yeah...better than me, looked like.
Brian and I had been friends and classmates, back in elementary school. What probably brought us together, was, we were both constantly in trouble, and liked it. Stealing and smoking cigarettes or grapevines, throwing snowballs at cars, or in summer, chucking rocks at trains – virtually the same damn railroad line I now worked on. But, adolescence was settling in, and Brian had different interests. He had become very, very interested in becoming a fireman.
Brian’s family had moved out of town, when we were 11. I remember the packing – they rented a U-Haul to move, and it was so out of character for their expensive furnishings for an expensive West Suburban Cleveland home. I’d helped load the truck, the day before they moved – carrying odd stuff out, while fooling around. I didn’t know it would be 35 years before I’d see him again.
I’d heard of his goings-on. The move to West Virginia hadn’t worked out; and – after I had finished high school and moved far away, Brian and his parents returned to Cleveland. Presently, one day, after I had moved back in with my parents, having become unemployed...a local adult-rock radio station had an on-air giveaway. The format at the time, was, the winner had to identify on-air, his name and work. There was Brian, a Cleveland firefighter.
About a year later, I’d heard from mutual friends, Brian had gotten suddenly married. The only thing I’d heard was, she was “very young.” I had a snicker over that...that was one mistake I hadn’t made, by luck or lack, I didn’t know.
And then, radio silence, as it were. Until here I find him, the country squire, small-business principal...doing drug specimen collection on me. In the town my long-gone ex came from.
So, mission – missions – finished, Brian put his gear away. Specimens packed, back in his car. Various uniform and supply items, in the fire-department bay of the Village Hall.
Eric was standing around. “What’s the plan, man? Gonna get a Rentzenberger cab for us?”
“Can’t seem to raise anyone, tonight. Track crew’s coming with a crane truck. They might be able to pull that car out from under the flatcar and get the train rolling.”
“Got a crew called? I’m out of service.”
“Looks like we got a couple of spares - your deadheads. You’ve all been on duty, what, seven hours? That gives you, one of those crews, five hours to make it.”
“So, You gonna cart us back there?”
“Still waiting to hear what the track crew has to say. They’re unpacking right now.”
Brian was fiddling with something on the kitchen counter. “Want some fresh coffee?” he asked. “I’d offer you a holiday toast...but it sounds like you’re still on the clock. And I can’t get lit with specimens in custody.”
“Coffee would be great,” I said. He pulled out a couple of Keurig thimbles. The coffee was ready in an instant, and we wandered out to his car.
“How’d this happen?” I asked him.
“The accident?”
“That, too. But I mean, what in the name of all that’s sacred, are you doing out here, taking my...bodily-fluid specimen...in Madiss-flippin-son Ohio!”
“I retired.”
“What, from the Cleveland Fire Department? I’d heard you were working there.”
“Yeah. It was a dead end, and I was getting older, and I was vested...drug testing was a coming thing, and I had some contacts, so I set up. Lake County seemed a better place to start a new business. Certainly a better place to raise a family. But, I was with the Cleveland paramedics for years; I had the certification; so I volunteered out here – keep in the game, lend a helping hand to the town.”
“How about you. I remember you playing with my train set. And throwing rocks at real trains. Now you’re driving them. I’d never have expected.”
“Me, neither. Came down to, I needed a job, and they had one. There’s more to it, but not that much more. I’m a living monument to lack of planning.” It was another thing that we shared, although I have to admit, his childhood focus was nonetheless more clear than mine.
“Yeah, I remember hearing you had got married.” An understatement, remembering my sniggering at his predicament. “So you got kids, now?”
“One. Yeah...Jolene wanted out of the Cleveland area. This was out far, but not too far. You knew Jolene, didn’t you? Walters?”
Oh, good grief. I did know her. She was six years behind us in school...started first grade a few weeks after the August weekend Brian’s family drove off. She was a shy little girl from what turned out to be an abusive home. Finished high school a year behind my brother, and then, that summer, I found her in a McDonalds uniform. Unnaturally tall, but there was no mistaking the wavy blonde hair and the shy mannerism. So this was what it came down to.
We stood outside the pedestrian door for the town hall, and looked outward. Traffic was light – past midnight, even the late-night carol services were done. The sky was still bright with stars. Brian and I shared a past – but what we had, was gone.
“Hell of a night for it,” I said, to break the silence.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Brian said. “My daughter knows the family. They’ve been frantic all day. She had a fight with a boyfriend, and she sent a strange email sometime today. And drove off – nobody knew where. Family called the cops, but they couldn’t file a Missing Person report for 24 hours. No contact, just one threatening email.”
“I don’t know what to say.” And I didn’t. I couldn’t offer well-wishes to the family. I didn’t share in their horror. This was a stupid, wasteful, impulsive act of a woman-child not thinking clearly – and I was thrown into it. I had no legitimate part in it. I was an interloper, an object of offense. All I needed was my ex to roll down, the mile or so from what had been her parents’ home...to hiss at me and shake a fist.
“I know,” Brian said, tipping his coffee cup. He’d gotten whatever he had wanted from this conversation. It was time to go. Past time. “It was good, seeing you.” Not looking at me while he said it.
The crunch on the snow from his car tires, slowly faded, and silence enveloped me on the driveway apron.
