Disclaimer

 

Saxophone Blues is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, are coincidental. References to characters, places, products, or brand names are for entertainment purposes only and no identification with such incidents are intended or should be inferred.

 

Saxophone Blues contains mature subject matter. Recommended for adult readers aged 18 years or over. Reader discretion is advised as the content may include explicit language, sexuality, violence, and other themes that may not be suitable for all audiences. The views, opinions, and activities depicted in this work are not necessarily endorsed by the author.

​

Episode 02

 

Winnipeg’s Golden Boy slept beneath swollen clouds choked with tears the night Jimothy Dyck hopped a freight train out of town.

 

It was a grey summer in late June, 2010. Jimothy stepped off the #72 bus on his way to the Trans-Canada Railyard. He was all sweaty from lugging his backpack and camping gear across the city.

 

Jimothy, a somewhat misguided dreamer, was headed west because, “That’s where people go to rebrand their image,” he thought.

 

The only worldly possessions Jimothy had were the items he carried: a Holy Bible and daily devotional, an iPhone 4, and his parents’ credit card.

​

The bus pulled away just after sundown, leaving Jimothy alone in the empty streets. That’s when Jimothy realized he had forgotten to pack his underwear.

“It’s fine,” Jimothy believed, “The Lord will provide.”
 

Jimothy pushed up his dark-rimmed glasses and read from The Hobo Handbook's instructions for westbound train hoppers:

 

“Winnipeg: (Westbound Trans-Canada Rail) Take ‘#72 Lagimodier Express’ bus to Spence Street and Walker Avenue. Get off and walk 500 feet south to Mike’s Diner. Go behind restaurant. There is a hole in fence 100 feet north. Go through fence and wait in bushes. (R&J).”

 

Jimothy slipped around to the back of Mike’s Diner and followed the chain link fence alongside the railyard.

 

At about 80 feet, Jimothy spotted the bull in a white pickup truck. The rail cop was on patrol, watching for prowlers, lurkers, skulkers, and tramps.

 

The truck crunched by on a gravel road when its headlights suddenly veered in Jimothy’s direction. Jimothy ducked into a patch of tall grass, his heart pounding as he hid from the bull.

 

“What if I get caught?” Jimothy worried. “I can’t do jail. I’m in the middle of a D&D campaign!”

 

The standoff seemed to last forever until a tinny voice crackled over the bull’s two-way radio. After a brief exchange of garbled words, the truck turned to leave, its headlights casting long shadows as they swept across the railyard.

 

Jimothy let out a sigh of relief and retraced his steps along the fence. Having lost count, he started over from 50. Jimothy realized he went too far when he saw railway workers disassembling a string of hopper cars. Their voices were too close for Jimothy to stay hidden, so he doubled back to Mike’s Diner.

 

This time, Jimothy easily spotted the hole 100 feet in the opposite direction. It was big enough for him to fit through with all his gear.

 

Jimothy wandered into the nearby bushes and waited for his train to come. There was freedom in the distance and an aching in Jimothy’s bones to find his home where no road goes, though he’d have to travel far.

 

The prairie sky wept as Jimothy benched all night in the Trans-Canada Railyard, where the lonely cry of the midnight freight train beckoned him, a transient of the open rails.

 

To be continued…