Disclaimer

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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.

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Episode 05

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Jimothy Dyck was asleep in the Trans-Canada Railyard, dreaming of anywhere but here. His dreams were too big for the small town he had left behind. He was headed west, to make it big, with a train hopper named Laverne “Rail’n’Jail” Jenkins. But without any direction, he was just wandering aimlessly between endless rows of rail cars until, finally, the distant wail of a midnight freight train pulled Jimothy from his restless dreamland.

 

“Wake up, Jimothy!” Jenkins whispered, giving him a shake.

 

Jimothy stirred at the touch of Jenkins’ hand gripping his shoulder. “What time is it?” He asked, confused, as he felt around for his dark-rimmed glasses.

 

“It’s time to go, kid. Your train’s here,” Jenkins replied in a low voice.

 

“It’s finally happening…” Jimothy thought as he fumbled with the collar of his sweater. He had been waiting his whole life to escape the small Mennonite town he grew up in. This was his big moment to finally do something with his life. His therapist suggested taking a month to backpack through Europe, but Jimothy had bigger plans – to hop a freight train out of town.

 

Jimothy realized his sweater was on inside out when his ADHD meds kicked in, fifteen minutes later. By then, Jenkins had already packed up camp and was hiding in the bushes as a westbound freight train arrived in Winnipeg.

 

The two-kilometers long chain of rolling steel rumbled into sight, belching acrid smelling diesel fumes as it gnashed its teeth at Jimothy. He could feel the train’s imposing weight shake his confidence, taunting him with thoughts of fear, uncertainty, and doubt. “You’re never going to make it! You’re a failure, Jimothy Dyck!” the passing rail cars seemed to groan.

 

Jimothy’s heart sunk at the thought of living his whole life as a failure. “Jesus! What am I supposed to even do?” he thought. But there wasn’t much time for Jimothy to think.

 

“There!” Jenkins pointed to a passing forty-eight-foot well car. “That’s our ride. Let’s go!”

 

A maniacal grin spread across Jenkins’ face as he scooped up his pack and hurried after the double-stacked forty-eight.

 

Jimothy huffed and puffed in hot pursuit. Jenkins was ten steps ahead when the freight train picked up its slack and began to thunder down the tracks.

 

Jenkins quickened his pace like a footloose cowboy. His long, lanky legs strode alongside the stampeding herd of rail cars when the rustler made his move. Jenkins reached for the ladder rung of the departing forty-eight. He swung himself aboard the platform deck and extended his arm to take Jimothy’s hand. “Hurry! Before it gets away!”

 

Jimothy took to his last with every breath until step-by-step, the sweet rush of warm June air caressed his face, like a tender kiss, as thereupon the open rails, he was dancing with the trains.

 

They caught out just past dawn on a westbound forty-eight. Jimothy watched the sun rise over downtown Winnipeg and wrote:

 

Clickety-clack; don’t ya look back

Clickety-clack; them jolts of slack

 

And through the prairie groves they rode, each city but a break. A month went by and they kept on, over the mountains and coast to coast: “Rail’n’Jail” and Jimothy Dyck, the “Catch-Out Kid.”

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The End.