11:55 P.M. on a Saturday

At the railroad station waiting for the last train from Chicago…


          Sometimes the winter cold is good medicine.  It attacks your senses relentlessly.  It is an exercise in extremes, as was this evening.  It was the coldest night and the longest night of the winter.  It was the last day of the week and I was waiting.  I was waiting for the last train from Chicago. I was looking at the tallest man I’d ever seen-a giant of a man – he was over seven feet tall, but frail and meek otherwise.  He glanced nervously towards me and then quickly away.  He was alone and he turned to face the long window, eyeballing the darkness, methodically, eastward and then westward, as if for no particular train.

   

        “How ‘bout a smoke son?”  I turned to find a rather old man - a vagabond to be sure - making jittery motions to and from his lips with two fingers.

     

        “I suppose you’d like a cigarette to go with those?”  I asked.


He didn’t reply but kept on with the motions.  I fumbled for my pack and turned again to find the tall man glancing back at me.  I lifted my pack towards him to offer him one, but again, he turned away with a child–like grin on his face.


          “Well, since you’re givin’ em away…” the old man greedily blurted out, grasping for the pack.   


          “One at a time old boy.”  I said to him as I handed him the cigarette.


He grumbled as he shuffled away.  I watched him as he walked, in an old tattered tuxedo, down a long hallway, and then he turned out of site. I saw the giant smiling still, by the reflection in the window.  The train was coming.  I soon noticed however that this was a freight train pulling in slowly to a stop.  The workers leapt off with their empty thermoses.  As they filed in from the tracks, the giant began to chuckle, without looking away from the window, nervously stroking his head.  The workers took no notice of him, but began walking towards me, shaking their heads and shrugging.   


          ”You waiting for the 12:15 from Chicago?”


          I nodded, wondering.


          “It’s going to be a little late, cuz the weather.” He said.


          “How late?” I asked.  Shrugs and a chorus of  “who knows” and “Good question” was my answer. 


Soon they were gone and I watched their cars pull out of the lot.  The security guard did not awaken from his slouched position at the information desk, despite the efforts of two young girls who were seated on a bench, tossing cigarette butts at him.  The girls appeared to be twins, and were dressed identically, with pink tights, little slipper shoes and scarves.  They each wore different colored oversized coats, which appeared, in fact, to be men’s coats.  They giggled and poked each other each time a cigarette butt bounced off the guards head or rolled down the back of his collar.