“Una’s father passed several years ago, and she would never have run away. She was… is a very happy child. Always laughing and playing. She loved school, too and has many friends there.”
I handed her another sheet of paper. “Write down all the information I need to get started, school address, friend’s names, other relatives, anyone I could speak to or any places I can check out. And, I need a photo.”
After a few minutes of furious writing, she handed it all to me taking a photo out of her purse, with a glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Nolan. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that someone will be helping us. Una is all I have now.” She paused for a moment, possibly reminiscing about something. “Oh, you never told me what you charge,” she finished.
“In a case like this, usually just expenses which should be minimal, I hope. I keep receipts. After I find your Una,” I said motioning to the photo, “we will talk about the rest.”
After she left I got up and I put on my hat, my raincoat and found my umbrella. It was still raining, at this rate we were all gonna float away. I hated pounding the pavement in the rain, but my wheels were in the shop, see what I mean? I figure I’d start with the school and then the neighbors. Also, I would head down toward the docks and nose around for what I could hear about any organized groups working the city.
Someone always knows something or so I thought, but this time there was almost nothing to go on after two days spent talking and questioning those who knew Una and her mother. I got soaked, but little else. I finally asked my buddy down in the 7th what he could find out. It seems the coppers did some asking around also but came up with nothing as well.
“What do you hear about a gang of snatchers working the city, then?” I asked him, perched on the edge of his desk, chewing on my cigar. The look on his face told me, if there was one it was news to him.
“If you’ve heard of something, you better spill it”, he said, looking up and glowering at me. So, there was nothing there, I thought to myself. If there was they’d been quiet as mice.
“Seems like this kid just upped and disappeared, see what I mean?” I said.
“Kids don’t just disappear.” He grumbled. Ordinarily I would agree, but usually there was something to go on.
“What’d you think about the kid’s mother, think she coulda done her in,” he asked me. I had to stop and ponder. She sure didn’t seem the type but hey, if life has taught me anything, it’s that you just never know. I told him as much.
“If we don’t at least find the body, we don’t have anything to go on,” he said shaking his head.
“With all this rain she coulda just washed down a storm drain,” I joked sadly.
“Well, if she did, the alligators had for her then.”
The End.
Victor
“Now arriving Amtrak train number 68 from Montreal. Next stop Albany-Rensellear. Alllllllll Aboard,” the old-time Amtrak agent spoke into the PA system of the small train station in upstate NY, out into the milling crowd of afternoon travelers. All were heading downstate, most into the city. Victor squealed with delight as the blue and silver train pulled into the station with a continuous tooting of its horn.
“Mom, Mom, here it is. C’mon, let’s go out,” Victor said, dodging through the crowd of people from the window where he had been on watch. Some were hugging loved ones goodbye while others were pulling on luggage toward the doors. When Victor reached her, he pulled on her hand to pull her up and led her outside.
Victor loved trains, always had. His parents occasionally brought him to the station to watch them come and go. The passenger trains that stopped for travelers north or south, the long freight trains that whizzed by the terminal, blowing their horns furiously or the excursion trains that originated here, with their double-decker dome cars that ran daily into the Adirondacks. Victor loved them all.
Once the people all boarded, and the train pulled out of the station with its bell ringing to resume its journey, Victor and his mom turned to go back into the station and visit the gift shop, Victor happy as a lark.
As they had been here many times, Victor immediately noticed the new posters advertising a special Christmas time train ride, ‘The Polar Express’, Victor almost fainted with excitement. The Polar Express was Victor’s favorite movie, and he had seen it at least a bazillion times. Imagine, the real Polar Express right here! Victor couldn’t contain himself, he whooped and danced in circles, pointing up to the posters. He almost peed his pants.
“Mom!” He managed to shout out just once.
The gift shop attendant also turned out to be the excursion train ticket agent, who couldn’t help but notice Victor’s excitement. “Whoa there, buddy… you’re gonna burst something,” he said laughing. “You wanna go to the North Pole and see Santa this year?”
Victor managed another strangled, “Mom!” the excitement deep in his eyes. Now also looking at the posters, Victor’s mom said, “It looks just like your favorite movie, Vic. Should we do it?” And turning to the agent said, “can you tell us about the ride?”
“Gladly,” the agent responded obviously enjoying the telling. “The Polar Express departs the station twice a night starting the night after Thanksgiving and every night until the day before Christmas Eve. As you board the ‘Conductor’ guides you to your seats and punches the special ‘Golden Ticket’. As the train travels up to the North Pole, dancing and singing ‘Chefs’ serve everyone hot chocolate and cookies. Once the train pulls into the North Pole station, Santa and all his Elves board the train for the ride back. Along the way the Elves lead everyone in caroling and Santa gives a special gift to every child.”
“Mom! It’s the real train like in the movie! Can we go?”
Arrangements were made, a date was chosen, and the fairly expensive tickets purchased for the second of the evenings ride on the night before Christmas Eve.
Today’s trip was one of the most unbelievable trips to the train station Victor had ever made. Imagine, the real Polar Express and Victor was going! Christmas this year was gonna be the best ever!
That night, when Victor’s dad got home from work, Victor was fairly bursting with the news of the Polar Express. He had kept a sharp eye out the window all day for his dad’s car to pull into the driveway. As soon as he saw it he gave out a loud ‘Whoop!” and ran to the door and flung it open.
“Dad, Dad!” he yelled so furiously Victor’s dad thought something must be terribly wrong and ran into the house. When his dad spied Victor’s mom’s hugely smiling face behind him, he felt reassured. “What is it, son?” his dad asked.
“We are going on the Polar Express! We saw it today at the train station and the guy said it goes to the North Pole and Santa will give me a present and there will be hot chocolate and elves and cookies. It’s real dad. It’s all real!” Victor blurted out in under five seconds flat.
“Wow, Vic that sounds great,” he said looking inquiringly at Victor’s mom.
“It’s true, Vic’s got it right. We are all going to the North Pole on the Polar Express,” she said handing the tickets and brochure to her husband.
“Wow”, is all he could think to say.
The days leading up to the big train ride seemed to last twice as long as normal for Victor. All he could think about was the Polar Express. He watched and re-watched the movie as many times as his parents would allow him and had an endless stream of questions. “What kind of cookies will we have?” he wondered. “How old are the elves?” he asked. “Will Santa give everyone a silver bell, like in the movie?” he inquired hopefully. “Will I get to keep the golden ticket?” and on and on.
Finally the day of the train ride arrived and right on time (no pun intended).
The traffic going into and coming out of the station in this small upstate New York city was heavily congested. This train station and the streets around it were never designed to accommodate the cars for the1600 people the two nightly Polar Express rides carrie
d. By the time they managed to park, Victor feared they were going to be too late to catch the train.
As soon as his dad stopped the car in the spot, Victor who was clad in his best PJ’s (that’s how you dress for the Polar Express) burst out of it and ran toward the waiting train, which could be seen and heard loudly idling on the other side of the station. It’s long passenger cars decorated gaily for the trip north.
“Victor!” He heard his dad yell. His response was not to slow or stop but to yell back, “Come on!” all good sense having run from his head like water running over a falls in his excitement.
Now though this is a smaller station as train stations go, it was still heavily used. There were no fewer than five tracks on which trains could travel.
As he ran up to the track side of the building Victor saw many groups of people waiting on the siding to board the Polar Express, all standing obediently behind the yellow line all excited and ready to go. The train looked magical to Victor, who knew deep in his young bones that he needed a closer look.
Without so much as a second thought, Victor darted out in front of the still train and around the engine to the other side onto the adjoining tracks. He had never been so close to the large and powerful engine or had this view of the long, snaking train of cars. He was totally and completely enthralled.
On that cold Christmas Eve’s eve, an excited young boy named Victor failed to realize his terrible danger. Just then, a heavily laden freight train was approaching the station from the other direction and though the engineer was keeping a sharp eye out, and progressing slowly past the busy passenger station, his horn tooting all the while, he never could have seen the small still figure of the young boy standing on the tracks, who was oblivious to everything going on around him.
It was too late for Victor when he finally realized his error and turned around just in time to see the blinding lights of the behemoth that was bearing inexorably upon him, to his ultimate doom.
There was no Polar express for anyone else the remainder of that year.
The End.
Winnie
I don’t know if her parents thought it would be some kind of lark to name their first daughter after the city she was born in, or if it was just out of some sort of absurd idiocy. Children should never be named cutesy little names to amuse their parents. If your last name is Bond, please do not name your child James. If your last name is Robbins, don’t name your son Christopher. If your last name is Mayonaise, don’t name your kid Hellmans. We’ve all met them, the Rainbow Auroras and the Bluebell Madonna’s of the world. The poor things, handicapped from the start.
Winnipeg Tremblay was a shy little thing, quiet and self-effacing. The kind of girl you might completely overlook, even if she was in the same room with you. In fact, many times her teachers would completely miss her when they took attendance, so even though she never missed a day of school, she had an awful attendance record.
“Winnie? Winnie? Winnipeg?” The teacher would ask, finally looking up from the ledger and even though little Winnie would whisper as loud as she could ‘Here’ and even raised her little hand, she would be overlooked. Being seated behind that big brute and bully of a boy, Josh Gagnon didn’t help. Poor Winnie couldn’t even see around him and often sat down on the floor under her desk in order to see the chalkboard from between his legs.
She was so quiet she easily slipped into and out of places totally unnoticed, even if she stopped and said ‘hello’ to whomever else was present. Several times the bus driver drove all the way back to the garage before he noticed little Winnie still on the bus when he started to sweep.
But Winnie was like every other girl in her 3rd grade class, she liked reading but she didn’t like fractions, she had trouble with her cursive ‘G’ and excelled at geography. Winnie liked princesses and dogs, liked to wear her hair in pony tails and her favorite color was yellow. She went to everyone’s birthday parties, even though she was hardly ever invited. She gave everyone in the class a valentine, even that horrible Josh Gagnon. She offered to share her homework, which was always completed on-time. She laughed when one of her classmates said a funny thing and cried just a little when she saw a smushed squirrel in the road.
Now Winnie’s parents weren’t bad parents, just distracted a bit. Winnie was so quiet and so well behaved even they didn’t always know she was nearby and in their defense, they were both busy professionals. So, as the seasons had passed Winnie largely made her own way through childhood.
Speaking of seasons, Winnie’s favorite was winter, and there was a lot of winter in Manitoba. One day you might go to bed after a pleasantly warm fall day and wake up in a winter wonderland. In Manitoba winter always came on in full force, like a D-Day invasion, it left only in little itty, bitty steps, spring fighting it for every inch of ground and new bud.
Winnie loved winter because she loved to ice fish. She loved ice fishing even more than her father, who was the one who taught her how in the first place. Her father would shake her awake early in the morning, even before the sun has completely woke, bundle her up in her warmest coat, boots, mittens and hat and off they would go to the frozen river to set out their tip-ups.
Winnie and her father would trudge down the bank with all their paraphernalia, the ice saw, the bait bucket, the collapsible stools, and all the stuff they needed to build a fire and make hot chocolate, and if they were gonna be there long enough or in the afternoon, hotdogs.
After finding a suitable spot on the ice, Winnie’s father would cut two or three holes and help Winnie bait and setup the tip-ups with their bright orange flags just ready to pop up at the first feel of a tug on the line. Then they would retreat to the nearest spot on the bank, and set their little camp fire and stools, and Winnie’s father would make the hot chocolate served steaming in bright white styrofoam cups. There would always be sticky cinnamon rolls too,, that her mother baked the previous night and sent along with them, wrapped in cloth napkins. It was a cold, but wonderful time.
Now another thing should be said about the ice in Manitoba. Ice formed quickly on the water in this Canadian Province, the bitter cold artic jet stream saw to that. A still lake or pond might form four to five inches of ice in the deep cold winter night. There were always little dashes out to the tip-ups being made to keep the ice in the holes loosened, in case a big fish had to be pulled up through one. Pulled up and released, for Winnie wouldn’t have it any other way.
After a successful morning of ice fishing, and after exclamations of frozen toes and cold noses, with much rubbing of hands together, everything would be packed back up and loaded back into the car, with the heater blasting for Winnie and her Father.
It just so happened that this autumn, Winnie’s teacher was hosting a classroom contest, the winners of which would be invited to her home in the week before Christmas for sledding, ice skating and a winter cookout. Winnie’s teacher distributed colored notecards to tape on everyone’s desk and on these cards the teacher would make a mark every time the student in question accomplished something good. Hand raised and question answered equaled a mark. Homework turned in on time equaled a mark. B or better on a test equaled a mark. Perfect attendance every week equaled a mark. Desk and surrounding area left clean and neat at the end of the day equaled a mark. The whole class was very excited with the idea of all of this and anxious to make their marks.
Winnie earned an admirable number of marks on her yellow note card, as many as anyone, in fact. But she noticed that Josh, sitting directly in front of her wasn’t earning very many, and was obviously becoming sad about it as the end of the contest approached. Feeling sorry for him, every time Winnie passed by Josh’s desk she would surreptitiously take her pencil and add a mark onto Josh’s card. No one noticed, not even Josh.
After collecting up the cards at the end of the contest period, and adding up all the marks, I’m sure Winnie’s teacher was surprised that Josh had accumulated so many marks. Since it had always been her intention to invite everyone
in the class anyway, as was only right, she gave it no never mind.
Finally, the big day came. Winnie was very particular that day about her attire. She insisted to her mother that she wear only her best winter garb, the boots with the faux fur lining, the big fluffy yellow ski jacket and the brown mittens with the faux fur ruffle. Added to all this was her favorite yellow scarf sent last Christmas from her grandmother, and the rainbow-colored hat with the long top with the big fuzzy ball at the very tip.
When Winnie was dropped off, everything was as festive as could be at her teacher’s house. Christmas lights were gaily strung over bushes and trees, paper bag lights were used to line the shoveled path into the back yard where a brightly decorated tent was set up with tables and chairs and electric heaters and tables overflowing with bowls of chips and salads and chocolates and row upon row of soft drinks. Several enclosed fire pits were in the yard and at least two grills going full strength. There were gales of laughter and screams of joy coming from several groups of children already there, from around the sledding hill or from around the snowman building area. Here and there groups of children were dotted with adults, some of the parents who were enjoying themselves just as much. Winnie’s parents were too busy to attend.
26 Absurdities of Tragic Proportions Page 13
