The Wrong Side of the Tracks
a story about the absurdity of love and hell
LaDasia grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. Literally. Her dad was a train mechanic, renting a home on the back lot of the train yard.
LaDasia’s neighborhood was the clackity-clack of rail joints, the mesmerizing figure eights of coupling rods, and the ever-present fragrance of fuel. Her backyard was a caboose, retired on its side, dirt, weeds, and sunflowers wildly spilling out into a tiny garden. Her home was the grease-stained fingerprints on lemonade glasses, the soapy fragrance of her father lying next to her at bedtime, and the stubble of his kiss tucking her in, even late into her teenage years, whispering, “Sleep tight grease chicken.”
Closing her eyes to the lonely sound of the train whistle, LaDasia didn’t imagine she was on the wrong side of anything.
The right side of the tracks was a different world, and for most, a more desirable place to live. The sights were more sightly, the fragrances more fragrant, and the noises less noisy. LaDasia’s friends often visited the right side, pulling her along, balancing on old pipes, climbing through rusty fences, and skipping over dilapidated train tracks. They laughed, dreamed, and enumerated lists of ways life would be better if only they could live on the right side.
Crisscrossing thresholds to both worlds, LaDasia couldn’t deny life on the other side was different. She saw, felt, and experienced it, but after a few hours on the right side, she often found herself fielding a variety of emotions. Loneliness? Coldness? Judgment? Maybe all the above. Something was lacking on the right side.
Returning home, late at night, the words of her friends assaulting the quietness of the star-filled sky, LaDasia would drift back a few yards, alone in thoughts, attempting to work out the missing link. Sure, the other side was nice. And yes, some even labeled it perfect. But her nose would scrunch up as she considered the word, perfect: clean lines, indefectible cityscapes, and polished assemblages of architecture, people, and pretense. Was that what it meant to be perfect? Was perfect a thing you could weigh or measure? Was it something you could regiment or standardize? Maybe her discomfort didn’t center around perfection. Maybe her discomfort centered around definitions of perfection.
She continued to accompany her friends most weekends throughout high school and even after graduating. Still, she always looked forward to returning home, to throw on sweats, wrap up her head of curls, and burrow deep into a bevy of pillows. She had little desire to live somewhere other than her chaotic, authentic, imperfect home.
However, one Friday night, LaDasia’s desires began to be influenced. Leaping over tracks, hand in hand, laughing, she and her friends met a group of young men. LaDasia, playfully nudged forward by hands in the middle of her back, introduced herself to a kind young gentleman by the name of Emiliano.
She was immediately intrigued by the confident yet humble manner in which Emiliano carried himself. She guessed he came from somewhere important. Her hunch was confirmed as the night unfolded. Emiliano hesitated, changed subjects, and smiled shyly, but eventually revealed his identity: his father owned the trains. All the trains. And the train yard. The entire railroad industry.
LaDasia’s eyes widened upon hearing the news. She grew quiet, then separated herself from the crowd to sit down. She took a deep breath and attempted to wrap her mind around the fact that Emiliano’s father was the single most powerful man in the world.
A minute later, she slapped her legs and jumped up to find her friends. Approaching the group, she recognized Emiliano in the back of the group, waiting for her. He stood leaning against a streetlamp, hands in pockets, kicking at something in the street.
He wasn’t the most handsome man she had ever met. Though as soon as she concluded the thought, it crashed up against the next thought: then again, he wasn’t the most unattractive, either. Yes, his nose was a bit sharp and jagged, like the dorsal fin of a battle-tested shark, but there was nothing sharklike about the rest of his appearance or demeanor. His hair was brilliant and black and fell easily across his forehead. His eyes were inviting and deeply almond. And his voice—she’d heard it as she approached—emanated from somewhere generous and expansive.
“Hi, I thought we lost you,” he said.
“No, Emiliano,” she shook her head, skipping the last step to stand in front of him squarely. She smiled, “I’m not lost.”
He nodded slowly and returned her smile.
“C’mon,” she said, ducking her head a bit while brushing her shoulder up against his chest. “Let’s catch up with the others.”
Despite their contrasting backgrounds, the young couple made a connection—that evening and throughout the following week. And the week after that. LaDasia couldn’t quite make sense of the relationship. She wasn’t particularly insecure about her inconsequential life on her side, but she couldn’t help but feel a sense of intimidation whenever she contemplated the importance of Emiliano’s family on his side.
Emiliano, for his part, did nothing to make her feel insecure. He was, in every sense of the word, a gentleman. He was neither pushy nor controlling. He was neither weak nor overbearing. When they spoke of where they came from, he expressed little anxiety. When they imagined where they might be going, he was confident.
The more time they spent together, the more she learned how he held his father in great respect. His father influenced his decisions, his opinions, and his outlook. He did little without first checking in to see how it would affect his dad or the family business. Ultimately this served to make Emiliano even more endearing. LaDasia related well to someone who respected their father. Not surprisingly, the friendship quickly blossomed with signs of romance.
…
Early one Saturday morning, only a few weeks into the young couple’s relationship, LaDasia’s father was in his shed hunched over a workbench. His back slowly warmed in the waking sun as he peered through reading glasses at a small mechanical apparatus. An old transistor radio thinly distributed the fat sounds of eras gone by as he hummed along. Coffee grounds and morning dew billowed in and out as if the shed itself were inhaling and exhaling.
Caught up in his work as he was, LaDasia’s father failed to notice a large SUV, burnished black and proud, roll up and onto the yard behind him. It covered the entirety of the dirt drive, a portion of the yard, and even spilled back out onto gravel road. LaDasia’s father continued to hum, oblivious. Four black suits stepped out of the car. Two flanked the garage. Two quietly approached the mechanic’s back still bent over the workbench.
In a soft but serious tone, one of the black suits said, “Excuse me.”
LaDasia’s dad swiveled his chair. He was so shocked by the dark suits, so taken aback by the titanic SUV sprawled over the front yard, that he froze, speechless, peering above his readers at the scene unfolding before him.
The backdoors of the SUV opened. The mechanic squinted through countless points of sunlight refracting off the vehicle as a figure emerged. Initially, he could only make out a dark shape; then, closer, the shape took the form of a tall man. Closer still, the man became instantly and shockingly recognizable: the owner of the trains, the train yard, and the entire railroad industry!
The railroad magnate ducked just inside the shed. He stood still for a moment and allowed his eyes to adjust. He pulled gloves off and asked, in a voice as deep as a cave, “Are you LaDasia’s father?”
LaDasia’s father froze. Only his head nodded.
Emliano’s father looked him up and down. “Can you speak?”
The mechanic finally gained a measure of control. He sat up straight. “Oh,” he said. Then he stood up. Then he wiped his hands on his overalls and said, “Oh, yes. Yes, I can speak. I speak well.”
The lines across the railroad owner’s forehead grew more pronounced for a moment.
“Uh, sorry,” stammered LaDasia’s father. “What I mean is, well, I was unaware …”
Emiliano’s father, attempting to breach the world of differences between them, interrupted the stammering by extending his hand. LaDasia’s father looked down at the hand, then hesitantly mirrored the movement, shaking for such a long time that the train mogul had to peel his fingers away.
The mechanic quickly resumed stammering while he began searching the shed for a stool to offer his guest. He was processing a hundred different reasons why this man would be here at his home. He wondered if LaDasia had done something wrong. Or if he had done something wrong. He put one hand on the workbench for stability, the speed of his thoughts causing him lightheadedness.
The railroad owner, wiping his hand on a handkerchief supplied by one of the black suits, noticed the mechanic’s distress. He said, “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m only here because of my son. I assume you are aware of the relationship between our children?”
“Oh, oh, yes, I do.”
“Well,” continued the tycoon stretching his hand like a game show host to the car behind, “My son has a request to make of you.”
On cue, Emiliano stepped out of the back seat of the SUV. The train mechanic shielded his eyes as more sunlight from the movement of the car door blasted into the toolshed. Emiliano stepped past the black suits and ducked inside. He smiled warmly at LaDasia’s father.
And then Emiliano uttered the sentence that altered the mechanic’s life. “Sir, I would like permission to ask your daughter to marry me.”
Confusion gave way to more confusion for LaDasia’s father. This was unexpected. He looked at the floor as if he were trying to find a place to hide. Then he looked back up at Emiliano. He stood motionless, again, with his mouth slightly open. Finally, he closed his mouth, held up one finger, and said, “Could I go get LaDasia? I think she might want to see this. Or hear this, or uh, be here.”
Both Emiliano and his father nodded.
LaDasia’s father rushed out of the shed. A moment later, he retraced his steps, pointing ahead with one hand and behind with the other, “Sorry, I uh …”—he walked across to the other side of the shed—“I went the wrong …” He didn’t finish the sentence. He just walked out the other side and went inside the house.
He used one hand to knock on LaDasia’s door and the other to scratch the back of his head. Not willing to knock a second time, he slipped into her room and located her head under an avalanche of pillows and blankets. He said, “Uh, honey?”
LaDasia mumbled something unintelligible, then rolled over without opening her eyes.
“Um, Emiliano and his father are here …”
“Hm, hm, OK.”
“Yeah, look, here’s the thing, he’s asking for your hand in marriage?”
LaDasia grunted and mindlessly poked some tresses back underneath her bandanna. She attempted to open one eye and said, “Daddy, that’s hilarious.”
Her father, gently sitting down at the foot of her bed, said, “No, really, they’re outside right now.”
LaDasia lay still a moment longer, but then her brain processed the tone of her father’s voice. Her eyes shot open.
“What?”
Her father nodded his head and patted her leg, although after a few pats, they both realized he was actually patting his own leg.
LaDasia stared at her father’s nodding and patting, trying to work through what he was saying. Wildly, she sat up on her elbows and snatched at the window blinds. She slowly lifted one eye just high enough to peek outside. At the sight of Emiliano leaning up against the massive SUV, she dove back under her pillows.
Again, she said, “What?”
She kicked the covers off her feet, leaped out of bed, walked partway down the hallway, then stopped. She turned and looked at her dad to confirm she heard him correctly. He nodded yes as she replayed his words over in her mind. Her eyebrows furrowed so deeply that her forehead became half its normal size as she said with even more intensity, “What?”
A moment later, she ferociously ripped the bandanna off her head. She leaned over and shook her hair out. She launched a thousand curls up and behind her as she stood up. She spun on her heels and attacked the hallway to the front door. Barely slowing down, eyes still straight ahead, all in one move, she reached into the half bath, grabbed a bottle of mouthwash, and—still walking—took a swig, swung the front door open, and confidently stepped out onto their small, dilapidated porch. Then, after a moment, she chucked the mouthwash behind her into a bush.
“Ah, there you are,” Emiliano laughed. “For a moment, I wondered if you would be joining us.”
“Hi!” LaDasia blurted out louder than she intended.
She surveyed the front yard. Although she hadn’t previously met Emiliano’s father, she instantly recognized him.
He seemed nice.
Good grief, his car was nice.
His suit was very nice.
Suddenly, she thought of the pajamas she was wearing. Still on the little front porch, in one motion, she reached back inside the house, grabbed her father’s hoodie hanging on the coatrack, and quickly pulled it over her head.
Emiliano saw her anxiety, rushed up on the porch, and said, “Hey, hey, it’s OK.”
She asked, “What are you doing? Here? Now.” She pulled at the sweatshirt, which came down to her knees, “I mean, what is going on?”
Then Emiliano knelt in front of LaDasia. She gasped, took a step back, and put a hand over her mouth. Her father saw the young man kneeling and his daughter’s surprise. Instinctively, in an effort to support her, and because he didn’t know what else to do, he stepped up and grabbed her other hand. Emiliano paused at her father’s unexpected movement, which gave Emiliano’s father time to appreciate the gesture of solidarity between father and daughter. Nodding his head in deference, he stepped forward and grabbed Emiliano’s open hand as well.
And there, with Emiliano on one knee, one hand extended to LaDasia holding a ring, the other awkwardly holding onto his father’s hand, with LaDasia in her hoodie and pajamas, keeping one hand over her mouth while desperately clutching her father’s greasy hand with the other, with the four of them crowded on the little porch, with black suits positioned around the home, with a growing number of children peering through the chain-link fence, and neighbors leaning out windows, and the sun rising in the background, Emiliano said, “LaDasia, will you marry me?”
The entire neighborhood inhaled. The world went quiet for a moment. Then LaDasia slowly lowered her hand from her mouth … and … laughed and laughed.
Over and over again, she laughed.
…
Her father glanced nervously at his daughter, then at the railroad owner, then at Emiliano, then back to his daughter. He nodded slightly, his countenance announcing to all gathered that he found her to be overjoyed.
As LaDasia continued to laugh, his eyes went through the rotation again: his daughter, the owner, Emiliano, back to his daughter. He rocked up on his toes a bit, turning his head slightly to watch her laugh. Then, with LaDasia doubled over in tears, he rocked even higher and began to drum his fingers on the side of his leg. A drop of sweat formed at the edge of his right eyebrow.
LaDasia snorted and laughed even more.
Emiliano was perplexed. His father even more so. Some of the neighbors shook their heads. Others quickly looked the other way. Children giggled as they peeked through the fence. The only people unaffected were the four black suits.
LaDasia continued to lean over and laugh. One hand held her side while the other clutched desperately at her father. This went on for several seconds. LaDasia’s father’s hand began to turn white.
Finally, LaDasia calmed down enough to speak. “Oh, my, my,” she said, looking at her would-be husband. “Oh, Emiliano, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Honestly, I am completely overwhelmed and humbled.”
She finally let go of her father and knelt in front of Emiliano. She put both hands on his face, inadvertently transferring grease from her father’s hand to Emiliano’s face. She burst into laughter again but then quickly regained her composure.
She took a big breath and looked at Emiliano. She turned her head slightly in admiration as she exhaled. The fragrance of mouthwash filled the space between them. “Emiliano, thank you so much, but …”—she was still holding his cheeks—“but I don’t think I’m ready for this kind of commitment. Seriously, this is such a big decision. I don’t think I can say yes. I am so sorry.”
Emiliano stood up slowly without response. LaDasia, only a beat behind, mirrored his movement and stood up as well. They looked at each other for a moment.
Emiliano’s father said, “Did I hear correctly?” Emiliano lowered his head and took a slight step back as his father inched forward.
LaDasia faced the owner and said, “Sir, thank you so much. This is all so very kind. This is all …”—she extended her hand, gesturing toward the car and the black suits—“it’s all so nice. This whole thing is so nice. And, and the car is super large.” She swallowed and rubbed her forehead with the sleeves of the sweatshirt that extended well beyond her hands. “And the guys there with their black suits. Very nice. Very, very nice …”
Emiliano’s father interrupted her by turning his attention toward LaDasia’s father. He looked directly into his eyes, “You must understand, my son loves your daughter.”
LaDasia’s father begin feeling normal for the first time all morning. He felt clarity and even courage. He wanted to return the railroad owner’s look squarely, but with the four of them on the little porch, he couldn’t quite pull it off. He tried to glare, but he was too far away. So he shuffled his feet forward, reorganizing the space between the four of them. The less room he could find, the more agitated he grew.
Finally, he gave up, stood straight where he was, and said, “I’m very sorry, sir. Maybe the children need some time.” He glanced at LaDasia to confirm she was confident, then back at the owner, and said, “I support whatever LaDasia decides.”
Again, it was quiet. Then Emiliano’s father spoke. He was confident and controlled. “I don’t think you understand. He loves your daughter.” As he said this, he reached out to put his hand on LaDasia’s shoulder, the other hand on his chest. “I do as well, and I have a wonderful plan for her and her life”—he nodded his head backward—“on the other side of the tracks.”
A moment later, it was Emiliano’s turn to step forward. His father, sensing his movement, shuffled backward. LaDasia and her dad adjusted as well. The four of them recalibrated their positions across the creaking and groaning porch. LaDasia and Emiliano were now in the front, with each of the fathers standing behind. Emiliano said, “Look, LaDasia, I know this is all kind of sudden, but we really need to make a decision.” Emiliano glanced around the neighborhood. LaDasia recognized the glance. She realized, for the first time, that Emiliano wasn’t particularly excited about being on the wrong side of the tracks. The thought did nothing but confirm her decision.
She said, “But, why? What’s the rush?”
“I … I can’t stay here.” He looked down at his feet.
Feeling her face grow warm, she asked, “Why, what’s wrong with here?”
“My father has somewhere for me to go, but I really want you to go with me.” His voice rose in intensity as he looked up at her and said, “I love you!”
LaDasia, once again sensing how generous the overture was, attempted to lower her emotion. “I know you do, but I’m not ready. And honestly”—she looked around at her neighborhood and her father—“I love it here.” She was forced to increase the volume of the sentence as she said, yelling by the the time she said the word, “here,” as noise from a train rolling behind the house crashed in and all around them. She shrugged and held her index finger up, wordlessly asking for patience.
…
Engulfed in the noise of the train, LaDasia killed time by glancing at the fence off to the side of the porch. She noted the random grouping of sunflowers growing up and through the chain links at various heights. She looked up, observing the porch light as it convulsed and swayed to the rhythm of the passing train. She looked out over the yard and road. Neighbors leaning out of windows, smiling and talking to one another. She looked at their faces, then the faces of the black suits devoid of reaction, and then the face of Emiliano’s father. She observed the way the wrinkles in his forehead faded as the noise of the train faded.
In the wake of silence that followed the last train car, she clutched at Emiliano’s hands and repeated herself. “I love it here.” Then she added, “there are so many good things.”
Emiliano bowed his head in submission. He took a step back onto his father’s toe, his father wincing only slightly. Then the two of them reshuffled again, which triggered another repositioning by LaDasia and her father.
The railroad tycoon summed it up. “I think it’s obvious how much we love you, LaDasia. I have a wonderful plan. It’s not to stay here, in this …” He peered over his shoulder. “Well, it’s not to stay here. I’m so excited for my plan to develop and materialize, however …”—his eyes locked onto LaDasia’s father—“if your daughter refuses Emiliano’s hand in marriage I will punish her and her household.”
LaDasia raised a hand over her mouth. Her father wrapped his arms around her shoulder.
Emiliano’s father continued. “It’s obvious she and you are obsessed with the wrong side of the tracks. But what fellowship does the wrong side have with the right side? Look, we are freely offering you the way out. I hope you know we offer this way because Emiliano loves her, but if she doesn’t respond”—his voice lowered—“she, you, and all your family will lose their jobs.”
A bolt of energy shot down LaDasia’s arms into fists pointed at the ground. She glared at the man out from under an extended brow.
The owner continued. “And you will be left homeless.”
LaDasia’s father raised his chin and squeezed his daughter tighter.
“And, unfortunately,” he said with resignation, “she will be tied to the railroad tracks.”
Anger morphed into confusion for LaDasia. She covered her mouth in horror while her father scrunched up one eye, mouthing the word, “What?”
Neither Emiliano nor his father acknowledged their reaction. They spun on their heels, stepped off the porch, and marched back to the SUV.
Emiliano’s father threw his hand up in the air to accentuate how wasteful it would be if LaDasia made the wrong choice. “Trains will run over her as she is tied to the tracks.” Taking a few more steps, then pausing, he said, “Again, and again.”
The last steps were the slowest. The black suits opened the back doors of the vehicle. Emiliano quietly got in first, then his father—who, taking one last look back at LaDasia, repeated, “We love you, but the trains will never stop running over you. Again, and again, for years and years.”
He looked at his watch. “We’ll give you one hour.” He jumped into the vehicle as the door slammed behind him. He stuck his cell phone through the open moonroof, waved it, and shouted, “You know where to find us!”
The SUV, too large for the space it was in, lurched forward, leaving tracks in the yard, then backward, knocking over a trash can. The process repeated itself before it finally sped off down the gravel road.
LaDasia and her father stood speechless with the railroad owner’s gracious and magnanimous invitation hanging in the air, floating, dissipating like so much dust in the last of the morning’s light.
The End