Last Train To Clarkdale

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

They climbed into the car together under the watchful eye of a crewmember and claimed a seat near the middle of the car. Clay followed Jon, which seemed a completely natural thing to do.

“I’m going to go to the closest open car as soon as we get underway,” Jon said, as they sat opposite each other in the pair of facing bench seats. “There’s no way to get decent pictures in here, and that’s the main purpose of my jaunt. In fact, the owner contracted me to get some shots for their new brochure, but I’ll be doing some freelance stuff as well.”

“Great. That’s my plan, too, for taking some pictures, I mean. Of course, I’m not a real photographer, a very amateur one at best, but I do want some souvenirs. When I lived here years ago, I always wanted to ride the train and see firsthand the amazing engineering of this old track. I never had the chance, though. It was just a local freight then, and they didn’t allow passengers. I almost had one of the engineers talked into letting me ride in the cab, rules or no, but there was no way to get back home before the next train came in, which was at least two days. My folks would’ve had apoplexy!”

Jon glanced at him with apparent surprise. “You grew up here? That must’ve been different. I wouldn’t have figured you for a company town kid.”

Clay felt a wave of heat wash up his face. He dropped his gaze. “I wasn’t, really. My folks just found a cheap place to live for a while. I got away as soon as I had my high school diploma. Not much to hold youth here in those days. Still not, I guess.”

He shifted, feeling an inclination to slouch in his seat. His old habit of trying to disappear or at least become unobtrusive had returned. He’d thought he’d shaken it. “This is the first time I’ve been back. Not sure why, really. Something seemed to be pulling at me to visit the old home town.”

“I was a military brat,” Jon replied, his tone making it almost a confession. “Home was never a real concept to me—just Dad’s duty stations that came and went; some pleasant and some not so much. I’ve never learned how to settle down. Might never. Being a gypsy feels better, easier anyway.”

With blasts of the horn—the traditional two longs, a short, and a long of warning—the paired diesels revved, shooting up a billow of dark smoke. Then they began to move. Within a few minutes, the train passed behind the black mound of slag, the residue from smelting copper and other valuable minerals out of the ore mined at nearby Jerome when Clarkdale had been the smelter town for those mines. All of the mining related industry was long gone, some remnants of it after Clay had left. Then, as the train moved on, the town and the wider part of the valley fell behind them.

When Jon stood, Clay did, too, and then Jon led the way to the open observation car directly behind Flagstaff. With any luck, it wouldn’t be too crowded. Clay hoped the big photographer would stake out a good spot to use his cameras, two digital and one traditional 35mm SLR from what he’d seen. Maybe Clay could take advantage of it, too. He pulled his small digital camera out of his daypack, feeling a bit abashed, yet filled with excitement. Compared to Jon’s, his camera was a mere toy. He just hoped he could get a few good shots for keepsakes. Even perhaps one or two of his new friend…Jon was such an attractive man, so big and masculine, confident and full of purpose.

He knew there was no use in dreaming, but he could not help feeling drawn to the big guy. The pain and hurt he’d felt since breaking off his two-year relationship with Will Sanders eased its grip while he let his hopes and wishes have brief free rein. Even though he and Will had trains in common, it hadn’t been enough to build the durable bond he’d hoped for. Perhaps he’d never have that kind of partner.