Two Trains

There is an incredibly awful feeling, most people know it, that hits below the pit of your stomach when you know you've made a mistake that you cannot fix. If you've never felt it, be glad. I hope you never do. First your brain realizes the mistake, then it hits just above the belt, and ends up as a giant lump in your throat. I know, perhaps you do as well. But, hey, I'm getting way ahead of myself. It's just anytime you think about it, it can invoke a hint of that feeling.

I'm not exactly sure why my final choice was a university in the deep south. It could have been the accent that sealed the deal, but I can't be sure. All I knew was where I was headed. It was a dorm room in a mundane hall on a campus that I loved, but you probably wouldn't, and we were on the 5th floor. It was the last floor for mean, and the four above us were reserved for women. The weekend held nothing, no one was home. It was Labor Day, and 99.9% of the hall were from the home state, or one nearby, and they headed back. It was then I met up with a handful of people who were from too far away to take a weekend off. A couple of them became very good friends, and one of those was from Chicago. While we had a similar stature, I was more muscular in a whipcord manner. Other than that, we were like a negative and a picture. He was dark skinned with dark hair, and I was fair with brown hair that lightened under the sun. His eyes were dark brown, if I recall correctly, mine a pale green. There was one other thing we had in common. We both had the same first name, which we'd use, but Chicago and Philly were easier.

That's the background of this little cautionary tale, if you will. The meat of it starts when all the other freshmen came back to campus, and soon our co-ed dorm was filled with young people. I'd met my roommate just for a few hours before he headed back home, but almost all of these people were new to me. I'd heard their accents before, but having them all around me was such a unique experience. And to them, not only did I sound funny, but I spoke so fast they would occasionally ask me to slow down. I had lived in rural areas before, but never in the south. There was an almost constant sound of country music twang in the halls, even a small crowd of guys had an unmistakable smell of chew, and the spice of the cooking was incredible. Yes, even in the campus dining halls. Other than that, there were the little things. For example, most of the pickup trucks had a gun rack, and rifles or shotguns. I met very few who didn't hunt and fish, and though I had done both, they were fanatical about it.

For the most part, they were nice people. They could get a little touchy when the lovely ladies in Daisy Duke shorts and cowboy boots found me interesting. It wasn't my fault I talked different, had interesting tales to tell, and looked pretty good in my "northern" clothes. But oh my, when my friend walked up with a sweet southern belle, I was staggered. A face that could launch a thousand ships and everything else along with it. Then when she talked, well, it was all over. Here was the thing. I had a girl back home, even though I was fairly certain I wouldn't return soon, if ever. I'd though perhaps she might follow me to the same school, but an odd misunderstanding had ended it in under a month. However, my friend also had a woman back home, and when I last saw him two semesters later, it was still an item. But I could never reveal what I knew. Besides, at first even the Helen of this tale had a man back home. I would find this out one night while having drink in our dorm room, and her roommate had pointed him in our direction. He drank his share with us, and at one point his girlfriend disappeared. What he missed was the fact another particular male was no longer in attendance. He returned to my room after checking her room a floor above and coming up empty. His fuming got worse as minutes passed, and I finally told him I'd go look for her. Before I left, I had to make a $100 bet that I could find her. I walked thirty feet, knocked on a door, and told the partially clothed goddess to come fetch her boyfriend from my room. Easiest hundred I ever made.

That was the first night we spent together. She ended up "stuck" in my room.

We didn't have sex, exactly, but it was incredibly intimate. I recall the smell of her soap and shampoo, and the feel of her body next to mine. It was the first time she'd been away from Chicago since they'd met. Sometimes you think stars align, and perhaps you believe what you want is going to occur, and it was that kind of night. We listed to music, and I thought that we'd changed the whole dynamic. I'd only been enraptured by one other woman, in my teens, but this was different. Or so I thought. What she'd really done was pitted us against each other with only one of us knowing it. It was a train oncoming, and I was headed right at it on the same track.

It went that way for awhile. I had several casual relationships, and I sure got a nasty look from our Helen when she saw me with one. I'll never quite understand it. Perhaps there are some things you just don't get to understand. Then along came Christmas. Explaining my family would take several volumes, but I can give you a very quick description of my situation. Poor. That semester I had very little spending money, and what little I had went for beer, naturally. I'd taken out a student loan, and it covered my dorm, classes, books, and meals. Except for Sunday, when you were on your own, and we made due. It was odd you were allowed a refrigerator, but not a microwave. We went down to the local thrift store, bought one that had knobs, and put rabbit ears on it. No one ever figured that one out. I had no money for a trip home, and no one at home was going to buy me a ticket. I was prepared to camp out and raid local food banks, but fate intervened. It wasn't in my plans to join a fraternity, but when I did I had a place to stay, even if I still needed provisions.

Then strange pieces fell into place. Chicago went home to Chicago for the break, the fraternity house was empty, and our Helen wanted to keep her job, so she had to stick around. She also needed a place to stay, and asked if she could bunk at my place. It solved the food problem, since she worked at KFC. I didn't mind living off chicken and sides, and to this day the smell sends me back, even if the crunch eating it turns me off. Best of all, I had this very special woman to myself. She confided in me quite a bit, and knew Chicago still had a girlfriend. We ended up sleeping in the same bed, even though we never consummated the relationship. She had a week off, was going home, and stunned me with an invitation to join her. The family was amazing, and welcoming, and her father was such an awesome man. He even taught me how to make arrowheads and boomerangs! I also saw Helen nude right in front of me, and that memory I'll keep. When we drove back to campus it was almost in silence.

That night we made love.

It would be the only time. While it went on, it was passionate to crazy, with stops in between. Once it was over, one of us had regrets. I wouldn't try and push her into something, even though I thought it was right. Yet every time I try to step away, she'd draw me back somehow. In the end, I suppose I found a railroad siding and got out of the way. Chicago enjoyed her company for the rest of the semester, but her trip to the Windy City that summer went horribly wrong, I'm told. Maybe, and perhaps I'm biased, she made a mistake in two ways. First, you set people in competition with each other, but worse, you made the wrong choice.

(WC:1489)

Two Trains

In 1966 I found my love
In 1967 I had all there was
And as my time went by I was satisfied
Until that situation took me by surprise

Now there's two trains runnin' – on that line
One train's me, and the other's a friend of mine
You know it would be all right, be just fine
If the woman took one train, and left the other behind

Illusion; it is just the same. Conclusion:
I don't know how to play the game
Of what it is or how it's going to be
When one train is my friend and the other train is me

Easy, I say easy, I can't push or shove her
So I guess I really care
Now I'm not one to hide my love behind a lock and key
But if things keep on the way they are, be no place left for me, yeah

There's two trains runnin' – on that line
One train's me, and the other's a friend of mine
You know it would be all right, be just fine
If the woman took one train, and left the other behind

Two trains, two trains, two trains, two trains

SONGWRITER: Lowell George