The train sat, unmoving, about 20 yards back from the crossing on Hadley Road. It was dark, and it was time to get this long beast moving. The engineer knew that the approaching car couldn’t see the train, so he thought he’d have some fun. He waited until the car got just the right distance from the tracks–close enough that he would need to screech the brakes to stop. Wait, wait…now. The engineer blared the horn and turned on the headlight at the same time, knowing he had just scared the crap out of the hapless driver.
I was that hapless driver last Thursday night, coming home from music practice with my wife. Following the script, I stomped on the brake and came to a stop just a few feet from the tracks. Then the crossing guard lights began flashing, and I felt like they would come down on my hood.
The horn, the headlight, the flashing lights, the mere presence of that mighty train a few yards away–yeah, it was a multiple whammy. Enough to cause Post-Traumatic Stress.
The train moved forward, gradually gaining speed. As the engine passed, I nodded toward the man sitting in that darkened window and acknowledged, “You got me good.”
