Page 2 of Miles. Alton & The 9:04
“Please stop raising your hands; there are no quick answers in this business,” she stated.“Love will find a way even if it has to fight for the right to exist.I have made perfect matches with couples who ended up with someone else, although on paper, everything was perfect.In time, they would have found a groove, but deep inside of each of them, they knew, yes, this is good, but what if...”
The audience gasped.Coraline began to smile.One match came to mind that she felt honored to share with the attendees.
“It's true.I think my favorite match making story is out of Illinois, with a man named Thom and his best friend Jiminy Earl, who has a pet porcupine.The porcupine's name is Petr Qwill,” she said as the audience physically leaned in to hear more.“When I say it is one of my favorites, it truly is because love showed up in such a way, I found myself sighing in disbelief for all involved, including the porcupine.”
A warm feeling eased into her gut as she thought of how she would broach the story of the train-loving station manager, the feisty blond, and the best friend who had a randy porcupine as a pet.With each of the matchmaking clients she had, the file folders were given quirky names to match the location, the events, and a random fact.This story was no different.
Coraline held the side of the podium, “I call this one Miles.Alton, and the 9:04.You see, the 9:04 train in Alton, Illinois is a no longer functioning service line, and even when it was, the train was always on time...”
Chapter One – Fight
In the distance, theblaring of the horn echoed through the crisp air, announcing the impending arrival of the 11:12 train out of Chicago making its entrance into the outskirts of Alton, Illinois, a town of roughly twenty-five thousand ghost hunting, music loving souls.Alton, the birthplace of jazz great Miles Davis and one of the most haunted cities in America, created the backdrop for a love story sideways in the making but forward facing in drama.A lone champion for the town sat behind his desk, listening to the sound, acknowledging the arrival time of train and his need to get to work.
From the coat rack which rested behind the door of his office, he removed the outerwear he'd hung earlier.The corduroy felt heavy in his hand, almost equaling the weight of his regrets as he donned the knee-length coat.Momentarily, it would be time to go out to meet the train.There were people in the station waiting to board for St.Louis, the next stop for the Lincoln Service line after picking up traveling connectors for Western riders on through Kansas City.Between himself and the ticket agent, Pearlie Mae, they could load, unload, and board passengers in less than fifteen minutes.No one really chose Alton, Illinois, as a destination outside of ghost hunting season or the jazz fest, but the town was used as a connection at a station with less traffic than Springfield and less densely populated that St.Louis.Residents of nearby cities like Effingham or Centralia preferred to drive over to Alton versus bus it over as part of the fare with the rail lines.
The horn blasted again as he checked his watch.It was a quarter of twelve, which placed the 11:12 into Alton at only thirty-five minutes late, give or take minutes on a dial.A scarf, given to him for a past birthday by his foster sister Kimbrae, swaddled his neck as a brace against the cold.He waved a gloved hand at Pearlie Mae as she rolled the passenger luggage on the cart onto the embarking platform.She'd called for the Southbound riders to line up for boarding.Later in the day, the night shift crew would do this again for the North Bound riders of the line headed towards Chicago.
Snow and dust flew in the air as the train barreled down the track and pulled into the station.The loud hiss of the brakes, followed by the smell of diesel fuel, announced the engine parking.Bodies exited the rail cars as people met friends and families, while loners clutched tightly to singular backpacks for a start to a new journey as they disembarked the cylindrical passenger car.Conductors called the names of long travelers who had paid for the privacy of a sleeping car while others filed on board the economy seats, preparing for a ride.
Pearlie Mae and the station manager loaded and unloaded the rail car and aided passengers who needed assistance to get on board.This was his life.Each day, five days a week, loading, and unloading other people seeking a new way of life or returning to an old one.
Fifteen minutes.Fifteen minutes and the train’s whistle blew and the engine went into gear, followed by the releasing of the brakes.Slowly, like an old dinosaur headed to the tar pit, the engine tugged its load, hauling the passengers in the cars, moving to their next destination.Thom Brown watched the train depart, mulling in his mind the next stop in his.
He aspired to be married with a family of his own.He wanted more out of life than simply loading and unloading a train.At the end of the day, he desired to come home to a little woman, who was glad to see him and made him lamb chops with mint jelly and smashed potatoes.A side of crunchy green beans would also be amazing, but in his current state, Thom Brown, was simply seated squarely in a box of aloness.
The phone in his pocket jangled, and it was a call from his foster brother Mateo, who’d recently lost his big toe to a spider bite.Mateo only called when he needed something.He wondered this time what the man could want.
“Hey, whatcha need?”Thom said into the line.
“Why is it that when I call you, there is this same question?No hi, how are you?How's the toe?How's the wife?”Mateo Zingales commented.“Can't I simply be calling to check on you?”
“Hell no.What do you want?”
“I do need a small favor,” Mateo said, pausing.
“The pause tells me the favor isn't small, so spit it out,” Thom pushed.
