Diary of a Gold Liner: August
Erin Douglass
August 5, eastbound — Tonight, after I slide into an empty row in the air-conditioned cool, a burly man plunks into a seat kitty-corner from mine. Crossing one leg over the other, he turns toward the aisle, flips open his cell phone and dials.
"I'm on the train," he booms. "It'll be about 20 minutes."
On the other end of the phone, I hear a muffled "WawaWAwawawa."
The man sits a little taller and says, "OK, here's what happened. He brought a case study into my office late in the day. I had to sit with him while he read it aloud."
"WAWAWAwawawawa," says the voice on the phone.
"What am I supposed to do?" the guy says, volume increasing. "Not do my job?"
Silence on the other end. And then: "WAWAAAAWAWA…Wawawawawa."
"I know. You're right," he says, running hand through hair. "I should have left at 4:30."
Silence.
"Should I meet you at the restaurant?" he asks, new hope in his voice.
"WAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAAAA."
We jolt to a stop at Heritage Square. The man, phone still glued to his ear, grabs his briefcase and hurries out the door.
As we pull from the station, I think about how cellphones have yanked the personal into the public. From the domestically dull to the tawdry to the curious, these noisy narratives swarm about us.
Our shared spaces feel much more crowded as a result.
August 10, westbound — It is an amazing morning. Salmon pink stripes the lower sky. Mottled gray clouds are backlit with sun. There's a clear, direct view to the mountains.
I missed the train by seconds, but that's ok. I can sit and look and take in.
Two runners approach from one end of Marmion Way. People step out of apartment entrances nearby. A bank of streetlights down the hill still glow.
Yesterday morning my husband asked if I heard the sonic boom from the shuttle Discovery.
"When?" I asked, my cluelessness a dead give-away.
"5:07. I was just leaving on my run."
"Don't think I did."
But this is not surprising. According to family legend, I slept through the '71 earthquake as it threw our Altadena house off its foundation.
I stare up at the glowing, changing, vivid sky and feel grateful that for this, I am completely, happily awake.
August 11, westbound — As I pulled up to a stop sign in GEM this morning, I spotted a teenage girl wearing black-rimmed glasses and a school uniform. She was walking a beagle.
"Nice car," she said, grinning.
"Thanks," I said, while the beagle strained against its leash.
I love the goodwill GEM inspires in my community. Dour men waiting at bus stops break into smiles as I approach. Mothers with children in hand nudge and point. Neighbors on the hill wave, give thumbs-up, say "Cool ride."
And I am different in GEM than I am in a car. Exposed on three sides, I opt to smile and wave at everyone I pass. It's really the only thing I can do. GEM moves too slowly, is too round and cartoonish, for me to slink by or make a cool escape once a light changes.
Several evenings ago, a man walked by as I was unlocking GEM for the ride home.
"Oh, so that's yours?"
"Yes, it is. She's lots of fun."
"I bet," he said, nodding. "My son and I have walked by it a few times and wondered who it belongs to. Can I ask how much you paid for it?"
I told him it was a gift and that, unfortunately, I had no idea how much it cost. But I'd heard rumors you could find one at COSTCO.
"You just plug it in at night?"
"That's it. No gas required."
He smiled. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, "You ever consider selling it?"
I shook my head. "Sorry. It's the only way I can get to the train station right now. I better keep it."
He said fair enough, wished me a good night and headed on his way.
Once home, I told my husband about the exchange.
"How much was he willing to pay?"
"I don't know. Didn't ask."
"You never know, it could help offset the cost of a new car."
I shrugged. GEM and I aren't quite ready for that.
August 15, eastbound — There's a pregnant woman on my train.
Hard to believe it's me.
I can see my reflection in the glass: skinny with a pooching belly. Some clothes make the roundness of my middle more obvious; others hide it, at least for now.
I wonder if others have noticed. There's that funny time during early pregnancy when round equals surprising-and-localized-weight-gain-or-is-she-just-bloated? But then, slowly, the belly juts, its button leading the way like a bulls-eye. "Ah hah," observers think. "She's expecting."
I wonder what I'm expecting. My husband and I have decided to be old-fashioned about it all and not find out beforehand, but that doesn't mean I can't speculate. Give it the ol' "parental instinct" try. Early on I felt strongly that it was a girl. Now, at the start of my fourth month, I'm not so sure.
I wonder, too, if I'll bring the new little one on the train in the morning. The daycare place we found is actually near a Gold Line stop. Will I be able to continue my commuting ways — or will the need for a second car with all its flexibility and convenience win out?
The months will tell.
When my stop arrives, I stand and catch my reflection in the window.
Then, following my belly, I step off the train into the warm, hazy night.
August 24, eastbound — Tonight, during my GEM ride home over the steep, narrow hills of my neighborhood, I rounded a bend and slammed on the brakes.
Before me sat an enormous vehicle. I'm not talking SUV-big or even Hummer-huge. I'm talking building-dwarfing, eight-wheel-sporting behemoth. A construction conveyance of some kind, its tires were as big as GEM. Its cab could fit a family of 12. Its shiny, galvanized metal base could support a crane — or at least a large earth-moving device.
Occupying fully four-fifths of the street, this monster truck also seemed to be in trouble.
Jammed beneath the back four tires were wooden beams as long as my leg. Behind each tire set stood a squat jack. I swear they were trembling.
Four men appeared from one side of the vehicle. From the other, a Rent-a-Cop shuffled down the hill.
"What happened here?" I asked, leaning out one side.
The security man approached. "Ma'am, I'm sorry. You're going to need to turn around and try another route."
I raised my eyebrows at him.
"You could head back down Crane and take Dimmick to…"
I stared over his shoulder at a narrow space between the vehicle and a stop sign.
"You know, I think I could fit through there."
"Ma'am. We've had a brake failure here. At any moment this vehicle could roll down the hill. And if you were in its path..."
"I and my vehicle would be toast." I smile. "But if I could just scoot by…"
The security guy stared at me for a moment. Then he shrugged and sighed. "Okay, but just for you." He turned and hiked back up the hill to his car, which was parked directly above my escape route.
As I waited, one of the other men walked up.
"How'd you guys even get this thing up here?" I asked, amazed.
"Over the back hill. It's supposed to go down there." He pointed down the even narrower street to my right.
"You've got to be kidding," I said. "Looks like you need a helicopter instead."
He smiled and looked over his shoulder. "You're good to go. Take care."
Waving to him and the others, I floored the accelerator and, with a screech, bounced by the monster, through the gap and up the hill toward home.