The Train Track Story - Origins of Drama (Ep. 101)

Every Superhero has that defining moment whence they must finally choose to embrace and accept their special powers. Like any good film franchise, there will be a prequel to this story that shows the beginnings and rejection of my capabilities and the responsibilities required. But as you read the summer blockbuster below, I became Drama on that fateful April night.

The problem with public transportation, the fact that causes all of my various train track stories to exist is the interrupted service between night and morning. Struggling to make that last train home and the failure that sometimes ensues is the only impetus needed to turn me into Drama.

Heading home from a night of drinking in Hoboken, my friends and I realized that we had timed the trains wrong, and we were stuck between transfers. After tussling with my friend Wick over something unnecessary, I simply said, "F--- it," and started walking... on the train track.

He seemed perplexed as I jumped onto the train tracks and headed to the outside, Newark, and beyond. The walk was about 50 miles and I intended of doing every mile. It wasn't unique that year for me to run or walk 5-6 miles home from a party or bar, and it wasn't the first time I had been on train tracks that year. It hadn't registered that this time it wasn't different, because even though our train had never came these were still active tracks.

I was still fuming that first mile, when I got several phone calls from Wick, and immediately hung up on him everytime. He keeps trying, but I am angry at him. Finally I pick up, he says, "An officer wants to talk to you." He then hands the phone to a cop, "This if Officer So-and-So. We're aware that you're on the track. We've had to shut down the trains and sent out cops to find you. Where are you right now?" Although I hadn't been thinking clearly, I thank God, I had the right response, "I'm not on the tracks right now. I got off them and got a cab ride." The cop then asked where I was now. Thinking of the most dangerous place, and a place I was not, I responded, "East Orange." With that I hung up. Then I ran like hell off the tracks, scared that the police were after me.

After exiting the tracks, I came upon several obstacles trying to get to the interstate and away from the chasing police. The famous Jersey swamps on the sides of the highways became my first hurdle. In the fierceness of the moment, I waded up to my chest in the cold, dank water, only to later realize my cell phone and wallet were tucked securely in my pants pocket. On such a miserable night, my phone was now inoperable.

While I was fleeing the cops, my buddy back at the station was getting arrested for disorderly conduct. Unaware of this I kept plodding on. My pants were caked in mud and I started to shiver in the chilly northeast spring night. Despite the mistake, I was happy that I was one step closer to the headlights in the distance. Like a bad videogame or Harold and Kumar movie, I now came upon a forest of bamboo. Bamboo is tough. And you don't realize this until you try to make your way through them. After getting nowhere trying to push through them, I take a few steps back and run into it. It's a little painful, but I got past a few of the plants. Now I'm stuck in the forest. So I'd take half a step back and barrel through a few more plants. It took probably about ten minutes, but after dozens of burts, I made it through the forests. Again, I felt good at the progress.

I felt good at the progress, until I see the barbed wire fence strewn ahead of me. Although I'm scared of the cops, I think I'm more afraid of hopping the barbed wire fence. But I know I have to go over the fence, not because of the cops, but because I can't go back through the bamboo and swamp.

After climbing to the top of the fence, I decide to just get over the barb wire in one swoop. I was determined. I launched my body with one big jump, much like a high jumper avoiding the bar. Mysteriously, I only drew blood in four places and tore my shirt and pants.

I was now soaked, caked in mud, bloody, with torn clothes and freezing cold, hating life. I looked like a war victim, but now I was within walking distance of the road. I walked toward the light, until I reached the shoulder of the highway. A few cabs passed, but no one would stop to pick me up. I cursed and cursed, knowing they would never stop with the way I looked. I kept walking via the billboard light, until I got to an exit; it was the center of Newark.

Some people might be scared walking in the middle of the night in a bad city. I saw a few seedy characters, but knew I was safe. The humorous part was that I probably looked sketchier than anyone else in Newark that night. I felt awful, but would be relieved to duck the police for the night and finally get a hotel room.

Upon awaking, I couldn't call my friends to see if they were okay, since my phone was still broke. I had to put on my muddy, swamp smelling clothes back on. They smelled awful. I walked to the NJ Transit station and took home the train I should have been on 8 hours prior.

A few hours later, I pull into the train station, get in my car and go home. My instant messenger is littered with many messages, some inquiring if I'm alive and others with anger. My voicemail is similar, except I can't respond. I go to sleep knowing I'm Drama. It's who I am. But this time when I wake up, I know that it's all a part of the journey and will make for one hell of a story years from then.