Toddler vs. Train

O.K. Let's try this again. I somehow managed to close the browser after writing this once, so the desire to drop f-bombs all over this blog has subsided. I will, however, have nightmares about this for a while.

I live in downtown London, which is neatly bisected into North and South by train tracks. In fact, all north/south streets in the downtown area save one are severed by tracks. If you need to leave the downtown core and go north for any reason, the chances are fair that you'll encounter a train either on your way out or on your way back. Now that we have the preamble done, let's continue with the story.

Picture me, in my car, coming back from grocery shopping. It's close to rush hour, so naturally, there's a train. The lights go off and the bells ring-a-ling and the little barrier plunks down. I go into 'train mode' which entails putting the car in park and daydreaming. Right beside the tracks on the east side of Maitland Street is the ABC Daycare. As I sit and wait, I see a little boy of about three explode from the doors of the daycare. His eyes are alight and he's yelling 'train, train'! I smile as I watch his delight. The smile fades fast however as the boy gets to the end of the daycare driveway and begins to head down the sidewalk towards the tracks. I can't see the train yet, but I can hear it. I yell "hey" at the little boy, but he doesn't hear me over the approaching train. As the boy heads down the sidewalk, a girl of about seven comes barrelling out the doors and after the boy. She's screaming and waving her arms, but the noise of the train drowns her out too. I watch the boy, the girl and the train as my fingers fumble with my seat belt. I can't get it to release. The train approaches the intersection and I see the conductor yelling. The girl is yelling and I hear myself yelling too. Then the train's horn goes off and the boy halts, startled, and puts his little hands over his ears. He's less than 10 feets from the tracks. The girl reaches him and pulls him back to the day care parking lot. The woman in the car behind me gets out and speaks to the girl and then comes over to my car. "I was paralysed." she says. "I couldn't do anything." I reply in kind. My seatbelt finally releases. I had been pulling on it too hard for the release to disengage. She and I look at each other as someone near the back of the queue of cars honks. A woman appears at the day care window, looking to see what the honking is about. I put the car in drive and go home.

As I was sitting here thinking about how to write this blog, I burst into tears. Tears of relief that the child escaped unscathed? Most certainly. Tears of shame for my inability to intervene? Yep. You bet. But also angry tears, that it's possible for a three year old child to escape adult notice, at an institution specifically created to care for him, long enough for him to leave the building and almost be run down by a train.

Like I said before, nightmare city: here I come.

Back to the Clone Factory

Merrily, merrily, merrily....Back to work tomorrow after being off for a month. Don't let anyone tell you that meningitis isn't good for anything. I was able to escape the office politics, the attitudes and the torture of repeating myself endlessly, day after day. When they speak of the gates of Hell, I always think of the heavy doors off Dufferin Street that lead to Marble Alley. Oh, the humanity!
I've been reading exerpts from the Kabbalah to keep myself from plunging into dispair. I'd better read some more before tomorrow. Wish me luck, gentle reader...