How Can They Be So Cruel?

Hello, Ms J.

No. I didn’t get high yesterday, although I must tell you, I wanted to. I can’t do it, though. I know I can’t do it. Too many people are counting on me to keep the promise I made. No more drugs. No more getting high. Ever.

I did get drunk though. I made a nice dinner of lasagna and Caesar salad and invited Christine to share it with me. I opened a bottle of wine while supper cooked, and by the time Christine arrived, the wine was gone and I was drunk. Very drunk.

I told her about Dan in the hospital and about Baby David being back home with Kelly. And I apologised at least two dozen times for my disgraceful condition.

“How about work?” asked little Christine. “Have you heard anything yet?”

Just as I was about to answer her, the phone rang. Christine picked it up. It was Dave, the vice local chairman from the union.

“It’s Dave,” she said, holding the phone to her chest, "from the union. Can you talk to him?”

I held up my hands and shook my head sluggishly. My friend nodded her head gravely and her soft brown hair danced around her face. She raised the phone to her cheek.

“He’s too ... He can’t ... Can I take a message, Dave?”

And so I sat there at the table, staring straight ahead but not really seeing anything, struggling to keep my eyes open. I was aware of Christine’s voice behind me, but it sounded far away.

“Mmm-hmm ... Yes ... Yeah, he’s told me about it ... I know ... OK. Alright, then. I’ll tell him ... Yup ... Thanks for calling, Dave. Bye.”

The railway is bringing the conductor back in for another interview. They feel he’s been lying to them. If they’re not satisfied with his testimony this time, they plan to interview Nick and me again. More emotional torture. More cruelty.

I turned in my chair to face Christine and she looked worried. Her brown eyes held great compassion. And my lower lip began to tremble.

“Hold me,” she said. “Let it out. It’s OK, Dale.”

She bent over and hugged me in my chair and I held her tightly and wept.

This is going to be a long process, Ms J. I may be held out of service for weeks. I may be fired.

I’ve been considering hiring a lawyer to argue my case. The union has done virtually nothing for me. I don't even know what I expect them to do. And so I wait while Hope grows dimmer.

Today marks a fortnight since the incident.

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A minute ago, an ambulance stopped in front of the house next door. A police car followed behind. No sirens. No flashing lights. My neighbour is 85 years old. His wife died a year ago. Alzheimers. Danny cared for her as long as he could, but eventually moved her to a nursing home where she died. His son, Dennis, has lived there all his Life. Literally. I went outside to ask what had happened and found a paramedic on the sidewalk, eating a doughnut.

"Is something the matter with Mr. Waters?"

"His son died."

"Dennis?"

"I don't know his name. But he's dead."

It's all so strange, my Life and events around me. It's like I'm dreaming, Ms J, and I just can't wake up.

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