Harmonica

I was only there because I was a witness to the accident. I had dropped off a clothing donation down at the nearby collection site and was approaching the train tracks when the lights started flashing, the bell started ringing and the arms slowly dropped. Actually, I probably could had darted across before the gates got low enough to impede me but I played it safe and stopped, noticing that two cars traveling in the opposite direction zipped through.

Since I wasn't in a hurry I shrugged it off, simply leaning back in the seat and relaxing, hoping the train wouldn't be too long. It was a little odd because the train kept hitting its whistle, again and again, instead of the normal whistle when approaching an intersection. It kept sounding and sounding the whistle, and suddenly I heard the brakes squealing loudly.

It wasn't until I looked to the right, just down the rails from where the train was crossing in front of me. There was a man staggering along the rails, basically straddling one of the rails as he moved. Several people behind me were standing outside their cars shouting at him to move off the track

I immediately turned off my engine and pulled out the keys, tucking them in my pocket as I climbed out of the car. The train had already passed me, its brakes squealing, its horn sounding as it tried to stop, or at least warn the man who continued his stumbling down the tracks. I stood in helpless horror hoping he'd hear something and get out of the way, or at least stumble off away from the rail.

In just seconds he went down as the train hit him, driving him down onto the gournd in front of it, as it continued sliding on the tracks for what seemed like forever. I immediately began running alongside the train as it continued to slow. It actually rolled to a stop just as I breathlessly reached the front of the train and saw what was left.

Turning away I fell to my knees and I fought to catch my breath while trying not to throw up. People came up behind me but I didn't hear what they said, the ringing in my ears was too loud. All I can recall for the next several minutes was the odd sight in front of me.

There, as the rusty rails seemed to run almost forever, finally converging at a curve far, far down the track, the top of the rail sparkled in the sunlight where the rust had not been allowed to form because of the trail wheels. In the middle of one of the sparkling rails was a silver and red item, about six inches long.

Focusing my eyes I realized it was a harmonica. Getting up off my knees I took a step or two closer, squatted down and looked at the harmonica. It was old, obviously used a lot. Most of the metal on the harmonica had been worn smooth, everything but two initials carved into one end: WR.

I simply remained squatted by the rails and stared at the harmonica, wondering what it had to do in all this. Had it been left on the rails? Was the poor guy who got hit by the train looking for it? Or did he have the harmonica on him and it simply get knocked over here, ending up on the rails?

"The harmonica, are those initials WR?"

I looked up at a man wearing blue jeans and a white shirt. I nodded to him.

"I was afraid of that?"

"What?"

"I thought I recognized him," he said, nodding back at the front of the train, "as he staggered down the rails."

"Was he drunk?"

"I don't think so. The WR stands for Willie Ray, he was one of the great ones on harmonica. He was, quite frankly, a one man symphony."

"I didn't figure anyone really considered the harmonica an instrument. I mean it's so small."

"Don't let the size fool you, it is a full fledged instrument. It is quite difficult to play well too. Few played as well as Willie."

"But why was he staggering along the tracks?"

"I doubt he was drunk. He had diabetes you see, had it for years. He was normally quite good keeping it controlled. Checked his blood, took the shots and medicine."

"How do you know all this?"

"I'm a musician, play some of the local clubs... saxophone, a bit of bass clarinet," the man said. "Actually got to play with Willie once," he continued looking up at the sky. "Now he's gone."

I watched as a tear rolled down his cheek and fell toward the ground, splashing near the harmonica. Standing up, I reached out a hand and said, "I'm Jim Johnson, sorry we had to meet under these circumstances."

The man grabbed my hand and said, "I'm Jason Andrews, but the guys usually called me Tenor, cause of my tenor sax. Willie even called me that."

"Pleased to meet you Tenor," is said, stepping back as a police officer approached. I gave my short account of what I witnessed and then started wandering back to my car as the officer began talking to Tenor.

Just before climbing into my car I looked back and noticed him give me a wave. I waved back as the police officer squatted down, picked up the harmonica and looked at it closely while Tenor pointed at the instrument. After I sat down in my car, I saw the officer slide the harmonica into a plastic bag and then slide the bag into a large manila envelop. I started my engine, backed up a bit and then turned around, driving slowly away from the train crossing.

I turned on the radio, wanting to listen to the blues.