Searching for Candlestick Park Read Online Free
Author: Peg Kehret
good to yowl and struggle.
I got off at the downtown bus tunnel and went up the steps. The King Street Station, an old brick building with a clock tower, was just across the street onmy left. I crossed the street, which goes over the train tracks, and walked down the stairs into the station.
At the foot of the stairs, a vendor was selling popcorn, muffins, and other snacks. My stomach told me it was lunchtime, but I knew I couldn’t afford to buy any food there; lunch would have to wait.
The large room with high ceilings held a feeling of anticipation. A line of travelers snaked away from a ticket counter. People with bags and boxes of belongings at their feet sat in rows of black chairs down the center of the room.
A lighted sign on the back wall announced arrivals and departures. I read the list, noting that trains went to Portland several times daily, including the train scheduled to depart next through Door #3. If I could sneak on board a train and ride to Portland, I would be 150 miles closer to San Francisco in just a few hours.
Door #3 was open. I walked out onto a small concrete area surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence. An opening in the fence faced the train tracks.
On the closest track, the Amtrak Superliner waited for passengers. The silver cars, each with a red and blue stripe, were higher than I expected. The door of the car closest to me was open; a yellow footstool stood below it, to help passengers step up into the train.
The open door of the Amtrak Superliner was only about thirty feet from where I stood. I swallowed hard and looked around. Two men, both wearing blackpants, white shirts, and black vests, stood farther down the platform. One man held a clipboard and they studied the papers that were attached to it. Their backs were to me.
No other passengers had come outside. There was no conductor or ticket-taker, either. I could dash across the platform, step on the yellow stool, and be inside the train in only a few seconds. As long as the two men didn’t turn around, no one would see me. Once I got on the train, I planned to hide in the bathroom until the train started moving. I had never ridden a train before, but I didn’t think anyone would check the tickets again after we left the station.
Clutching Foxey’s box in both hands, I sprinted toward the open door of the train. I had one foot on the stool and one foot on the bottom step of the Amtrak car when I heard, “Hey! You boy! What do you think you’re doing?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw the two men in black vests running toward me.
“Get down from there,” the taller one said.
I stepped back to the platform. “Isn’t this the train to Portland?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as scared as I felt.
“It is,” the man replied, “but we aren’t boarding yet.”
“When will you be boarding?” I asked.
“Let me see your ticket,” the other man said.
I made a show of feeling in my pockets before I said,“I must have left it on the sink in the rest room.” Then I hurried back through Door #3 into the station.
I went into the rest room, just in case the men were watching me. I washed my hands for a long time, while I waited for my breathing to return to normal. A few short hours ago, I had been an honest boy. Now I was a thief and a liar. I didn’t like the way it made me feel.
When I came out of the rest room, I looked quickly around, afraid the men in black vests and a police officer might be waiting to question me. But the men had not followed me.
Even so, I wanted to get out of the train station. Instead of going up the stairs and leaving the station the way I had come, I quickly went out a door on the lower level.
At the corner of the station, I looked to my left and saw the train. The two men now stood on either side of the yellow stool like bookends.
Not wanting them to see me, I turned my back and walked away from the King Street Station. I was now in the Kingdome parking lot. It was nearly
I got off at the downtown bus tunnel and went up the steps. The King Street Station, an old brick building with a clock tower, was just across the street onmy left. I crossed the street, which goes over the train tracks, and walked down the stairs into the station.
At the foot of the stairs, a vendor was selling popcorn, muffins, and other snacks. My stomach told me it was lunchtime, but I knew I couldn’t afford to buy any food there; lunch would have to wait.
The large room with high ceilings held a feeling of anticipation. A line of travelers snaked away from a ticket counter. People with bags and boxes of belongings at their feet sat in rows of black chairs down the center of the room.
A lighted sign on the back wall announced arrivals and departures. I read the list, noting that trains went to Portland several times daily, including the train scheduled to depart next through Door #3. If I could sneak on board a train and ride to Portland, I would be 150 miles closer to San Francisco in just a few hours.
Door #3 was open. I walked out onto a small concrete area surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence. An opening in the fence faced the train tracks.
On the closest track, the Amtrak Superliner waited for passengers. The silver cars, each with a red and blue stripe, were higher than I expected. The door of the car closest to me was open; a yellow footstool stood below it, to help passengers step up into the train.
The open door of the Amtrak Superliner was only about thirty feet from where I stood. I swallowed hard and looked around. Two men, both wearing blackpants, white shirts, and black vests, stood farther down the platform. One man held a clipboard and they studied the papers that were attached to it. Their backs were to me.
No other passengers had come outside. There was no conductor or ticket-taker, either. I could dash across the platform, step on the yellow stool, and be inside the train in only a few seconds. As long as the two men didn’t turn around, no one would see me. Once I got on the train, I planned to hide in the bathroom until the train started moving. I had never ridden a train before, but I didn’t think anyone would check the tickets again after we left the station.
Clutching Foxey’s box in both hands, I sprinted toward the open door of the train. I had one foot on the stool and one foot on the bottom step of the Amtrak car when I heard, “Hey! You boy! What do you think you’re doing?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw the two men in black vests running toward me.
“Get down from there,” the taller one said.
I stepped back to the platform. “Isn’t this the train to Portland?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as scared as I felt.
“It is,” the man replied, “but we aren’t boarding yet.”
“When will you be boarding?” I asked.
“Let me see your ticket,” the other man said.
I made a show of feeling in my pockets before I said,“I must have left it on the sink in the rest room.” Then I hurried back through Door #3 into the station.
I went into the rest room, just in case the men were watching me. I washed my hands for a long time, while I waited for my breathing to return to normal. A few short hours ago, I had been an honest boy. Now I was a thief and a liar. I didn’t like the way it made me feel.
When I came out of the rest room, I looked quickly around, afraid the men in black vests and a police officer might be waiting to question me. But the men had not followed me.
Even so, I wanted to get out of the train station. Instead of going up the stairs and leaving the station the way I had come, I quickly went out a door on the lower level.
At the corner of the station, I looked to my left and saw the train. The two men now stood on either side of the yellow stool like bookends.
Not wanting them to see me, I turned my back and walked away from the King Street Station. I was now in the Kingdome parking lot. It was nearly
Readers choose
Wisława Szymborska
Eliza Gordon
Kay Hooper
Robert Onopa
Terry Pratchett
Lauri Robinson
Stewart Stafford
Amanda Eyre Ward
R N Skye