Taking The Train
by Bubba B. Goode
Copyright @ 2011 by Bubba B. Goode
All rights reserved.
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We were living in Dallas, Georgia and I was very much a part of the local cycling scene or activities. There is a multi purpose trail that runs through Dallas, called the Silver Comet Trail. It is an old abandoned railroad that was paved over by an organization called the ‘Path Foundation.’ Along with have this awesome 100 mile trail to ride our bikes on, we had the local back roads that were amazing. One of the cycling gang decided to host a website which contained a forum for all of us to communicate with each other.
I liked to host rides on the backroads. The meeting place was a parking lot at the 33 mile marker of the Silver Comet Trail. The Saturday morning bike rides that I hosted attracted the more serious riders because of the difficulty of the terrain. We were all happy to be riding and also riding together. The typical turn out was about 10 to 30 riders. The only way that anyone would know about the group ride was to read our cycling forum.
There was another group of cyclist that like riding in the more populated areas. They had a mission to get more people to riding their bikes. Their focus was on introducing people to bicycling. These goals did not interest the people who rode with me on Saturdays. This group decided they needed money to promote their agenda and planned a fundraiser by hosting a group ride for which all who attended had to pay a fee. A lot of Foundations such as the MS Foundation host these type of charity bike ride events. It was a good idea.
I had a long ride planned at the 33 mile marker and they planned thier charity ride on the same day. They wanted to get all of the support they could so they wanted me to cancel my ride and join them. They posted on the forum as a comment to my post, “Bubba, you need to cancel your ride and support us. It is for a good cause. You are dividing the cycling group. You need to quit hosting the rides out of town.
I was furious that they wanted me to cancel what I loved to do. They weren’t talking about one ride but for me to quit hosting rides forever. As reven ge or to vent my anger, I started commenting on thier posts making fun of their ideas and plans. They gave me plenty of material to work with to make fun of them.
One day while riding my bike to the Silver Comet, my neighbor asked, “Buster, what did this group do to you? She wasn’t a cyclist but she liked reading my posts on the forum. I thought for a moment on why they made me so angry. My short answer to her was, “They breathe air.” The truth was of how they demanded that I quit hosting rides.
Who made them the authority on what was good and what was not. I kept hosting my rides. There were more people at my Saturday ride than there was at their charity bike ride. What had made me angry was thier choice of words when telling me what they wanted me to do. They used the word, ‘NEED.’ Need? What did I Need to quit hosting rides for? What did I Need to join them for? The way they used Need was to control and manipulate. The manipulation attempt is what had made me angry. They NEEDED me to quit hosting and ride with them. I had no Need in this at all. From that moment on I chose not to use the word need when giving anyone advice. I do not tell anyone that they Need to do anything. I make my desires know by saying, “I need you to help me. Is that possible.” This group of cyclists would have gotten support if they had used language such as this, “Bubba, we need to get as many people at our charity ride as possible. You have quite a following with regards to your rides. Would you consider getting them to support our ride for this event?” There is no way I could have said no to a request delivered in such a way.
It is years later, Christmas 2011, and I am being grateful for being alive to have Christmas with my 10 year old little girl. I am in an attitude of gratitude for getting my joy and happiness back. The last year included a divorce and unemployment. In February, I was living in a very undesirable place, but it was shelter, very nasty shelter. One morning as I rolled out of bed at 3:08 for my bike ride. Before my feet have hit the floor I started hearing my voice out loud begging God for a little mercy. “Please, God, Let me make a little money today.” Over and over I begged as I got prepared to ride my bike. I encourage myself that at least I have $830 in unemployment that will hit my account today. At least I will have enough to pay the child support of 200, the rent of 200, phone 100, and the car insurance of 100. That leaves 100 to go see Julia and 130 for gas and food for two weeks.
I get on the bike and am out the door by 3:25. As I turn right on Riverside where the shoot out with guns was on Monday, I started thinking about Brook. I would never do anything to harm her or intentionally make her unhappy. But it seems that is not how she feels about me or has ever felt about me. I think about things like me paying for the wedding, paying off her furniture, paying off her braces for that smile she now has, and paying for her eye surgery.
Friends meant things as a compliment to Brook when they would say, “Man don’t fix her eyesight. When she sees what you really look like, she is going to leave you.” She must have taken a good hard look at me , she is gone. She was my treasure, my way of feeling that I had value. This beautiful woman depended on me.
I wasn’t a quarter mile into my ride and I realized I was crying. I thought to myself, “This will end in a few minutes, just keep pedaling.” So I kept pedaling. The farther I went, the more clear things became. The wedding was the last time I kissed her in public, she didn’t even hold my hand. I just excused it as her insecurity. I realized on this morning that she was ashamed to kiss me in public. I had grown slowly used to it as to not even notice it anymore. But this morning, it was all I could think about.
I thought of her actions over the last year. Because I have held her so high, it appears that I was blind in other areas too. Her actions say that there is another man in her life and has been for a while.
It was 12 miles into the ride, and I could hardly see for the tears. She has been so hurtful with regards to making sure that every bit of money goes in her direction. She has been deceitful on everything and justifies it by assuming that I am as evil as she is. I don’t think that way and it has been my curse.
It was 12.5 miles into the bike ride and I heard this loud horn. It was the train. I pedalwd harder to get to the crossing before it did. Yes, this train is just what I needed. This train could stop me from hurting forever. I thought to myself, “There is nothing to live for anyway. 49 years and hurt is all I know. Why would I think it is going to be different?” I thought about who would take care of Julia. Upon my death, Brook would get my company stock of $108,000. That would get her where she needs to be. I was pounding the pedals to get me to the train as the tears make my eyes feel like they are going to blow out of my head. I thought of a female friend that I have fallen in love with, but that isn’t a good reason to stay, she doesn’t feel the same way. I was coming around a corner and to the right is the train track. I have time to make it. “Ok, God. Since you are such a worthless piece of crap that you can’t even help me, while you sit your holy ass on a throne with streets paved in gold. You can’t even get me an insurance appointment. My next appointment is with you. Go to hell.” What stopped me before taking the train was the fact that I owed $775.00 to a friend who is closer than family to me. How would she ever get her money? I couldn’t let her down.
So that morning, my life had the value of $775 that I owed to a friend. Not much but it served the purpose of hanging on.
It was 5:10a.m. and I am back at the house. I parked the bike and got prepared to make breakfast. I dialed a number on my phone to check on my unemployment only to find that they have cut my unemployment from 830 for two weeks to 660. 170 dollars less than expected which means that I do not have enough to go see my daughter. She and I have been so excited about the upcoming Saturday. I can pay the bills but that leaves me $35 for fuel and food. I thought I was finished with tears. Writing is my way of crying out. There was no one to hear. Like a tree falling in the forest, my life would end without making a sound or with no one noticing. I could not get any lower, I could not take any more.
I did not care what God’s stupid worthless plan is. I didn’t care about his timing. I am hurting now and he was nowhere to be found. He is like a blister on your hand. He shows up when the work is over. If God loved me, there is a lot in my life that would have been better. If God loved me, I would have already been dead. Jesus suffered for a day. I have suffered for 49 years. I did not want another 49 like this.
I get up happy every day and spend the day getting beat down. On this day I woke up begging for mercy. On that day I could not take a beating, it would be too much. My next prayher was, “God needs to show up down here for me or I need to show up at his throne.”
There is another train coming. I can’t take any more charity. I just wanted to be daddy and provide for my daughter.
“Pain, please go away.”
Then standing in the kitchen and after I had finished typing the above story on my laptop that was on the counter in front of the cutlery. I copied and pasted it into an email. My thought was that if I write it, the pain would ease up. Then my thought was, maybe if I pretend to send it, the pain will stop. Nothing was working. I pull up the people that I wanted to send it to. I hesitated, in despair and crying profusely for 30 minutes staring at the send button. Thinking to myself, that I was like a tree falling in the woods, no one needs me. I wanted to say goodbye. The crying and moaning got deeper and deeper. My hands were hanging in the sink with my forehead on the edge of the counter. Tears were flowing and my sinuses were draining all of the way to the floor. A thought hit my mind and it was a very peaceful thought. The thought was intoxicating it felt so right. I couldn’t really focus as I hit the send button, while crying even more deeply. I found myself reaching for the butcher’s knife which was the intoxicating thought. One quick slice and I am home free. I took one last glance at the laptop to ensure my ‘good’ bye message was sent. A noice popped up that my income tax return was approved for $4,000.00. For this reason, I let go of the knife and ran out the back door and collapsed on the patio slab. I leaned back on the post that holds up the cover and cried to God one more time, “Please help me!” Fear of my next intoxicating thought lasting longer was controlling me. Fear that I might not shake it next time. I want to live but not like the past.
My next hour was spent leaning against this post trying to find a reason to get up and go to the office and try to make an appointment. I went through the motions of my morning rituals as if I wanted to. Thinking that maybe I could start to feel better.
I keep falling into these depressive states but also keep cheering myself on. On the way to the office, I got a call from my manager. She asked about my results on the phone after she left. I told her, “120 calls, no appointments.” She said, “I need to get with our boss and work on you some leads.” This was encouraging. The phone rang again. It was from someone that I decided not to put on the email list. I had looked at his name and chose not to tell him. I answered, “Charley, you must be intuitive.” We talked, and I broke down again. Charley wants to be of help but there is nothing he can do. The act of picking up the phone was enough to lift my spirits.
He told me a story of another coworker who had lost his job and his wife had left him. His other coworker used a shotgun to take his life leaving behind his 9 year old daughter. Charley’s phone call to me was timely and his words were perfect not that he knew what he was doing. He said passionately to me, “Bubba, I NEED you to stay alive. This guys situation was not near as bad as yours. He left his little girl behind hurting. I can’t take it if you don’t stay alive. I NEED you to stay vertical. Please stay alive for me. Please stay alive for your daughter. We NEED you.” He didn’t tell me that I Needed to do anything. Instead he requested that I live. HIs words brought healing to my heart and strength to my will power.
As it is now Chirstmas Eve on 2011 and I am alive. My joy has returned. I can see the value of me being in my daughter’s life. Our day together was amazing. I am so grateful and happy to be alive and enjoying the holiday with her. To Charley, If my daughter knew of the last year’s difficulty for me her statement to you would be, “Mr. Charley, thank you for saving my dad’s life. I love you very much.” The word ‘Need” had become profanity to me. That is until my former coworker used it in a way that brought life to me.
LIfe is Goode
Bubba