The Trestle at Pope Lick Creek

By Naomi Wallace

You were wrong the other day.

It's not what a train does to you.
It doesn't mush you up into neat little pieces, this train, she's a knife.
And thats what we loved about her, me and Bret.
This train,
You’ve seen her.
So much beauty she’s breathless,
A huge hunk and chunk of shiny black coal blasted fresh out of the mountain.
We had a good start, we both could of made it, but he was worried, about me.
He was stupid like that.
He looked over his shoulder and he tripped, you know I thought he'd just get back up and
start running again so I passed him right by.
We timed it so tight, right then the engine was so close I could smell her.
I thought Bret was right behind me, I could hear him behind me.
He didn't call out, he didn't say 'Hey wait up'.
I didn't know.
Why didn't he call out!
Not even a sound, he just sat there where he'd fallen.
And then he slowly got up, but he just stood there.
Staring at her, staring at her right in the face, almost like it was like a dare.
Like “Go ahead and hit me”.
You cant do that to a train
You can't dare a train to hit you, because it will.

7.40am Early November, In the trestle in a dry river bed.

Game? Absolve herself of any guilt/ trying to say it wasn’t her fault
Challenge Dalton
Obstacle? Herself, fear, Brett-death
To happen after? “I’ll do it.” Run the trestle
Brett was stupid, he didnt follow the rules. I’m blaming Brett.