The Trolley

1 Raphael Romero Fiction Story

The Trolley There are times when an individual is blindsided by an event so tumultuous, so inconceivable, that it befalls them like an unyielding hammer of injustice. Some blame God, some concede to the nebulous workings of fate and some call it the butterfly effect. Some people emerge from the turmoil with grace, while others are dragged downward in gasping desperation. A choice is a funny little thing. Jeremy Mills groaned as his alarm pierced the comfortable bubble of his sleep, giving him that same feeling he used to get in math class whenever his teacher announced a pop quiz. The feeling of reality kicking in the door to your thoughts and shouting obnoxiously, “it’s time to get shit done”. Jeremy was an impressively average person, having cruised through school doing well enough not to be considered dumb, but apathetic enough not to get noticed. So that’s just how he continued his life, unnoticed. Jeremy never went to college, it just didn’t appeal to him. Instead, he took his father’s offer to work on the trolleys that ran into the city and now managed the overall scheduling of the two tracks he was assigned. His duties didn’t extend much further than maintaining contact with the conductors, keeping track of their schedules and switching the bridging track that allows trains to go from one of the two tracks to the other. Jeremy put on his uniform, which consisted solely of a tee shirt with the company’s logo on it. He found a pair of dirty jeans and put them on. “Who am I trying to impress anyway?” Jeremy thought to himself. Jeremy had no qualms about working a relatively dead-end job. He liked the silence that accompanied it and best of all there was no one looking over his shoulder

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2 all day. When Jeremy arrived at the railroad he waved at the usual laborers who were as interested in him as he was in them, which wasn’t much, but being in the same union warranted a wave. He clocked in, then climbed the stairs to his post and took a seat on the comfortably tattered black leather swivel chair. Jeremy looked out into the horizon to catch the last few minutes of the sun rising. He enjoyed the serenity that seems to accompany all things waking and getting ready for work. Even the sun had a job to do. Bernard Thompson started the day as he always did, waking next to his wife of 43 years and kicking the dog off the bed. He was nearly seventy and had postponed retirement until he felt he could cope with a life without work. Next week, however, was his last and he was finally looking forward to traveling, as well as all the usual things retired people talk about that seem frivolous until you’re actually at that point in your life. Bernard had been a trolley driver for 30 years and loved every aspect of driving a trolley; the new faces, the mechanical workings and getting to experience the same city differently everyday. Bernard arrived at the station and conducted the mandatory inspections before taking the trolley into town. As he checked his instruments he radioed the track operator, Jeremy Mills, to say that he was on schedule and ready to go. “Sounds good Bernie,” replied a voice that sounded distracted by its own thoughts. Jeremy was a good kid, Bernard thought, but he had a lot to learn about the real world and its workings. He needed to find a nice girl, but more importantly, he needed stop calling him ‘Bernie’. Bernard put the trolley in motion and as the accelerating sound of grinding metal screeched and squealed a smile crossed his face that is only possible for those who have put in as many years as he had of hearing that familiar noise. With the trolley on its way, Bernard mused

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3 on what the day would bring. How many people will miss their stop? How many crying children are going to be calmed by a kind stranger? Will there going to be traffic blocking the tracks? As he pondered these things, Bernard felt his indigestion acting up, probably from the bacon and eggs he had this morning. “Damn heart burn,” he grumbled. The doctor had given him pills to regulate his blood pressure but Bernard never fully trusted doctors. He rarely took the pills and never felt any adverse effects. Today was no different. He fumbled with the pen he was playing with and dropped it on the floor. Bending over to pick it up, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. The next moments happened so fast Bernard had no time to react. The pain quickly shot throughout the rest of his body, and his lungs suddenly felt like someone had a merciless grip on them, determined not to let any air out. Bernard clawed the air as if he expected help to be within reach. His mind knew, but his body refused to give up. Using the last of his strength he dragged himself up, close enough to reach the radio. There was nothing to hold on to and Bernard had only enough time to make one clumsy swipe at the radio before he fell back and banged his head on the steel wall behind him. Jeremy saw Bernard’s trolley coming in from a distance and noticed it was going a bit faster than usual. Bernard knew he was about to enter the city so why was he not slowing down? “This is no time to get cocky old man,” Jeremy thought. He wasn’t about to get blamed for a senile man suddenly taking to go on a joy ride. “Alright Bernie,” Jeremy radioed, “time to slow down, you’re cutting your cushion rather slim.” No response from Bernard. “What the hell,” thought Jeremy, Bernard was always the quickest to answer. Jeremy’s heart skipped a beat as he considered the possibility that something was wrong with the old man. “Bernard!” he shouted, “Say something!” Still nothing. Now Jeremy was sweating because he had no idea how to stop this trolley that was about to come barreling out of

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4 control through the city at full speed. Jeremy cursed and kicked his chair aside. He ran his hands through his hair and left them there on top of his head. Any person looking at him would suspect he was pushing his brain to come up with a plan. The truth was he was paralyzed with fear and not a thought was being processed as he just stood there with his hands on his head. Jeremy turned around to look out the grimy window towards a city unaware of the disaster that was about to tear through the sleepy fabric of its existence. He was about to radio his boss in desperation to let him know what was about to happen when his stomach dropped like a sack of rocks. Of the two tracks running parallel to each other, one had traffic backed up and a single car was fixed directly on the track, stuck between two other cars. On the other track Jeremy noticed five men working on what looked like repairs. “Why don’t they get out of the way?” he cried to himself. As Jeremy watched in horror, he quickly realized they couldn’t move even if they wanted to. What he’d first taken to be repairmen were actually a chain gang of prisoners that were often sent to fix minor repairs on the tracks. The guards however, were nowhere in sight, which meant they had left the prisoners securely attached to the tracks until they returned from their bathroom or coffee break. Jeremy could not grasp what was going on in front of him. The only way to divert the trolley would be to change the tracks and he knew the renegade trolley was approaching fast. It was suddenly in his hands, out of all mankind, of all God’s unsuspecting creations, to choose which life or lives were going to end in a couple seconds. If he let the trolley maintain its course, five men would die. If he pulled the lever, what he could tell to be one woman in the car would likely see her last traffic stop. His body felt cold, as if he had already resigned his life early. He wanted to quit life now - why was this decision in his hands. Had he deserved this? Did any of the people below deserved this? Jeremy suddenly had a glimmer of hope. If the lady in the car saw the trolley coming she may have enough time to

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5 get out. In which case, the trolley would be stopped and no one would be hurt, assuming poor Bernard wasn’t already. Jeremy’s hand clutched the cold metal lever. It was no longer an instrument of convenience, but an instrument of death. It was his turn to play God now, the fate of six lives rested firmly in his hands. This was the type of situation people only talk about. They would muse about what they would do then laugh it off. Nothing would be concluded and no lever would ever get pulled. Now Jeremy was stuck in some hypothetical nightmare turned reality and he didn’t give a damn about any musing. The trolley was seconds away from the junction and only a few seconds more to either of the victims. He felt his arm tug the lever down, but he didn’t remember giving his arm the order. His subconscious was now physically manifesting itself to do what he had to do. Had to do? He didn’t have to do anything. It didn’t matter why he pulled the lever anymore, as he watched the trolley pass by his post. He figured that the trolley was going what a normal person would consider fast, but he perceived it to be going painfully slow. It was as if his heartbeat, which now felt like it only beat when he reminded it to, was synchronizing the rate at which everything moved. He watched the car intently, praying to whichever deity was closest, to intervene. He saw the woman’s face when she noticed the trolley coming towards her. He saw her face register what was actually happening. Then he saw the panic, the sheer horror of the reality. He saw her scramble, and the door finally swung open. She managed to scramble out of the car and Jeremy felt hope, despite the trolley being mere yards away. But then her foot snagged on a wooden plank on the track and she fell to her knees and he swore he heard God or Satan, or both, laughing. For a second he thought her eyes looked directly into his, even though he knew it was impossible. His eyes never blinked and neither did hers. The trolley smashed directly into the car,

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6 more than easily taking her with it. Steel collided with the ingredients of car and track with such violent force, that wood, metal, glass seemed to form a halo of shrapnel around the point of impact one would experience watching fireworks explode. Jeremy didn’t hear the screaming of the bystanders but he knew it was there. He didn’t hear the praying of the prisoners, who just realized what happened, but he knew it was there. Jeremy didn’t feel his body slump to the floor, nor his hand hit the handle of a file cabinet. It didn’t matter anymore. His senses were all but shut down, his mental faculties refused to evaluate what had just happened. His hand mindlessly fiddled with something wet on the ground and he realized it was his own vomit. He didn’t move. Time no longer existed. Nothing phased him. The last thing he remembered was two police officers kicking the door in and asking a series of questions he couldn’t bring his brain to process. The police merely wanted to ask him questions about the incident, but because of his trance like state, Jeremy would not respond their questions. The police had no choice but to arrest him for not cooperating and the words “foul play” began floating around the prosecutor’s office. Bernard’s body had been found…several times, and an autopsy to find the cause of death was impossible. The woman had not yet been identified to rule out personal motive. The only word anyone had regarding the tiniest shred of information about what happened, sat scared out of his mind in his orange jumpsuit. Jeremy couldn’t pay bail, so now he glumly sat in his jail cell awaiting his lawyer and wishing he could have said something earlier. “I’m innocent, I swear,” seems to be a popular phrase around this place and not altogether taken too seriously. The state appointed lawyer arrived promptly and cut short the formalities, he was all business, or pressed for time. Jeremy recounted his story, explaining he didn’t know what happened to Bernard but that he had only

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7 seconds to react. He admitted to pulling the lever because he thought the woman had a chance to escape. The lawyer didn’t say much, but nodded a lot and jotted down notes. Apparently the lawyer had enough to go on because Jeremy rarely heard from him again except to schedule a court date. Jeremy replayed everything that had happened that day over and over again everyday for the several weeks he sat in jail. There was nothing else to do, but Jeremy prayed he wouldn’t be sentenced to prison. Well, pray is perhaps an over statement. Jeremy felt bitter at the world and God. Rather, he stuck to hoping. Much to Jeremy’s dismay, he found out his court date merely meant the lawyers were deliberating with each other and the judge to see if the case was worth going to trial. Jeremy felt like an unwanted puppy whose owners were trying to decide whether to take him back to the pound or keep him. He felt worthless as he was walked back to his cell but the judge decided to hear the case, so he might still have a voice. The trial date finally arrived and Jeremy walked into the courtroom looking significantly different from the scared young man who first came in. His hair had grown out and was now tied back in a loose ponytail, for appearances sake, and he seemed to have a permanent glare of distrust on his face. The jurors were already in their seats and the judge asked if there was any business to be had before proceeding. “Business as usual,” Jeremy seethed. “What?” his lawyer said. “Nothing,” he replied. The opening statements went just as his lawyer described them. For Jeremy’s defense, he argued that Jeremy was an ordinary man put in an extraordinary position. He simply acted on utilizing the greatest amount of good possible from the situation. The prosecutor argued the opposite, saying that although Jeremy may or may not have had ill intent,

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8 he knowingly pulled the lever, thereby asserting a role in the cause of the woman’s death. Several expert witnesses including crime scene reconstructionists, doctors and even Jeremy’s boss testified, but all with fairly unsubstantial evidence for or against him. It was now Jeremy’s turn to take the stand and he shuffled over, trying to look as pitiful as possible to play to the jury’s emotions as his lawyer suggested. “I’m acting to save my life for something I couldn’t even help. I saved five men. Everything in life is a charade to please people you shouldn’t even have to,” he thought. The prosecutor began by asking Jeremy the obvious questions such as his profession, his residence etc… “Did you know the train was out of control?” he asked. “I uh…” Jeremy stuttered. “Objection, he had no way of knowing.” “Sustained,” replied the judge. “The jury will disregard the last question.” “Finally he’s doing something helpful,” Jeremy thought. The next question broke his train of thought. “Does the lever, Mr. Mills, ever fall on its own?” “Uh…no, what kind of question,” but he was quickly interrupted by the next question. “Is the lever easy to pull Mr. Mills?” “Uh, it’s alright I guess.” “But you would have no trouble pulling it quickly.” “No.” “So the only possible way for that lever to be pulled is for someone to knowingly do so?” “Yeah, unless something big maybe fell on it.” “Was there anything that big in your office?”

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9 “No.” “Was there anyone else in your office at that time?” “No.” “So the only way for that lever to have been pulled, according to your testimony, is by you.” “But, I told you I pulled the lever,” Jeremy said, confused and frustrated. “I’m well aware of that.” The prosecutor replied, without even looking at him. “Did you see the woman’s car trapped on the tracks?” “Yes.” “What did you think would happen to her when the trolley hit her car?” “Objection!” Shouted Jeremy’s lawyer. “Overruled,” replied the judge. “I figured it would probably hurt her but…” “You thought a trolley going at full speed would only hurt this woman?” “I wanted to save the five men.” “How confident were you that these men were firmly attached to the tracks?” “I don’t know, I guessed since the guards were gone and I know they do that sometimes.” “So you knowingly guided an out of control train into the car of an innocent woman based on a hunch Mr. Mills?” Jeremy felt miserable, why couldn’t they see his situation for what it was? Everything was broken down, analyzed, things that never even crossed his mind at the time of the incident. The trial finally came to a restless end and the jury went into their chambers to deliberate. “Well, I think it’s pretty obvious he’s guilty” an old juror said. “I don’t think so, he saved five lives!” a woman said. “Five prisoners, and at what cost? An innocent woman who probably had a family was killed.” A

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10 young, male juror said. “I’m not saying it’s fair she died,” the woman responded, “but at the end of the day, five people get to see another day, while sadly, one does not.” “Yeah, five prisoners,” the young man snorted. “Just the kind of lives I want saved and back on the street.” “Five lives is five lives, who are you to judge that five lives are worth less than one?” The woman continued. “They are,” the young man sneered. “They had their chance at life and they blew it by landing them selves in prison. I don’t care what they did but that woman’s life was worth more than the whole damn prison if you ask me.” “Alright, everyone calm down,” a portly man said, “let’s not forget the facts we’re presented with here. We can argue morals and ethics all day but what it comes down to is that Mr. Mills pulled the lever, resulting in this woman’s death. Now, our job is to decide whether he should get convicted for that.” “Well, unfortunately morals and ethics are very much real in this case, so it seems like we’ve got a full day ahead of us people,” said the old man. “We can’t get out of here until a verdict is unanimously consented.” “He pulled the lever. I think regardless of his intentions his consequences should be the deciding factor.” A juror with glasses said. “I don’t feel that’s what’s most important,” the woman said, “his intent was to save lives, not take any away, unfortunately that was necessary. I think the intent behind his actions is what really matters.” A juror buried his face into his hands and sighed loudly.

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11 The bailiff entered the courtroom and whispered into the judge’s ear. The judge didn’t appear surprised, nor satisfied. He directed the following statement to the entirety of the court. “Ladies and gentlemen, the jury has come to an impasse, meaning they were unable to come to a unanimous decision. Mr. Mills, you will carry out the remainder of your sentence for not cooperating with officers, but this trial will reconvene tomorrow.” Jeremy exhaled in disbelief. He understood some people in there were on his side and that reassured him. Perhaps the world wasn’t entirely against him. He could easily serve the remaining few weeks of his sentence. Tomorrow could only go better he guessed. The feeling of relief only lasted a fleeting moment as he was walked back to his cell. His mind flashbacked to the accident and the creased frown returned sooner than anticipated. “Hold up,” a checkpoint guard said, “he has a visitor.” Jeremy had no idea who it could be because if his parents or friends cared enough, they would have already visited him by now. As he approached the dividing visitor’s booth he saw a man professionally dressed in a black suit with black, slicked back hair and gold-rimmed glasses. Jeremy could only assume it was another lawyer. Jeremy and the man both sat down and picked up the phones almost in unison. “Hi, I’m Saul Ramirez.” The man said. “Uh, hi, how can I help you?” Jeremy replied. “I just want to talk,” Saul said, making Jeremy a little uneasy despite being separated by bulletproof glass and guards on either side. “I don’t think you remember me,” Saul continued, “but you saved my life.” Jeremy chuckled sarcastically, “Listen sir, I haven’t been doing much saving lately. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in here for letting someone die.”

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12 “Yes,” Saul said, “but you saved my life. You could have let the trolley hit me and my um, colleagues, but you didn’t let that happen. You understood the value of life and this all happened for a reason.” Jeremy could not believe the man he took to be a lawyer was one of the convicts he tried to save! “Look,” Jeremy said, “I appreciate you coming here to see me, but I hardly think any of this was meant to happen. Seems to me like you’re the only one who got anything out of it.” “Are you a religious man?” Saul asked. “Not particularly.” Jeremy responded, lifting his hand cuffs half sarcastically. “Neither was I,” Saul continued. “But I needed out, I knew my life had to change and I had to take it into my own hands. I found God and he showed me the good in life. I knew I would receive a second chance and I did! Thanks to you Jeremy, by letting me live I know it was a sign God wanted me to renew my life.” Something went off in Jeremy and he banged his hand on the glass shouting, “God has nothing to do with this! Why can’t you see that your life was only spared out of a matter of practicality! You think I’m happy an ex con gets to run around free, spewing religious babble about rebirth and second chances while I sit in this hell hole waiting for a bunch of random people to decide on my fate?” “Don’t you get it?” Saul said. “This is your chance to start over. They don’t have enough against you to keep you in here for much longer. You’ve been given a chance to see life from a new perspective. Do you really want to waste your days away in a dead end job doing something that doesn’t matter? This was your wake up call Jeremy, God gave you the cards, now play them. It’s your choice.”

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13 “A choice got me in here in the first place,” Jeremy said quietly. “A choice got me in there too,” Saul said. “But it also got me out.” “Well,” Jeremy said. “Isn’t a choice a funny little thing?”

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