Trolley Problem
Chip’s nerves jittered his thighs while his foot tapped in rapid fashions that shook the aluminium bench. His knuckles white as they gripped his favorite hockey stick. He nicknamed it, “Black Bauer”, one: because it was black and that was the brand, but two: He really enjoyed the show “24”. Either way, it served as a security blanket of sorts, though much more formidable in the right hands.
“Easy, bro! You’re gonna shake me off this bench.” I told him in an attempt to curtail any oncoming episode. “My bad.” Chip replied. “You’ve got to understand…this is farther than I’ve ever got.” “I know, man. I know.” I said in acknowledgement. “And you’re doing great. Just try to stay zen and remember that on the other side of this is your freedom. Now it’s up to you to grab it, but I’m gonna be here every step.” With a stern slam of Black Bauer, the foot tapping subsided. Chip’s eyes finally rose to meet mine. He nodded with a facial combination of prompted courage and the profound uneasiness that it thinly veiled. His breath grew heavy with contemplation of what would soon transpire.
OOOOkay! Maybe I jumped ahead a bunch. Lemme back that ass up & fill you in.
My rents and I found chip at the very T-station of which we now sat. I was five and I heard a weird monkey-esque sonic emission from the other side of the city paperbox. My adventurous mind thought I might be able to ensnare the simian and train it in some sort of fighting style. I was debating which one as I snuck over as nimbly and ninjatic as I could to the source of the sound. I quickly leapt to the other side of the paperbox with snaring hands outstretched and gnashing teeth to boot. To my surprise it was an infant sitting up against the railing with a weird necklace that had a green-glowing medallion. It looked at me with an awe-inspired gaze. “It’s not a monkey, Momma, it’s a baby…maybe.”
My parents called the bacon, looked for his parents, but to no avail, so they filed the necessary paperwork and home he came. They let me name him. At the time (and still to this day) I had an affinity for Sun Chips, so the name stuck. From that day forth, he was my little bro. He wasn’t as furry as a monkey, but still had a ferocity in him and followed me wherever, so I felt like his sentinel and sensei to the arts of all badassery. Chip’s courage knew no bounds, but one: That T-station. He, however had a darn-good reason.
When he was 8, Mom & Dad gave him a ferret for his birthday. He was an awesome friend. Chip called him, “Waldorf the WonderFerret.” I swear Chip and him had a way of communication I never understood. Far beyond “Fetch”, Waldorf could find lost items, hunt down pesky mosquitoes, and even do backflips on command. Truly a virtuous varmint.
On our winter break, we were at the station about to embark upon a sweet venturing to my buddy, Tito’s house for some pizza and trampoline antics. Chip and I were perched on our signature bench. Waldorf was comfortably perched upon Chip’s shoulder as was his custom, when, “Clunk...Clunk…Clunk.” We all three looked down upon the tracks to see the overturned can of….”what are those?” At a further look, we realized what they were. “CASHEWS!” we both shouted vacant of the present realization that Waldorf knew the word all too well. Chip couldn’t react fast enough to grab Wally. He raced down off the platform and began gorging himself like King Ali Baba. The “TINGTINGTING” shortly followed. I held onto Chip as he shouted down unheard critiques about his doomed pet’s greed. Damn, he was strong. It took all I had to keep him on the platform. The tears in my eyes painted my face as I labored to prevent his suicidal mission. We both collapsed in a blanket of sadness. The sounds echo in both our minds, I’m sure, to this day.
Cut back to now. 5 years later, and he can’t even watch Mr. Rogers without getting upset. Trolleys have taken quite more than enough. I had to be the driving force behind what needed to occur: Therapy, There was a street hockey pick-up game in Darby. We were undefeated on our turf & needed to go show them hoodrats what we were made of.
We boarded the T. I held onto him with comforting strength. He trembled a bit. I could feel it. We proceeded into the car and took the first seat. I put my arm around him as the trolley began to roll. We looked at each other with a sense of victory. “What did I tell you, bro?” It’s all good?”
The windows grew dark as we went underground. Just then, the medallion He’s been wearing since I saw him once again glowed with a radiant green. A shadowed figure stepped into the light. Bald head, leather jacket, blue jeans, etc. He reached around his head and we heard a sound like a zipper that proceeded as we saw him unzip his skin suit and reveal a demonesque figure with glowing red eyes. It bellowed, “Behold! The offspring has arrived!” Everybody stood up and began unzipping their fake people garb. It was unnerving to say the least. They snarled with mad ungodly sounds as we looked at each other once again. I smiled and said, “Hey, at least you brought Black Bauer.” Chip smiled as we both stood up, sticks in hand, to ward off what came next.
“Easy, bro! You’re gonna shake me off this bench.” I told him in an attempt to curtail any oncoming episode. “My bad.” Chip replied. “You’ve got to understand…this is farther than I’ve ever got.” “I know, man. I know.” I said in acknowledgement. “And you’re doing great. Just try to stay zen and remember that on the other side of this is your freedom. Now it’s up to you to grab it, but I’m gonna be here every step.” With a stern slam of Black Bauer, the foot tapping subsided. Chip’s eyes finally rose to meet mine. He nodded with a facial combination of prompted courage and the profound uneasiness that it thinly veiled. His breath grew heavy with contemplation of what would soon transpire.
OOOOkay! Maybe I jumped ahead a bunch. Lemme back that ass up & fill you in.
My rents and I found chip at the very T-station of which we now sat. I was five and I heard a weird monkey-esque sonic emission from the other side of the city paperbox. My adventurous mind thought I might be able to ensnare the simian and train it in some sort of fighting style. I was debating which one as I snuck over as nimbly and ninjatic as I could to the source of the sound. I quickly leapt to the other side of the paperbox with snaring hands outstretched and gnashing teeth to boot. To my surprise it was an infant sitting up against the railing with a weird necklace that had a green-glowing medallion. It looked at me with an awe-inspired gaze. “It’s not a monkey, Momma, it’s a baby…maybe.”
My parents called the bacon, looked for his parents, but to no avail, so they filed the necessary paperwork and home he came. They let me name him. At the time (and still to this day) I had an affinity for Sun Chips, so the name stuck. From that day forth, he was my little bro. He wasn’t as furry as a monkey, but still had a ferocity in him and followed me wherever, so I felt like his sentinel and sensei to the arts of all badassery. Chip’s courage knew no bounds, but one: That T-station. He, however had a darn-good reason.
When he was 8, Mom & Dad gave him a ferret for his birthday. He was an awesome friend. Chip called him, “Waldorf the WonderFerret.” I swear Chip and him had a way of communication I never understood. Far beyond “Fetch”, Waldorf could find lost items, hunt down pesky mosquitoes, and even do backflips on command. Truly a virtuous varmint.
On our winter break, we were at the station about to embark upon a sweet venturing to my buddy, Tito’s house for some pizza and trampoline antics. Chip and I were perched on our signature bench. Waldorf was comfortably perched upon Chip’s shoulder as was his custom, when, “Clunk...Clunk…Clunk.” We all three looked down upon the tracks to see the overturned can of….”what are those?” At a further look, we realized what they were. “CASHEWS!” we both shouted vacant of the present realization that Waldorf knew the word all too well. Chip couldn’t react fast enough to grab Wally. He raced down off the platform and began gorging himself like King Ali Baba. The “TINGTINGTING” shortly followed. I held onto Chip as he shouted down unheard critiques about his doomed pet’s greed. Damn, he was strong. It took all I had to keep him on the platform. The tears in my eyes painted my face as I labored to prevent his suicidal mission. We both collapsed in a blanket of sadness. The sounds echo in both our minds, I’m sure, to this day.
Cut back to now. 5 years later, and he can’t even watch Mr. Rogers without getting upset. Trolleys have taken quite more than enough. I had to be the driving force behind what needed to occur: Therapy, There was a street hockey pick-up game in Darby. We were undefeated on our turf & needed to go show them hoodrats what we were made of.
We boarded the T. I held onto him with comforting strength. He trembled a bit. I could feel it. We proceeded into the car and took the first seat. I put my arm around him as the trolley began to roll. We looked at each other with a sense of victory. “What did I tell you, bro?” It’s all good?”
The windows grew dark as we went underground. Just then, the medallion He’s been wearing since I saw him once again glowed with a radiant green. A shadowed figure stepped into the light. Bald head, leather jacket, blue jeans, etc. He reached around his head and we heard a sound like a zipper that proceeded as we saw him unzip his skin suit and reveal a demonesque figure with glowing red eyes. It bellowed, “Behold! The offspring has arrived!” Everybody stood up and began unzipping their fake people garb. It was unnerving to say the least. They snarled with mad ungodly sounds as we looked at each other once again. I smiled and said, “Hey, at least you brought Black Bauer.” Chip smiled as we both stood up, sticks in hand, to ward off what came next.