Trolley Car

Stanley, unlikely hero

   

          Stanley Johanssen approached one of the grosser men of the world.  He leaned over the rail of the bridge, his prodigious belly fat parting on and engulfing metal like the Red Sea on the Egyptians.  A nervous chocolate chip balances precariously on top of his coneful of melting ice cream- green mint is outstretched to the farthest reach of his body and as a group it is obnoxiously slipping closer to the earth many feet below.  Individually, streams of melted ice cream dribble down waffle cone down the back of his hand, coagulating at the point of the cone.  He turns to look at Stanley.  His movement causes a large drop of his dessert to leave the tip and fly out to space, closely followed by the nervous chocolate chip.  A seagull swoops down and eats the chocolate, its eyes looking up at the sky, thankful for the divine gift.  Stanley shivers in disgust, and glances at the behemoth fatty.  The man quickly turns back to eating.  Stanley is thankful for not seeing his face.  

          Hank Crumlé screams and pulls on the brake lever.  There is a pop and then the trolley car is hurtling down Main Street without a brake to stop it.  “Get out of the way!” He yells.  “MOVE!”  There is a whole construction crew directly in his path: four men dressed in bright orange suits and arguing over the roar of a jackhammer.  Hank buries his head in despair, unable to watch the inevitable.

          Stanley is setting up his tripod when he sees the trolley car approaching the construction crew at an ominous velocity.  Something is very wrong.  He yells out to the street below, but to no avail.  The fat man is struggling pathetically against the rail, unable to get himself off the ground.  Stanley looks back at the trolley car, now only moments away from the workers.  The fat man’s face is crunched and fighting, fighting like a man with one chance at redemption.  He crawls onto the rail and goes over without a peep.  Stanley is filled with biting ice as he peers over the bar, watching the figure pirouette through the air.  “Hey man!”  He shouts as an individual hurtles to his death.  “What the hell are you doing?”  The fat man strikes the floor with an audible thump, yards away from the closest construction worker.

          Something large and green rockets past the trolley car’s window.  There are two thuds, a screech, and then the vehicle has come to a stop.  A burnt smell is ubiquitous.  The jackhammer comes to a stop.  Hank stares at the shocked construction workers.  Above them, Stanley is staring down at the amorphous lump that took the shape of a wedge beneath the bus.  He gets down on his knees and prays.