Watching
Black Birds From An Old Trolley
A short story by Elisabeth Zguta
A breeze whipped across the empty street causing the
noise and clatter of paper and debris, as it hit the sidewalk’s edge, following
its wake. I felt the briskness of the wind
hit my cheeks, and I knew from the stinging that my face was red from the
weather. I was standing at the curb,
under the roof of the trolley stop platform.
I reached up and pulled my hat tighter trying to stay warm and crushed
my long curled strands in the process. I
needed to catch the trolley to cross town and had been standing here waiting
for the next train. Minutes went by as I
leveraged my weight from one foot to another, and kicked my tall leather boots
together as I tried to keep the chill out of my bones. Then I heard the ting ting of the
trolley. The wheels rubbed against the
iron rails and the rolling rumble sounded soothing to my ears. A deep vibration was felt by my cold feet as
the old vintage trolley stopped in front of me.
The trolley screeched to a halt and I stepped up, holding
onto the brass railing for balance. The
dollar I had been tightly holding in my hand was fed into the meter and I
watched as it crunched the money into the slot.
The wooden slatted seats were mostly empty, so I maneuvered up to the
front and sat behind the driver. He was
dressed in a dark blue uniform and matching jacket, and he spilled over the
confines of his seat. He wore a hat like
security men wear, and then I noticed his eyes and his face which was lit up like
stars, reflecting light on his sweating brow. There was one other man already
seated up front. He was young, his dark
hair slicked back away from his face, and then curled at the ends. The style exposed his sculpted facial
features. He was handsome, with a darker
skin tone and a pleasant shade of hazel eyes.
His face was cordial and smiling.
He wore casual clothes, not expensive but trendy. A camera hung around his neck by a thick
leather strap, and he bobbed his head from side to side, watching the street as
if looking for something.
The trolley moved forward and we both jerked a little as
the tugging of the motor hedged forward.
Ting ting, again the bell was heard as the trolley passed through
perpendicular streets and warned the pedestrians. The windows were shut and the inside of the
car had welcomed warmth. The young man
started to talk with the driver and they chatted about the downtown area. Their conversation was friendly, peppered
with distinct drawls and accents of the local area. The driver was a big man, with a very
friendly voice, and a content smile rose all the way up to his eyes. He seemed to enjoy talking about the
buildings we passed, and I too found myself listening to his guided tour.
In the first part of our journey we passed trendy cafes
and sushi bars. This was a newly
remodeled area of Main Street, which attracted the younger crowd. There were some art galleries and custom
furniture stores too. Then after Union
Street we passed tall skyscrapers filled with office spaces. The exterior walls were mostly art deco with
prominent embellished details around the doorways and window jams. There was one older building from the 1800's
with a federal style, sporting long windows and scrolled edging. Then we passed a few newer constructions, one
a hotel that replaced an old torn down forgotten edifice. This building had a newer modern twist to the
design, with a chain store kind of appearance.
It could have been in any city's downtown, the same as in any other
place, with nothing original to give it character.
Again some more clatter, ting ting, as we crossed another
major intersection. Then we changed
direction and began to run down tracks leading us towards the city's river front. The driver pointed out rubble of an archaic
building, and he told us about how that was the place where slaves used to be
sold. A shiver ran down my spine as I
thought of all the misery that had inhabited that space. It was like looking at hallows of an old
prison, with visions of death and injustice.
Now it was just cracked stone, and fallen crumbling walls, a reminder of
an evil that once prevailed here. Ting
ting, we kept rolling along.
Finally the young man sat up and began tugging at the window. This trolley was old, with wooden framed
windows that had swelled through the years of humidity. He tugged at the swollen frame until he
gained purchase and pulled the window down to free his view. Out came the camera and he snapped away at
the scenes around the river front. There
were old steam boats in a distance, and some small islands off the shore,
filling the middle of the wide river with a diversion, and breaking the view of
the shores from the other side. The
bridge leading out of the city was high above us, it spanned across the wide
river with rounded arches that looked like wings, and the young man snapped a
few shots of that too.
The driver stopped at a light and we waited until it
turned green. I noticed a flock of
blackbirds squawking away as they lay covering the lawn of the riverside
park. Their sound was heard through the
open window, they were eerily loud.
Chirps and squawks filled the air; there must have been thousands of the
birds all gathering together making a ruckus.
A few louder caws of larger birds overshot the others’ sounds and then
suddenly, as if given a cue, the flock started to ascend in synchronized waves
into the perches of nearby trees. The
branches were barren of leaves and stood stark against the blue sky in its
backdrop. The birds flapped their wings
and in a smooth rhythm, moved from the ground to the branches, and then in one
final swoop, from the tree to the sky they soared. They took off, fleeting by each other and
rising in a large cloud of fluttering black wings and squawks of ear piercing
high pitched noise.
The light changed and the trolley tugged and jerked as it
moved forward. The birds flew swiftly
and were gone, out of sight. The camera
man was snapping at the river front, and then sat back down on the bench seat after
he quenched his curiosity. He smiled,
revealing deep dimples. He was pleased
with his shots and progress, and I was happy he found what he desired. The driver smiled too, as he pressed on
towards the bluffs.
I sat there wondering when the spring would be here. I wanted the empty tree branches to be filled
with greenery, enough so the birds were hidden in the bright colored camouflage. I wanted to hear the birds sing songs to each
other instead of flocking as a mad group that was migrating. I wanted a southern wind to be warm against
my face, and kiss my cheeks with sunshine and color, instead of a stinging
frozen bite. I longed for spring, the
rebirth of warmth.
The trolley stopped, tinging its bell again. This was my stop. I got up, bent my head towards the men in
recognition and left the trolley.
Hanging onto the handrail, I stepped down into the bitterness still
hanging in the air. Elusive spring, where are you?
