Jerik Hendrickson

Something About Train Tracks

I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while, and just realized I had made notes in my drafts folder the night it happened.  So, here it is as best as I can remember…

Back in early July, my friend Nathan was in town with his band.  I’d spent the evening hanging out with them at the apartment of a fine lad named Lucas, and was about to leave.  Nathan and I were standing on the front step of the apartment building talking, when something made me look upward.  On the top floor, a woman was standing on her balcony.  I shouldn’t say “standing” because that’s not really accurate.  She was leaning over the railing of her balcony so she could stare at us with a pair of wide, crazy eyeballs.  The fact that I’d noticed her didn’t cause her to break her stare.  She just smiled.  Nathan could see that something was uneasy and he looked up at her, then to me with a look that said, “What the hell is going on right now?!”  She mumbled something to us about train tracks. 

Unfortunately I’ve dealt with a lot of complete weirdos in my short life.  There’s always a moment where you don’t know if they are a dangerous weirdo or a harmless, mumbling, non-physical weirdo.  Given she was up on a balcony, it was safe to assume she wasn’t dangerous.  I think Nathan and I simultaneously started to enjoy the experience.

She then mumbled some lyrics, which I later confirmed were Rancid lyrics.  Specifically the song “Junkie Man” which I enjoyed greatly in my younger years.  This was strange.  She had music blasting from her apartment, which was not Rancid, just some shitty reggae. 

After yelling to what appeared to be herself inside the apartment, she came back onto the balcony and said something to the effect of “I’m gonna make a REAL 911 call…and QUICK too!”  We moved to the sidewalk to watch from a better angle.  As we did this she lit a cigarette and without smoking it tossed it at us.  I don’t know if she was offering it to us or enacting some sort of attack.  The look of pure glee on her face didn’t help in figuring this out. 

“You’re so lucky you healed yourself!” she said. 

“Oh yeah?” was the only response that seemed appropriate. 

“Yeah.  When you were cleaning the kitchen and you found those rotten potatoes.”

She was clearly either insane or on drugs or both.  What was a little odd is when I was 19 and living on my own for the first time, there was and instance where I was cleaning my kitchen and discovered a bag of disgusting, rotten potatoes that I’d purchased several months earlier and forgot about.  However, I don’t recall the discovery having any healing properties. 

“I’m a psychopath!” she said.

Nathan replied with, “That’s comforting!”

At some point the receiver of her cordless phone fell off the balcony and broke open into several pieces.  She went inside and did some more yelling.  The reggae became louder and louder.

She was gone for quite some time, but at this point we wanted to stick around just to see what was next. 

Finally she came out onto the balcony and stated “You’re the president of the United States of America.”  Once again, “Oh yeah?” seemed like the only response. 

“Yep.  I elected you.”

I think she said I had the power to change the world or something.  It was highly inspirational, but she went inside to crank the reggae and Nathan and I decided we’d had our fill of the crazy woman for the night.  I started to walk to my car, but Nathan called me over to the apartment door.  I came over and realized what he was showing me:  The reggae in her apartment was so loud that it was filling the entire building.  It was listening volume in the hallway.  Amazing.

I headed for my car again but as I passed in front of the building the woman called down, “Are you solid enough to go solo?”

“Of course.  Are YOU?” I responded

“Fuck no, I’m pregnant with five fetuses!”

“Oh.  Wow.  You…you have a good night.” I said and left. 

The following afternoon I stopped by to see the guys in the band again and lo and behold the crazy woman was smiling and content with a cigarette up on her balcony.  It appeared that she’d retrieved her broken telephone at some point.  Unfortunately she had nothing to say to us. 

I wonder what she’s up to now…