Duquesne Whistle

The bluesy song refers to the Duquesne (pronounced doo-kayne) train service that used to run between New York Penn and Pittsburgh Penn Stations. The interesting part about the song is that Dylan had a distaste for the Doquesne whistle of the train that would blow even when operated by the current daily Amtrack Pennsylvanian service. He states “Listen to that Duquesne whistle blowing, Blowing like it’s gonna sweep my world away.” This song can signify exactly how I felt in the moment of my realization of the truth. My world was sure to blow away with the most recent discoveries.

 

I cranked up the radio and started on my way to my friends. I had told my Mother and Mimi that we were going to get together for some girl talk… but I know they weren’t blind to the code that “girl talk” really meant group therapy with cocktails. They were kind enough not to judge; out loud anyways. As I mentioned before, the view from ym friends house was really lovely, and the drive complimented it well. Open  parkway with lots of trees that were decorated by mother nature in a blanket of snow, and that would finally open on the shores of the Great Lake Ontario (if you are from Rochester then I sense you picked up on the sarcasm of that comment with ease).

As I pulled into her drive beeping the horn for good measure, I saw her bright smile in the front bay window. This was exactly the kind of person I needed right now. I exited the car to meet her at the door, keys in her hand. “Before you lock up…” I started, “there is a little matter of storage I need to request of you.” My friend had a questioning look on her face, but without a word she turned the key back in the door and led me inside to her basement. This was why we were such good friends.

We didn’t exchange many words about the treasures I was asking her to store, I think she knew exactly what was going on. She had recently lost her father as well, and although it was not under the same circumstances, there was a level of understanding reached when you know what it feels like to want to hold onto things that provide you with memories.

After we loaded everything into her basement, she smiled at me and gave me a quick, yet heartfelt hug. “Ready to head out? I thought we would try one of our old stomping grounds, low key so we could talk. How about Hogans Hideaway?” I could feel the corners of my mouth turn up in a smile, something I hadn’t feel very often the last few weeks. This place had so many memories for me; all good. The atmosphere was calm and dim, the perfect setting for the gut spilling conversations I had to have with a dear friend. “Perfect,” I responded enthusiastically.

We had a bit of a drive to reach our destination. We filled it with small talk, mostly about my friend and what her new en devour of owning her home was really like. It was nice to hear someone else talk for a change, to listen to the problems and stress that should be facing a twenty something woman. It allowed me to let go of my own crazy mess for those few minutes, and forget that my life had become instantly complicated within the course of two weeks.

We arrived at Hogans Hideaway just in time to catch the end of happy hour. The bar was welcoming, lit dimly with candles scattered sporadically  around the room. Although this was also a thriving restaurant, the bar offered some seclusion from the restaurant buzz, one of my favorite characteristics of this spot. We chose a high top table that sat a bit away from the bar and contained one single votive candle placed in the center. After our last encounter at a bar complete with conversation, I felt that it wasn’t necessary to continue scarring the population of bartenders within the Rochester area; Mom always said that some things were better left unsaid, or in this case, unheard.

We grabbed a cocktail and took a seat. My friend was a beer drinker through and through, but myself I was still in the stage of random hankerings for specific drinks. Tonight was going to be a Tanquerary and tonic evening, something I could sip while I sorted out the ever unfolding mess of my life.

My friend sat patiently, waiting for me to open up about the current events; she could always see when I needed to talk. I started by explaining the conversation I had earlier that evening with Steve, stating to her how strange and aloof the whole thing was. I finished my short story and watched as my friends eyes began to glisten with tears. She was able to feel the things that I was feeling, just by listening to me talk. Another reason why we were true friends.

“So what do you really think?” She asked. “Deep down in the greatest depth of your heart and soul, what is your first thought?” Her question surprised me to some extent, I didn’t really have an answer planned. I don’t think I had taken a moment to even sort through what I was feeling. ” I don’t know,” I responded slowly. “Yes you do Dana, you know exactly what you think, that is one of your most endearing qualities. So just say it, out loud for only mine and your ears to hear, you NEED to do this.”

My head began to spin again, thinking of the conversation with Steve and how it had made me so angry. How he was my husband and hadn’t come to stand by my side through any of this. Fuck he didn’t even send flowers ! My father’s coffee shop sent fucking flowers! What was going on with this man? How could he not show the compassion that was truly needed during a time like this? Holy shit… my mind had landed on something big… my tongue began to twitch and my eyes filled with the fury and rage that was slowly creeping through my insides. “He had something to do with it.” My mouth said the words but my ears had not yet caught up to what I was saying. ” My father did not, and would not have taken my own life. There is too much evidence pointing against that. The computer in the snow, the two girlfriends that are friends, the wine spilled all over the apartment and the toxicology reporting 0% BAC.” The words were coming out of my mouth so fast that I didn’t even stop to notice my friends reaction. “Holy shit, my husband had something to do with my father’s death. That is why he was so interested in the will, and what the estate was valued at. That is why he has avoided all questions that are personal or emotional about the topic. He can’t bring himself to discuss the emotional distress that he had a hand in causing me. And THAT’S WHY he didn’t come to the funeral, or any part of this for that reason. He has to have the alibi to say that he was in California during the duration of all of these events. So then who was working with him? Who else had the most to gain from this? It was at this point that I looked up at my friend and finally took in her face, her reaction. Her eyes were set wide, an intent glare that glazed over her eyes. Her body was leaning so far forward that I thought she might knock the table over…. holding on to every word that I said as if she was watching the plot of the best movie unfold before her eyes. I repeated my previous comment, more for myself than for her; “Who had the most to gain from my father’s death that could have been the Rochester face for the crime?”

We stared at one another for a moment, eyes locked but minds elsewhere, traveling through the chain of events that I had just put forth. Taking another sip of the Tanquerary and tonic sitting on my beverage napkin I allowed my brain to slow for a moment, to come to terms with the most recent revelations and sort through the newly discovered information. I swallowed hard, partially because of the burn the Tanquerary as it traveled down my esophagus, and partially because my speeding mind had just slowed enough to display a still frame of what I was looking for. Locking eyes with my friend I opened my mouth to speak, and it was as if I had an echo. Because at the same exact moment that I heard the words come of out my mouth, I heard her voice within the same utterance… “McCrabben.” 

The unison of our voices sent chills throughout my entire body. I had been thinking for the last two weeks that this woman was a selfish piece of shit who was entirely focused on taking everything that didn’t belong to her. But the last 45 minutes of my life had brought an entirely different perspective, one that once I had realized I could not ignore. My husband and Kim McCrabben had somehow planned and executed the death of my father.

They say “God will only give you what you can handle.” Well then God must think I am fucking tank because the revelations that were coming to light were ones far beyond anything I could have ever imagined. But I was going to find the answers, the truth.

I downed the last of my drink and gave a small smile to my friend. “Another round?” I asked. She nodded in reply, but I think she knew we were going to need more than just one more round to sort out the things we had just discovered. I got our next round from the bar and brought it back to the table, placing the drinks on cocktail napkins that were already damp with condensation from the previous round. My friend held up her glass and I did the same, ” To finding the truth and letting it set us free.” her words we so cliche, yet the suited the moment so perfectly. “Salud” I said, as I clinked my glass to hers. I thought this ride was almost over, turns out it was just beginning.

I left my new found treasures in trunk as I strolled back into Mimi’s house, making a mental note not to let her or Papa take the wheel until the contraband was removed. I didn’t feel that now was the best time to bring up my recent trip to the five finger discount store.

Mom and Mimi were sitting at the table talking, their faces spread of worry with a slight hint of sorrow all directed at me.

“Sit with us,” Mimi said. This was more of a statement rather than  question. I did as I was told and waited for someone to speak next. I fiddled with the paper napkin left on the table from Papa’s morning coffee. I rubbed the brown stains between my fingers as I waited…. someone had to have something to say. I said a silent wish that it would be soon because the only thing I had to break the ice with at the current moment was the trunk full of “borrowed goods” and for some reason I didn’t feel they were quite ready for that.

Mom spoke first, “It’s time to start thinking about finishing up here and heading home Fib.” My mouth must have fallen open in my shocked reaction to her words because she continued speaking ever so gently. “What has happened here is a tragedy, one I wish I could have protected you from, but it cannot stop you from living your life and you cannot let it define who you are.” Although her words rang bells of truth in my mind, my heart felt differently. I knew something wasn’t right here, with this whole situation. If I walked away now, who would be left to go after the truth? Certainly not the RPD, as they had always proven their lack of worth on the night in question. Kim had too many other life events ot attend to, and Kiera to care for. How would the truth every be uncovered if I planned to leave now? I could tell that my mother was reading my thoughts through the changing expressions on my face. She laid her hand on mine, “I am going to help you Fib. We will get through this. But you have a life you just started in California, with a new husband a new home. All of that cannot cease to exist based on the current events. Have you even talked to Steve?

Ah, yes… Steve. As many of you may recall I was married and sleeping next to my husband on the night of the dreadful call. But yet he has not played a major role in this entire experience. In the moment I blamed myself, for being too busy and caught up in the events to be bothered to call and talk to him about it all. Hindsight tells me that there was much more to that than I had ever imagined.

“We have talked, and sent messages.” I explained to my mother. “But it has just been so busy and he has been working.” She nodded her head as if to show me that she understood. “But these are the things that you cannot let make sever changes to your life Dana,” she warned. “These are the moments you have to live for, for yourself and for your father. Take a few moments and go and call Steve, talk to him about your week and see what kind of a bond you can build from that kind of trust and honesty. “Okay Dalhi, ” I mumbled under my breath, although I don’t think she heard me.

I set up camp on the rickety bronze bed where I felt comfortable and home. I started to dial the number, my fingers sliding over the keys with the ease and familiarity of having done it a million times before.  He answered on the second ring, sounding happy to hear from me. I on the other hand felt guilty for not being able to return the happiness in my voice. We chatted about the events of the last week, I left out some of the details as not to worry him; breaking and entering, theft, the ugly verbal brawl with McCracken at the office, and then again at the funeral. The idea was not to worry him, not to make him think I was loosing my mind. Steve’s responses and answers sounded so blasé given the current situation and the lack of spousal support received. “Ya, probably about time to come home, I agree” he was saying as it was clear he was also doing something else while talking. I mean, what the fuck guy? I am your wife and I just went through the most traumatic event of my life to date and you can’t even give yourself over to one tiny conversation? My head began to spin thinking of all the things that were no longer adding up, coming now into the full view of the light.

Who in their right mind leaves their new wife to handle the death of a parent alone in another state? Even work would have allowed for a flight to make the service at very least. I mean, Billy flew from Vegas to be here, why the hell hadn’t my husband found his way to a plane? As he continued on about minuscule bullshit about the weather and his work I found myself becoming more and more angry… and suspicious. I couldn’t understand how he had removed himself so fully from this situation, I mean were we together or not? My head ran through the events of the last few days like a crack head on speed. His calls had been scarce, his messages of simple language, and his inquiries mostly about the will and the settlement. What the fuck was I really dealing with here? I couldn’t listen to the mindless chatter coming through the receiver any longer so I excused myself to end the call.

I had to sort this out, I needed to say it aloud and having someone present as a sounding board, but most of all I needed a drink. You would think after my massive hangover earlier this morning the thought and scent of alcohol would be enough to make me run for another trash can… but oddly enough I thought it would do the trick in this case. I dialed up my friend and asked her out for some cocktails and conversation. She happily agreed and started rattling off some of our favorite local dives. “Anywhere with vodka works for me,” I stated. Suddenly my mind flashed back to the trunk of Mimi’s car loaded with all of my rather illegally obtained treasures. ” I’ll drive,” I offered. “I will pick you up at six at your place. Oh, and by the way do you have a basement?