Stranded
By Ed Van Cise
“Stranded!? That’s what you’re telling me, isn’t it?” bemoaned a frustrated Frank Poncherrello, his white tank top starting to soak through with the sweat that had been running ever since he realized the major problem he’d gotten himself into. He cursed to himself for what seemed to be the hundredth time that his car had to go into the shop for repairs this weekend. It would be the last time he took Jon’s advice to, “Take the train, it’s fun and relaxing.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the annoyed Amtrak platform worker repeated, pushing his uniform hat up on his head with his pen, “unless Palmville is your final destination, the next train through here doesn’t arrive until about this time tomorrow.”
“But like I’ve already told you,” Ponch told the man pointedly as he dropped his overnight bag onto the platform, “I wasn’t supposed to get off until Palmdale. I wasn’t really paying attention, and you have to admit that Palmdale and Palmville sound a lot alike. The least you can do is set up travel for me to Palmdale.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the man replied yet again, sighing loudly to try to show his agitation and trying to end the discussion as quickly as possible, “It is not our fault if you cannot hear or did not read the signs before you got off the train. The best we can do is put you on the next train to Palmdale. And like I’ve already told you, we only get one train a day through these parts, so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Amtrak will not pay for a cab or other transportation all the way to Palmdale just because you did not have the good sense to make sure this was the right stop before getting off. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other passengers I need to attend to. Good day.” Without waiting for the Ponch to respond, the man continued toward the small office at the center of the train platform. As Ponch was about to call after him, he was struck sharply in the ribs.
“Ow!” he cried, clutching his side. As Ponch spun to face his assailant, ready to fend off further attack, he was confronted by a small, gray haired elderly woman. She was clutching in her right hand two dirty bags full of what appeared to be various colored biker shorts and carried a long golf umbrella in her left hand. Strapped to her back was what looked to be a heavily laden backpack full of empty soda cans. She waved her dirty umbrella in Ponch’s face and told him with a slight slur, “Well, Sonny, if you didn’t stand in the middle of the platform, maybe some folk could get past. Now scoot before I poke you again!”
Ponch’s face turned as red as his Hispanic composition would allow. As he rubbed his sore ribs, he glanced around the wide deck that separated the two train tracks that serviced Palmville. The only people visible were himself, this rude old woman, and a few platform workers down at the other end for the station.
“What other people?” Ponch retorted angrily, trying to reign in his patience. “It’s just you and me. Can’t you just walk around?”
The elderly woman huffed and instead or replying, readjusted the pack on her shoulders and continued her shuffle towards the station exit. As she was almost out of reach, she took her umbrella and jabbed it at Ponch’s feet. Unfortunately, Ponch had already started to turn away and didn’t see the sharp point coming. The umbrella struck him squarely on the top of his right foot. His sneaker did not offer much protection as the jab struck home. The off duty CHP officer shouted in surprise and had to bite his cheek to cut off a string of Latino curses. He was about to turn around and give the old woman a piece of his mind when he thought better of it and simply grabbed his bags and limped towards the nearest exit in the direction opposite the weird old lady was heading. The old woman, seeing that the grumpy, obnoxious tourist was not going to give her any more trouble, shifted the load on her shoulders and again headed toward the street. The platform workers all turned and stared as she walked past them. They tried not to laugh out loud as the old woman started mumbling something about how all men should wear biker shorts.
“I can’t believe he got off at the wrong stop,” Christie chuckled into the phone. She tucked the phone between her neck and shoulders as she reached back and tried to tie back her hair. “I know it’s not funny because it’s happening to you, but it really is pretty funny.”
“Yeah, I know,” sighed Stacey. As she finished putting on her makeup, she carefully stepped over the long phone cord so she wouldn’t trip going back into her bedroom. She stared at her closet mirror to make certain her hair was perfect and her makeup accented her bright blue eyes and stellar looks. Happy, she eased into the high backed chair in front of her vanity. “I’ll never understand that man,” she continued. “This weekend was supposed to be so perfect. Ponch was going to get here by early afternoon, we’d spend the weekend together, and he’d take the night train back to LA on Sunday. Now, he says he won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. That only leaves us a day and a half to reacquaint ourselves.”
As Christie, one of Stacey’s best friends, tried to console the downhearted brunette, Stacey wadded up the new bright pink string bikini she had bought just for this weekend and tossed it into the bag near her feet which contained a very skimpy, black nightgown. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with all the stuff I bought. We were supposed to go to the beach this afternoon, and, well…you know, get to know each other all night long. Now it’s just me in my lonely apartment,” Stacey pouted.
“Well, you can’t let all those new clothes go to waste. You’ll still have Saturday night, ya know.”
“I know, but there won’t be any time to go to the beach…”
“Why not? If he won’t be here, then it’s his loss. Hey, we’re both young and in our prime. Why does this have to ruin a fun weekend? I say we both go, get changed, and head down to the beach anyway. He said he’d be here tomorrow afternoon, and assuming there’s no other ‘Palm’ cities between here and there, he really will be here tomorrow. Let’s go have some fun.”
“I dunno, Christie, I probably should wait here by the phone in case he calls.”
“Oh, come on, live a little. He’s a big boy, if he calls he’ll just have to dream about what he’s missing.”
“I guess you’re right. Ok, let’s go. I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”
“That’s my girl,” Christie laughed. “Who knows, if we’re lucky maybe at least one of us won’t be lonely tonight. I’ll see you downstairs.” As Stacey hung up the phone, she reached down into the bag for her new swimsuit. She held it up to her five and a half foot frame and smiled into the mirror. “You’ll never forget which stop to get off again, Officer Poncherello,” she thought slyly to herself as she began to change.
Ponch hustled down the dusty streets of Palmville looking for a half-way decent place to spend the night and perhaps get a bite to eat. As he waited at a corner for the only traffic light in town to turn green so he could cross, a tall man walked up and leaned on the light pole. The man took off his weathered cowboy hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the red handkerchief he had pulled from the back pocket of his worn, tight fitting jeans. After replacing the hat and removing the large cigar from his mouth, the man looked up at Ponch.
“Not from around here, are you?” the man asked as he knocked some ash off the cigar and stepped on it with his dust-covered cowboy boots. Ponch looked up, not sure what to say. Deciding honesty was the best route, he replied, “No, I’m not. How can you tell?”
“The shoes,” the man replied. “Everything around here is dusty and dirty. Your sneakers are bright white. That and the fact that you just came out of the train station with a look on your face that says you have no idea where you are.”
“Well, you’ve got me there,” Ponch chuckled. “I got off at the wrong stop and am stuck here until tomorrow. You wouldn’t happen to know a good place to spend the night, would you?”
“I reckon the best place would be Aunt PT’s Inn. It’s about two blocks up that away,” the man replied, pointing a leathered finger in the direction Ponch had just come. “Got off at the wrong station, eh? Let me guess. You were heading to Palmdale and didn’t hear the stop right. Am I right?”
Amazed, Ponch gave a full-toothed smile and said, “Man, that’s it exactly. You’re the first person to believe me. How did you know?”
“It’s probably the only reason people come to this town, as far as I know,” the man smiled back. “You’re in luck, though, pardner, I’m actually on my way to my pickup. I’ve got to be up in Palmdale tonight. If you’d like, I could give you a lift up there.”
Ponch replied with an unsure look on his face, “Well, that’s an awful nice offer, mister, but I’m not so sure I can do that. Besides, they promise I’ll be up there by mid afternoon tomorrow and …”
“Ha!” the man laughed, interrupting Ponch. “You mean you actually believe Amtrak will be on time? Yeah, that’s a good one! Look, I’m an honest man just trying to help out a stranger. If you’re not interested, that’s fine.” Ponch didn’t know what to do. An opportunity to get up to see Stacey by tonight sounded too good to be true, but taking rides with strangers is something Jon and Sarge probably wouldn’t agree with. “What the heck,” he though to himself, “this guy seems honest enough. Besides, I’m a cop. If there’s any trouble, I’m sure I can handle it.” As he was about to take the man up on his offer, the light turned green and the stranger in the cowboy hat started across the street. Ponch quickly grabbed his bag and trotted after him.
“Hold on,” Ponch called as they got to the other sidewalk.
“Yeah?” the man asked patiently, turning and waiting for Ponch to catch up.
“I appreciate your offer and would really like to get up to Palmdale tonight. I can’t offer you much, but I’d really appreciate a lift.”
“Sure thing,” the man replied, “glad to have some company on the trip. My name’s Ed, Ed Van Cise.”
“Frank Poncherello, but everyone calls me Ponch. It’s nice to meet you, and thanks for your help,” Ponch answered. The two shook hands and Ed led Ponch to his battered blue pickup truck parked in front of a run down looking diner halfway down the block.
Thirty minutes later the two were standing in line at a convenience store located just off the highway. They had stopped to fill up on gas and use the restroom. As Ed was reaching for his wallet, Ponch put his hand on Ed’s shoulder, “Let me pay for it. I really appreciate you taking me up to Palmdale with you. At least let me pay for gas and coffee.”
“I’ll never say no to free gas,” smiled Ed, “or free coffee.” As Ponch placed the two cups of coffee on the counter, he spied a stand of what he’d call “sweet, tasty goodness.” He swiftly plunked three packages of Ding Dongs on the counter and leaned over to Ed, “trust me,” he said with a smile. Ed shrugged and walked outside to relight one of his cigars.
As the two settled back into the worn seats of Ed’s pickup, the cowboy remarked, “I’d say we’ve got about an hour or so to the Palmdale city limits. Do you know where you need to be dropped off?”
Ponch replied through a mouthful of Ding Dong, “Yeah. If you don’t mind, could you drop me at the corner of Davis and Plymouth? My girlfriend’s apartment complex is right there.”
”Sure enough,” Ed replied. Ed looked distastefully at the Ding Dong packages that now littered the passenger side of the floor. “I can’t believe you really like those things,” he commented to Ponch.
“Why does everyone I know say that?” Ponch mumbled. “You sound just like my friends back in LA, not to mention my girlfriend and all her friends. Am I the only one keeping this company in business? Anyway, I can’t believe you actually work for NASA. That’s so cool! There’s no way I’d have guessed from the way you dress and this beat up ol’ Chevy.”
“What, you think all of us are rocket scientists who get to drive Corvettes, getting all the pretty ladies and riding in space ships? Ha!” Ed guffawed, “there’s a lot more to it than that.”
Ponch replied cautiously, not wanting to upset his host, but interested in the man’s line of work, “I thought all the NASA stuff was in Florida and Texas. I didn’t know they did much out here except land those new space shuttles out in the dessert.”
Ed took his eyes off the road to look at his passenger. His ride-along seemed pretty smart and well educated but Ed couldn’t believe how naive people could be about the space program and what goes on – even in their own state. As he turned back to face the road, Ed mused that it seemed as if everyone focused either on those playboys of astronauts or all the money the space program seemed to take away from other things like feeding the poor. No one seemed to realize how many jobs this new space industry had created, many in the very state of California.
The more Ed looked at Ponch and wondered about how society could be so ignorant sometimes, the angrier Ed became. He was angry with the public who on one hand didn’t seem to give a lick about what their country did for their future, but on the other hand demanded that they have the best of everything. He was also bothered that the public image of those who worked in the industry had to be super genius scientists or rich playboy rocket riders. It seemed there was no room for the honest middleman who just wanted to help his country move into the future and make an honest buck.
Ponch realized that he must have somehow upset the man because Ed’s knuckles were turning white as they gripped the steering wheel more and more tightly. “Maybe,” Ponch thought to himself, “if I tell him about the time I got to see the shuttle land and meet those astronauts, it’ll calm him down. The last thing I want to do is get this guy mad out in the middle of nowhere.” For the first time since starting this trip, Ponch was beginning to have doubts as to whether accepting the man’s offer was really a good idea.
“You know,” Ponch started, “I actually got to see one of those shuttles land a few months ago. My partner and I were looking for a little kid who had run away to see the landing. We got to the airfield just in time; it was amazing, really. Then, we got to meet a few astronauts who had helped us find the missing kid. It was a really neat experience, especially…”
Ed could stand it any more. He slammed the palm of his right hand hard into the steering wheel and turned to look at Ponch. “Well isn’t that great!” the man said, angrily raising his voice. “You and your buddies got to go play at Edwards with the playboys. Do you even remember the name of the shuttle that landed?”
Ponch was shocked. The man was clearly agitated, but he had no idea why. Ponch replied hesitantly, “Look, Ed, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Why don’t you focus on the road, ok?”
Fuming, Ed turned back to concentrate on keeping the truck headed toward Palmdale. Ponch slowly slipped his left hand under his right arm and reached for the door lock. He quietly pulled on the knob and unlocked the door, just in case he needed to make a quick exit. Softly, Ponch answered the man in what he hoped to be an non-confrontational a manner possible, “No, no I don’t remember the name of the shuttle. I didn’t realize there was more than one”
Ed sighed loudly and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Yes, Mister Poncherello,” Ed replied through gritted teeth, “there is more than one. In fact,” he continued as sweat began to roll down the sides of his face, “there are four – Columbia, which is the one you saw, Enterprise, Challenger, and Discovery. We’re currently wrapping up work on Discovery – it should be delivered later this year.” He turned toward Ponch. He left one hand on the wheel and used the other to point a finger within inches of Ponch’s face. The truck swerved between lanes, continuing to pickup speed as Ed’s foot glued the accelerator to the floorboard. Ponch was beginning to get nauseous and could barely make out individual cacti as they flew past the window. They were going way too fast for Ponch to be able to safely jump from the truck. The CHP officer started to formulate his plan of either controlling the outraged man or at least get the keys out of the ignition.
As he looked for the right moment to grab for the keys, Ed continued in an eerily calm voice, seemingly unaware of the danger his driving was putting them both in. “You see, the shuttles are built from nose to engine right in Palmdale, California. That’s why I’m heading up there. I’m not a prissy flyboy and I’m not a rocket scientist that designs these things. I’m just a regular Joe who knows a little about metal work. I get to help build different metal pieces they use in the shuttles. So, you see, Mister Preppy Guy from LA, not everyone who works for NASA drives Corvettes for a living and rides rocket ships.”
As the pickup neared 90 miles per hour, Ponch shouted, putting his hands in a position so he could grab the wheel, “All right, man, that’s enough! Slow down a little and straighten this truck out or I’ll do it for you! I didn’t mean to upset you, I just really had no idea. I apologize for offending you. Come on, man, slow down, OK?”
“Slow down? Sure, I’ll slow down!” shouted Ed as he stomped on the brake pedal. The pickup’s tires screeched as the brakes locked and the truck skidded and fishtailed down the highway, leaving a thick curtain of tire smoke behind them. The truck swiftly slid to a stop on the shoulder. Ed glared at Ponch, who was now hanging on to the dashboard for dear life, mouth wide open in astonishment and fear. “Now, get out!” Ed shouted angrily.
Confused and slightly dazed, Ponch mumbled, “Get out? Wha, what do you mean get out? You said you’d take me to Palmdale.”
In one swift motion, Ed grabbed the shotgun from its rack behind the truck’s seat and pointed it right into Ponch’s face. “I said,” Ed repeated slowly, “GET OUT!”
Ponch had never opened a car door so quickly in his life. He thought he had scoped the pickup out well in Palmville, but he never spotted the shotgun. Ponch jumped out of the truck as quickly as possible and ran into the high weeds at the edge of the shoulder. Earlier he had been thankful no cars seemed to be on the highway, now he was cursing that luck and wishing for anyone to drive past. He threw himself to the ground as he heard the sharp crack of a gun being discharged. He could hear the shot ripping through the weeds above his head, then the squeal of rubber being laid on pavement as Ed took off down the road.
After waiting ten minutes without hearing a vehicle pass by, Ponch stood up, dusted himself off, and cautiously headed back out to the road. The clothes that he had packed for the weekend were strewn all over the highway. Ponch tired to collect most of the items, but the one thing he couldn’t find was his overnight bag. With nothing to put his things in, he left them on the side of the road. The only item he kept was his black pullover. Thankfully he had found it on shoulder a few feet away from where he had jumped out. The pullover contained Ponch’s wallet and CHP shield – he had taken the pullover off at the gas station but forgot to put the wallet in a pocket of his jeans. Ponch thankfully realized that Ed never knew his passenger was a cop; who knows if he would have pulled out that shotgun a lot earlier and used it at point blank range. Ponch also realized that he had not had the foresight to memorize the pickup’s license plate number. “Oh well,” he though to himself, “how many Ed Van Cise’s can there be in Palmville, California?”
Ponch’s white tank top was now stained brown and his brand new jeans were streaked with green stains from the weeds that he had leapt into. Seething that this had happened to him, all Ponch could think of now was that he needed to get back to LA and get that creep behind bars.
“So,” Officer Jon Baker recapped for the small audience that had gathered in the break room of CHP Central the next Monday morning, “you walked half an hour before being picked up by a local sheriff who took you to the Palmdale PD?”
“Yup,” Ponch replied, tired of reliving the horrible weekend. This was the third time in as many hours he’d had to recap the events.
“Then what happened?” Grossman prodded.
“Well, I filed a complaint, which I’m sure will be completely useless. The Palmdale PD won’t lay a finger on those NASA nuts. They bring so much money into that city with all the industry involved in space that they won’t move a muscle against anyone involved with the industry – not for something like this, anyway.”
“What about the Palmville cops?” Barry asked.
“Yeah, right,” Ponch snorted. “Those good ol’ boys would never move against one of their own people for the sake of some guy, cop or not, from LA. Besides, it turns out that this Van Cise guy is actually someone pretty important in this space biz. I guess I just have to move on.”
“That really sucks,” Sindy replied, putting her arm around Ponch’s shoulders trying to console him a little. “You’d think that being with the CHP you’d get some help just because of police camaraderie, or at least be able to get someone in Sacramento to help your case.”
“Unfortunately, even Sarge can’t get anyone up there to care. I guess it’s just not a big enough deal.”
“And guess what the worst part is, guys,” added Jon with a smile.
Ponch glared at Jon. He had hoped that his partner would not rub in the part of the weekend that irritated him the most. Succumbing from several prods to finish the story, Ponch adjusted his gun belt, took a bite of Ding Dong, and gave in. “All right,” he sighed. “The worst part is when I finally got to the Palmdale PD, which was on the corner of Davis and Plymouth, I had them do everything possible to get me back here so I could try to track this guy down. I never bothered to call Stacey. In fact, I didn’t call her until Sunday morning. When I did, a guy answered the phone.”
”Oh no,” gasped Sindy, stifling a laugh.
“Oh yes,” replied Ponch sadly, “and when I told the guy who I was, he laughed for almost a full minute before telling me that Stacey had dumped me and went into a lot of detail about what she looked like wearing a few choice, revealing articles of clothing.”
The whole group burst out laughing. As they broke up and headed toward the briefing room, Barry patted Ponch on the shoulder and told him, “Man, your luck will never change. At least you got back safely.”
“Yeah, I guess,” replied Ponch wistfully, “I did learn one thing, though. Never mess with one of those space nuts or ladies obsessed with biker shorts.”
Barry gave Ponch a quizzical look, but having no idea what to say, simply shook his head and headed toward the briefing room to start another day patrolling the LA freeways.