GRAND CANYON TRAIN WRECK

The four travelers were headed for the Grand Canyon rim. They boarded the train at the depot. Anticipatory excitement lead their prospect of seeing Arizona’s natural wonder for the first time. The train was an early vintage model; passenger seats and trimmings were charmingly antique. The ride was surprisingly smooth, comfortable and quiet. The passengers settled into mesmerizing relaxation.

The ride would be a two and a half hour trip to the rim. Luis, a retired teacher, pulled his cell phone from its pouch and brought up Google’s GPS map/navigational program. He was fascinated with the power of the application’s satellite to geophysical coordinates. He followed the trace of the train’s silent route, flicking the screen settings between satellite and physical views before settling on the most comprehensible: traffic format. This electronic Aladdin’s lamp delineated their course based on actual geographic coordinates. He studied and enjoyed the many features of the program while scrolling interchangeably to weather, and various search engine topics.

He had an urge to apply his thoughts to a Word document. He looked out the train car window, exchanging observations with his wife Karla.

“Look at the trunk of that tree, why do you think it’s burned?” Asked Karla.

"Well, it’s probably due to a controlled fire burn." He was preoccupied, but he tried his best to remain in-tune to all of her comments.

“I’m not very good at multi-tasking between writing and social conversation,” he thoughtfully admitted. “I hope she doesn’t get upset with me. Not much going on anyway.”

Luis typed using his Samsung cellphone. They were traveling through a remote area consisting of partial flatland transitioning gradually to hills, then to high elevation forests surrounding both sides of the track at the near 6,500 ft. elevation. It was high desert terrain with mountains towering ever higher in the distance. Mobile radio frequency signals off cell towers from satellite were intermittent. He was amazed he had any reception at all. “Not bad considering the geography. No problem,” he simply switched his cell document to off line and continued writing. He considered his wife Karla sitting at his immediate right.

As he continued to type, he made himself aware of his own biological reception frequency at work. His sixth sense operated normally: “She probably thinks I'm texting. Hopefully she doesn’t think I’m ignoring her.” This subconscious impression persisted. “Could be she’s beginning to resent me being on my cell phone.” He chose to ignore the still, small voice of warning and his passion to write prevailed.

He would rather be writing in an idyllic forest surrounded by waterfalls, chirping birds and the sound of a gentle wind whispering through moss covered boughs. He was a busy man. The pulls of the world with the demands of people were constant.

Karla and he were sitting in relative confinement given their close proximity to their two friends, Raymond and Susan. These were their traveling companions. But to Luis in this case, they were also inhibitors to potentially spontaneous bursts of creativity. Susan and Raymond were seated directly across Luis and Karla; approximately three feet separated their torsos. Periodically, four pairs of shins and feet inter-collided which broke Luis’ catalyst of contemplation.

The image of an idyllic forest returned . . . a remote cabin near the shore of a frozen Minnesota Lake . . . snow covered trees . . . fireplace, coffee on the stove . . . there he sat writing his mind’s stirrings.

“No Luis, quit dreaming, this is reality, you’re gonna have to suck it up. Relax. Concentrate. You can do it.”

Raymond was the driver on this trip. Luis had often used his cell phone to write while riding shotgun in Raymond’s King Cab truck. Karla and Susan used their cellphones for entertainment, text or make various phone calls. Some calls were for booking hotels as they traveled. They also plotted their course using GPS to instruct Raymond with directional or road conditions assistance.

Luis was on train this time. It seemed he had less freedom than riding in the truck. He felt a more stifled confinement restricting him. “Luis, you’re a proverbial fish in a frickin’ bowl!”

“Ray’s sleeping and Susan’s talking to Karla. I don't blame Ray; the hypnotic rolling of steel wheels on iron tracks is totally conducive for sleeping as it is to giving meditative inspiration. Looking out the window offers the same repetitive scene - cookie cutter trees, shrubs, Indian tobacco, manzanita and rocks. Karla hasn’t made any remarks in quite a while. I think I’m safe.”

He continued typing using his phone sideways to use both hands’ thumbs and fingers. "They'll keep each other company. They're not talking much with each other. None of the passengers seem to have anything to say. We've been together on this Arizona trip for a week and a half now.”

He was worn out. The weather had been typically hot, averaging 96 degrees Fahrenheit. Things were different now, especially due the altitude. Rain clouds had been forming and rain had already fallen. The temperatures had lowered to the 60’s. This weather reprieve contributed to less tension and a kind of hibernation effect in the train’s interior.

Luis continued to provide himself with building blocks of justification for not socializing. “Only sundry conversational topics have come up, so far. No one’s interested in discussing the cosmos or engaging in a genteel philosophical discussion with me on an interesting subject.”

He searched inside and outside the train car’s interior for motivational ideas. He was looking for subjects of his own.

Things wouldn't be so simple however, nothing ever is when traveling either alone and especially with others. A different, more difficult matter was about to shake his equilibrium.

Luis noticed that Ray awakened, stirred, and stared blankly ahead. He appeared bored, resisting an urge to sleep and then succumbed to it, evidenced by his tilted head against the window. “Good, more liberty to stay on the cell phone.”

Susan, hit him with an unexpected rabbit punch. "So, Luis, when you were a teacher, did you allow your students to use cellphones in class?"

“What the . . . ! Where did that comment come from and why?”

“Was it coincidental she asked that question while he was word processing with his phone?”

It had to be her frustration at not having someone other than Karla to give her attention.” He surmised that she considered it rude to be ignored.

Luis knew her well. He was reminded of that still, small voice his sixth sense had warned him about earlier. He knew Susan’s personality and a possible ulterior motive. He prepared himself.

He internalized his indignation with thought. “Nothing worse than your guest engrossed in such a heinous act as what appears to be texting.” He felt implicated in guilt by association. How dare she invoke his affiliation with his profession and students! “Must be the altitude getting to her.”

"She thinks I'm texting.”

For sake of peace and prevent verbal altercation, he spontaneously answered, carefully maintaining civil composure. This was a hard won vacation for him and his wife, she as a work-at home accountant and he was recovering from breaking his back for almost three months landscaping laboriously, in the central valley of California’s summer heat. He and Karla deserved this trip.

"Yeah Susan,” he said with a tint of sarcasm, deliberately invoked. “I allowed them to use iPads and Chrome Books academically." He then cited examples for her, mustering great effort to resist completely ignoring her. "Students were allowed to use these devises for research, you know, the kids used Google, on-line dictionaries, thesauruses, word processing programs, like Word, presentation programs like Prezi, on-line . . . tons of free, downloadable stuff, you know. Yeah, in fact for those students that didn’t have access to laptops, yeah . . . I let them use cell phones for the same educational purposes. They could just as easily have abused laptops.” He spoke laconically, like a soulless entity. He felt hollow.

He was tied into a debate competition, and the stress that goes with the event. He was back in the classroom being confronted by a disgruntled parent. His speech was labored. Susan wasn’t in front of him anymore. He looked past her. His mind was tired of the pettiness. He especially didn’t like her at the moment. She had become his inquisitor. “I can imagine her, as one of my student’s parent, confronting me on this issue.

She’s a self-appointed bleeding heart for my wife’s assumed neglect. Shame on me for using my phone. There would be no issue if I had been pretending to be reading the newspaper, or say, National Geographic, which is in my backpack. If I had been sleeping, I wouldn’t have been confronted.”

“Counselor bring on your next witness . . .

“Your Honor, I object!”

Must be the long hours of travel; the heat, fatigue, maybe the altitude getting to me,” he mused; I hear the inner workings of a courtroom.

After this Luis resumed his attention back to his phone. It was now out of spite that made him pretend to be writing or, “should he say texting? After all . . .that’s what any red blooded, honest thinking, normal human being in America would think if they saw someone using their phone, right?”

"What is it about typing on a cell phone under certain circumstances, that makes people upset with you?” He asked himself. I suppose if I had been writing on a legal pad, she wouldn't have been as offended. She probably would have had a suspicious feeling I was writing about her, but not as resentful. I sure wouldn’t have been as comfortable writing openly on paper, especially using my legal pad; it’s so fricken’ conspicuously bright yellow, y’know. That why the pad is still in my backpack. It’s more intrusive I think, than a cell phone. Writing is such a personal thing.”

I can disguise the writing process by using my cell phone.” He grasped this insight with a sense of wonder. “Yeah, that’s why I’m using my phone instead of paper; I don’t want the likes of Ray to contemplate my sensitive side. It’s one of those; don’t cast your pearls before swine, kind of thing.”

Luis continued his internalized soliloquy: “I think people get offended,” I mean I get offended too when I try talking to my wife and she jumps on her phone to answer someone’s text. I do it to her too. It’s common these days for everyone to be on a cellphone. People get tickets for using them while driving. People are often seen sitting in restaurants - families come to mind, where some or all are on their phones and not talking, not fully communicating with each other.”

Luis wouldn’t let go, he continued his turmoil of controversy. “Wouldn't it be interesting to see everyone at a dinner table reading a book or writing? He remembered seeing a man at dinner in a restaurant, reading a newspaper while a female person sat opposite, seemingly bored, but possibly upset due to being ignored. Maybe she felt ignored and she craved her husband’s attention.

“Okay, Susan has a point, but dammit.” Luis belabored his attempt at self-justification, “dammit my situation’s different!”

The energy he expended toward his inner dialogue was tenacious as it was inexhaustible. “For sure, there's something about writing in the presence of a group of people involved in a certain ambient,” he thought. “I mean, I couldn’t get away doing what got me in trouble with Susan if I was in a group of say convicts, leathernecks . . . oil rig workers . . . . Creative writing here would be akin to anathema.

“Creative writing must be something on another level in itself, highly personal. I prefer not to do it in company's presence unless I really know that person, like Karla. Sure would make for an interesting case study or discussion in a post graduate class.”

Luis was on a tangent and rabid by now. “Cell phones are so commonly used for so many things. They’re ubiquitous,” he mused. “There's apps for everything.” It had taken a while before he learned what an app was. He remembered joking with his students that cell phones and people are inseparable. “They have become an extension of the human body. Programmers should come out with a back scratcher app for a phone.” He had an idea he once shared with his friend. Imagine having integrated circuits implanted in the human body whereby a telepathic exchange of communication with fellow humans could take place incognito.”

He thought about texting or typing without being noticed by Susan. He would simply switch on his internal, biological hard drive and telepathically type on a Word document using brain cells synapsis.

Luis remembered his excitement when the world’s first word processors were developed for home use with personal computers. Writing compositions without the use of paper. An electronically lit screen to formulate creative writing. That was back in the early 90’s and damn if technology hadn’t gone log rhythmically viral after that to the present. There’s an app for everything - downloadable, free in many cases: virtual protractors, bubble levels, flashlights, lasers, calculators, rulers, decibel meters, radar speed detectors, GPS . . . endless lists and possibilities. It’s cool that Obama enacted legislation a couple of years ago providing phones for low income citizens.”

Luis regained his composure and resumed the phone issue at hand. “Okay, totally understandable, I guess I am guilty. Its human nature to feel that someone is either ignoring you, or writing about you under certain circumstances. I remember writing inspirational thoughts on a folded piece of paper in a group of my peers and one of them accusing me of clandestine activity. Is that why Susan was upset with me - for writing under her nose? Was I behaving as a sort of undercover agent, a NARC officer in her eyes? Okay, enough analysis Luis.”

He remained miffed and for good reason, Susan was relentless. After a brief interlude, she continued her verbal treatise, this time focusing her political platform toward Karla. It was a subliminally indirect affront to Luis. With Luis only half listening, Susan proceeded to enumerate instances at university, where she worked, wherein students in hallways waiting for professors, or lounging about in various locations of campus, were constantly absorbed in their use of cellphones. She continued her commentary that people these days were more consumed with electronic devices than with human interchange.

“Is she seriously thinking I’m not capable of discerning that her cloaked diatribe is an indictment against me? Now she’s placing me in league with those university students. Yep, she just wants me off the cell phone.” He could just imagine her pillow talk with Raymond about Luis’ riding shotgun on this trip and refusing to engage in proper social behavior.

He forced himself to listen to Susan as he mindlessly feigned typing on his device. He realized the consequences Susan’s words would possibly have on his wife. How could Karla not be emotionally affected? He dreaded the repercussions that would follow at his expense before the day was over.

He contemplated the thought of honing-in on one of Susan’s many faults and putting her through the same interrogational situation. “Nope. It’s not my nature.” His conscience and God would hold him accountable.

He returned his gaze to his wonderful electronic instrument, his Pandora’s Box. At his fingertip lay Thesaurus,’ Dictionaries, search engines capable of researching any topic, news, weather or images. This device could transport him throughout any part of the world. He could communicate with virtually any human being having equal access. He could play chess individually or with others competitively or for fun and send messages via cyberspace. He could conduct personal or organizational business, settle monetary transactions, order any menagerie of merchandize, not only through Amazon but also any other department store anywhere in the world . . . he could watch any number of movies on Netflix or listen to music while writing . . . market himself, web pages, upload YouTube production - publish script.

He had vast numbers of bytes in stored files of images taken at Tombstone, Arizona and many locations over many years’ time. All this data was backed-up in the Cloud. The world at the touch of his fingertips.

He would share images of this trip with Susan and Raymond instantly via text or e-mails. Karla, Susan had their own images taken by their phones. Susan not only had a cell phone; she even had an iPad that she had whipped out a number of times right under Luis’ nose for a number of purposes. He recalled the times too numerous to mention, that she too, owing to her preoccupation with her electronic devices had ignored him. He recalled a few years ago, Susan adamantly refusing to own a cell phone.

Luis regained his equilibrium and resumed typing his prose. He noticed the tiny, white bars at top of his phone’s screen. These indicated the strength of mobile or roaming Internet connection. The signal would peak and wane due to the terrain of geography and location of transmission towers that worked in tandem with satellite technology. “Wow, Alexander Graham Bell would freak at all of this,” he reflected.

The white bars then vacillated from minimal to near maximum. He was tempted to go on-line and research bits of data on the Grand Canyon, but changed his mind. “Thankfully, I can word-process on Word documents offline.” He was beginning to get his groove back. He had a smidgen of an epiphany for a piece; an especially poignant line to one of the paragraphs in his diary that he would use to write prose and later share with Karla. He could never picture himself sharing it with Raymond. “No offense to the semi-retired cop ’n all.”

Elation was not the lasting reward for his efforts to regain his writing powers. Susan was back at it. She soon followed with another question, perhaps on a mission to reinforce the exposure of his crime to Karla. She would exact revenge on Luis for his sarcasm.

"So Luis, do you play games on your cellphone?"

“Sonnavabiiiyaaaach!” The woman is more tenacious than Gorilla Glue! Have I, on this trip, questioned her when she's reading, talking to someone else, on the cellphone or doing whatever the hell else she wants to do? Of course not. I respect her. She’s an adult.”

"Yeah, I do."

Besides texting, she decided that I’ve also been playing games with my device.”

At this her husband stirred and muttered, “He’s watching porn.”

Ray then turned his head away, toward the window and resumed his now trademark posture of a sleeping man.

“I’m in hell. Stuck in this train with them. These two are not my friends,” Luis said to himself. Was Ray trying to be funny? It wasn’t.

Karla was seated right next to him during the whole time. “What would make that guy say something like that in the wives’ presence? He’s resentful too and it’s festering itself upward and out of his disrespectful mouth. Damn, I’ve got the two of them on my ass. I feel like the protagonist in the novel, The Painted Bird.” He alluded to the poignantly tragic account of the horrific persecutions of a Polish man by the bullies of that era. “And just look at him, he’s actually sleeping or pretending. He’s getting away with sleep and no one is on his case.”

Luis was beyond sick of all of this. It was close to harassment. But actually, Ray and Susan weren’t that important to him in juxtaposition to his own self-worth. Once Ray had even accused him of being an esoteric. “I wonder if Ray even knows what the word means,” he thought. Luis would not lower himself to their level. He was sure anyone else of less fortitude might have bolted down the aisle into another railroad car. He ignored Ray’s obnoxious remark.

Luis did not respond to Susan’s question. He looked at her with a disapproving look, which resulted in him finally being left alone. Silence prevailed for a substantial length of time.

“Plenty of people use cell phones to play video games stored on their device or downloaded from the internet. In fact people throughout the train are using their phones right now, for this very purpose and who knows for what else. I’ll bet Raymond’s badge he’s been on porn during the last twenty-four hours or so.”

Luis was almost at his wit’s end as the popular idiom goes. He had in fact, full intent to continue his writing in route to the Grand Canyon drop-off point. He would stop writing at the end of their destination. His plans were to then fully dedicate himself to contributing social interaction with Karla and friends.

Sometime thereafter, Susan grabbed her own device, namely the iPad and began manipulating it using her index fingers with gyroscopic dexterity. She soon became oblivious to the redundant view outside. Luis was sincerely glad for her and left her alone.

It seemed too late for Luis to regain his composure. He pouted, realizing his train of thought had become negatively contaminated. He was a victim of writer’s block. The inspiration that he had felt previously disappeared into the thin air from whence it had emanated.

Luis shot a quick glance at Karla, “she seems okay.” She was mindlessly looking out the window. “I’ve got to do something besides sit here. Brushing aside resentment he tried resume focus on his writing pieces. He noticed that Raymond was awake. His head was erect, facing outwardly, apparently viewing passing objects outside the train. From his angle, Luis could see that Ray’s right-side eye was closed behind his dark sunglasses. He kept this observation filed as possible ammunition for defense later, if needed. Luis felt like he was one of his former day dreaming students.

Back to writing. “Dammit.” He couldn’t conjure the lost magical epiphany that had alighted in his mind earlier. He decided to switch topic of writing and go with a diary format. He began recording in prose fashion what had earlier transpired on this train ride.

Actor’s dressed as old west characters had boarded the train posing as conductors, and itinerant entertainers. One such person appeared as a singing minstrel. He appeared in the aisle dressed in antique clothing circa the late 1800’s, carrying a guitar strapped to his shoulder.

The minstrel began singing, strumming his guitar using a beautiful Spanish style. Passengers were easily attracted to his unostentatious presence. Luis was transported to the old west. After the a few songs, including, the Marty Robbins classic, “El Paso,” the singer engaged in personal conversation with Luis. Both had a natural affinity for the other and discussed various artists and gospel, country music. The singer left and Luis became lost in American southwest nostalgia. He felt the soft brush of wings against his face; it was epiphany coming again to pay him a visit. He typed on his cell phone, busy for some time, oblivious to his surroundings . . .

“You never know when somebody’s standing behind you.” The voice was deep and authoritative with a touch of the old west. It was disguising itself, but wanting to be heard, kind of ominous, like the drama surrounding the tragedy at the O.K. Corral. Luis sensed no escaping this one. His wife and two friends had become intentionally quiet. By default he would have to become one of the center stage actors. Luis was annoyed thinking about situations involving a child, craving attention. Once given, the child won’t go away. “The actor behind me is one such character.”

The voice materialized when the “Sheriff” came up and stood next to him. “Yep, he wants attention, and knows he’ll get it.” Luis could have ignored him, but his usual propensity was to be a jolly good fellow. Everybody who knew him enjoyed his hamming it up. Today he didn’t feel like entertaining. “Why did I sit in the chair next to the window?”

Raymond had switched chairs with his wife earlier and was now sitting furthest away. “Ray being a cop probably expected this kind of activity and moved.”

“You should have left that thing at home,” the “sheriff” said.

“He’s been standing behind me for a while watching me type. Great. With that comment, Karla will have plenty of reinforcement to make a point now; it’ll be a full milk station now. Let’s see, first Susan - now this dude. F. . K!”

He was good at thinking on his feet. He had to be, with the sorts of professions he had held before retirement. “You mean you know what this thing is Sheriff?” Luis played along flawlessly, no skipping beats. He followed the pseudo sheriff’s opening line with no dead air. He provided his lines as if he were a paid actor on-stage. But he was bothered by the sheriff’s comment. The comment carried the suggestive idea that Luis should not be using his cell phone on this train ride. The other thing that bothered Luis was the sheriff’s admonishment to have left an object at home, which hadn’t yet been invented per the sheriff’s historical time line. How would a 19th century character react at seeing a cell phone?

“How do you know what this thing is Sheriff?” Luis asked.

“Looks like a paper weight to me,” he said.

The sheriff’s second line was consistent with the time-period he was supposed to represent.

Why would Luis be staring at and pecking a paperweight? Why would anyone be admonished to leave a paperweight at home? No sane person would even be carrying a paperweight in this fashion.”

“So, what’s wrong with bringing a paper weight on-board and staring at it?” Luis replied. Passengers on board were watching the ensuing entertainment. A part of Luis was enjoying it.

“No,” the sheriff said,” it’s one of those dang cell phones. “You should be enjoying things, not on it.”

“Okay, it’s a conspiracy. I’m in the fricken’ Twilight Zone - Green Acres, some other dimension. Even this actor, steps out of his time zone to invade my personal space. Amazing actually. An old west character - me far from home, and he’s attuned to the Global Consciousness: axiom#23.73: Use of technological device(s), i.e., cell phone use not advised for texting, or any semblance thereof when in the company of guests,” unless said guests are similarly engaged.

Luis surmised that the sheriff had been standing behind him for quite some time. Enough time for him to draw muffled chuckles from passengers. Too bad Luis had been preoccupied with writing.

“Stay composed. Forget about what Mom told you as a kid. I stood behind her once as she wrote a letter to her sister. Shortly after, she noticed me there and scolded, “No debes leyer atras de una persona escribiendo; no tienes verguenza!” (Don’t stand behind someone who is writing, you have no shame!”).

Luis had refrained from repeating the act to the present day. Even as a teacher, he would often recall the event and still hear his mom’s reprimand.

“Well, Sheriff doesn’t know any better. It’s role-play; it’s his job. Forget it. Quick, improvise your lines. Passengers - even the sheriff expect your participation. You gotta build some self-esteem, the sheriff’s waiting. Get it done then he’ll leave, and don’t take things so damn seriously.”

Luis used his best southern drawl. “Dang it Sheriff, you see, we’re visitors from the future and I’m holding a device used in the 21st century by most people on earth. This here thang is called a cell phone. See here . . .?” Luis gingerly offered to show the actor.

“Hey Sheriff, how is it that you know what a cell phone is? They haven’t been invented yet.”

“Don’t know what you been smoking Son . . . whatever.” Sheriff then sauntered down the aisle.

Luis thought, “You’re asking what I’ve been smokin’? Really? Let’s have another smoke Sheriff. You confused a futuristic doo-daddle, thigga-ma-jig with a fricken’ paper weight, ha, ha.”

“At least the dude could’ve played along with my comment,” he thought. Anyway, he’s gone. I hope people enjoyed our exchange. Luis looked up and noticed Raymond, frowning. “He must been one of those bad cops. The kind that busts heads. Wonder what his problem is. Probably upset ’cause he’s been awakened.”

The train came to its terminus. Passengers began disembarking.

“Put that thing away!” Karla half barked, half muttered.

Luis felt electrical shock from his testicles to his heart and then buzzing to his head. This was the coup de grace from an evil genie wanting to collect on his third wish. It was the crème de la crème, on Luis, more like rancid milk actually.

He exploded. “What?!” You’re telling me people can sleep on this train . . . read . . . look out the window . . . talk to others . . . not talk? I can’t type? . . . do what I want?”

Ponderous silence.

And then people grappling for their belongings.

Approximately three or four heartbeats later another outburst: “Here!” It was Luis again. No mouth filter, just spewed, pent-up emotional duress. He pressed a hard index finger on the counter, pointed at a train newspaper, “Here - can I read this?” It was as if he was shouting at a stranger.

The two of them silently stepped off the train, Susan and Ray tailed them from a distance. Luis appreciated this. He recalled that they also had their differences on this trip. One incident ensued in a restaurant. Ray had ordered a $200.00 bottle of wine. It was truly vintage, worth each penny, until Susan side-barred Ray at the mid-bottle-point.

She had softly reprimanded him for his expensive taste. Immediately Ray embraced his usual sullen disposition; this time it was warranted. The evening dinner for four was spoiled. Regardless of Ray’s vindication, digestion for Luis was difficult. He took no more sips of wine, while Karla continued to sip her Long Island. Sulfides in wine negatively affected her health. When all left the table, one half of the expensive wine remained unconsumed.

So far this trip, Ray selflessly refrained from re-committing the wine atrocity. “Gee, how could he? I mean the man has worked his ass off all of his life. He still works as a semi-retired officer in the department of concealed weapons. Oh noooo, he doesn’t deserve a $200.00 bottle of wine. Hey, his pension earns him craploads of money and benefits. Damn that Susan -Princess . . . controls Ray.”

The silence between Luis and Karla continued as they walked to and boarded the shuttle bus. On board, Luis was relaxed enough to enjoy the quiet hum of the bus. The cool weather and intermittent rain brought a welcome change from Tombstone, Arizona’s heat. Karla was quiet. Luis knew why.

The bus stopped at its first destination. He stood and placed himself in the aisle guiding her with his right hand, helping her up. She allowed him to assist which surprised Luis.

Karla had back surgery 2 years ago. There was a plastic polymer/metal alloy appliance in her back. It had hi-tech, chrome metallic-like suspension rods on either side. It was to become an amazing remedy for her spinal stenosis. Without this device Karla would be paralyzed from the waist down in a wheel chair.

One year after back surgery, Karla endured a total knee replacement. Luis reminisced the pain of that memory. “Yeah, she still has major arthritis issues and a bone spur on her operated knee, but I’m glad my baby can still walk next to me.”

His heart became soft toward Karla. “She’s a strong woman, able to endure ongoing pain. She’s always there for me, there for our two beautiful kids. She’s there for our two dogs . . . she’s so faithful – love her so much!”

He was thankful they had come here. Neither of them thought she would ever be able to walk again. Her back surgery had involved life-threatening risks. Her knee surgery resulted in tremendous pain during recovery and especially during therapy. Even to the present, substantial pain was still there. He knew her suffering; he had been her caregiver during those incredibly difficult times. He had seen the YouTube video. It was brutal surgery.

He remembered the day before surgery. She hobbled down a dim lit hallway, he standing in the kitchen . . . saw her face, sad and contorted in tears. She looked like a scared little girl wanted her dad. She leaned into his arms, buried her face in his chest and cried. “Luis . . . I don’t, I can’t do this!”

“You don’t have to honey . . . you don’t. I wish I could do it for you.”

They had been married 39 years, going on the big 40. He loved her so much. “I’ve got to defuse this.”

They got off the bus and walked toward the observation railing at the canyon’s edge. It had been raining. A beautiful day of misty fog and clouds intermittently broken by cold rain and sunshine breaks.

Their friends set off on a different course after unboarding. Luis and Karla were emotionally oblivious to them anyway. He ventured a query, a bit awkward but hoping to at least chip at the ice wall between them. He wanted to find entrance into her heart again. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

Silence.

No response as she and he walked their way down the wet, cobble stone pathway.

“Well, if you’re gonna ignore me; there’s no sense in me walking with you. Just tell me you don’t want me here.” He knew this ploy would work. He didn’t want to be anywhere else but here, with her.

It was Karla’s turn to erupt. “You know, we come to this beautiful place - first time in our lives we’ve seen it and you have to be an ass!”

“Good, I got her to talk,” Luis was relieved, even as his anger flared again. “You expect me to sit in that train and not be able to write? Everybody there is either reading, staring out the window or sleeping, doing what they want.”

“You humiliated me! In front of all those people!” Her voice was filled with anger and pent-up resentment. He felt pained for her. It was true; this was their first vacation trip in a long while. She was such a hard worker, a faithful, loving and kind wife. He didn’t want her upset for any reason. But he just felt he had to make his point. He felt stifled, repressed and shackled. He felt he had done no one wrong, just exercising his passion to write.

“Okay, I did jump you; the way I yelled at you. It was harsh, but I feel I can’t do what I want to do. All I wanted to do was write. You think I was texting!”

“Hold your voice down, people are watching!”

“Okay, hold yours down.”

She turned abruptly and began to walk away. She walked a few steps alongside the rail. The Grand Canyon lay below them. They were surrounded by tourists who were overwhelmed by the panoramic beauty. Luis’ senses subconsciously registered their verbal buzz. He felt resentful. Everyone but Karla and he were enjoying themselves.

He was blind to the Grand Canyon Panorama. He purposefully wanted to be blind to it, seeing peripherally and vaguely. “Arguing in such a place! Par for the course of our marriage history. Figures,” he negatively concluded. He was back to resentment, he realized, but allowed it to govern his need to make Karla understand the way he felt. “I don’t know what to say to Karla right now. When she gets my point, I’ll turn-on my full senses and share them with her.”

“So, you’re just gonna walk away? I thought you wanted to make it better!” The second desperate ploy worked. She turned around.

“Thank God,” he conceded mentally.

“I just want you to talk to me when I make a comment. You’re ignoring me. You’ve ruined another trip. Here we are in this beautiful place and you have to ruin it to.”

“OUCH!” It wasn’t completely true, unfair accusation; but he let himself be convicted, like a sacrificial lamb. He was willing to take the rap in exchange for her singular attention, so he kept eye contact with her, listening intently, driving nails into his own ego.

Tourists walked by, realizing but not acknowledging their tiff. Most of them were elderly; appearing to be retirees. “I’m sure they’ve seen or been a part of worse.”

Early on in his marriage, he would have been mortified to be engrossed in argument publicly. Maybe it was due to his maturity or that, in combination to having witnessed many televised relationship issues on Dr. Phil.

“I’m not trying to ruin a vacation. I knew you were going say that!” All I was doing was writing a diary. I was still paying attention to everything you said. I made sure to not once ignore you. I was integrating a poem with my diary.” He felt quivering around his heartstrings and tears coming.

“When that dude . . . that singer guy with the guitar came up to us; it meant a lot to me.” At this point his voice quavered and he choked on his effort to hold back tears. But felt them well up at the inside corners of his eyes. “I was writing about that moment. He said stuff to me that I was putting down in a diary.” It was true. All he had wanted to do was write. For himself. For her.

“I wasn’t texting. You know we lost the internet. There’s no cell towers out here.”

“I don’t mind you writing,” she said, her voice softening. “But every time I looked over to you, you’d be looking down. You wouldn’t just talk to me.”

“I have been talking to her,” he pleaded to his alter ego. Is it wrong for me to write? Would it have been better if I had my legal pad out instead and was writing my thoughts down? Then everyone would think I was a NARC and spying on them. What am I supposed to do?”

He wanted to say that the view outside the railroad car was boring, or rather, relatively boring. Nature’s objects: trees, rocks, shrubs, etcetera were mesmerizingly redundant as they flashed across the window. “Staring out the window long enough will induce sleep. Doesn’t take long to lose fuel for topical discussions, per se. Karla knows it too; it’s the same as driving through a southwestern desert.

“Karla’s angry ’cause I’m supposedly ignoring Susan and Ray. Truth be told, Karla fell victim to Susan’s tactics.” He was at least convinced Susan had exacerbated the situation.

“It’s not my job to keep Susan and Ray entertained he thought.” How entertaining is Raymond? He seldom speaks and mostly frowns, probably worked too long at law enforcement. Typical phenotype of a cop’s personality even off the job. I almost became a cop. Would I have turned out like him? I’ve had some rough jobs; still think I keep my chin up. Ray’s mostly defensive about everything. He’s not exactly one you can have an intellectual conversation with on any topic.”

Luis had made many attempts during the trip to discuss any topic outside the mind paralyzing, usual fare of sundry talk. Neither Raymond or Susan made meaningful commentary during the train ride. Hadn’t he been the primary engager involving the minstrel and sheriff!”

“I responded to everything you said,” he defended.

Her voice quavered and she too became emotional, near tears. He suspected his wife would never admit that she had fallen for Susan’s cloaked criticism of her husband using his cell phone. In his mind this was the reason for her tears. A part of her was yielding to feelings of compassion for Luis, probably realizing that his behavior in the train was not a big deal.

“I want you to admit that you were rude to me. You made me feel like a fool.”

He wanted this to be over and love her again. He deflected the fixation on his interpretation of the cell phone controversy deeming it irrelevant. He only wanted reparation in his relationship with Karla. Cell phone issues would remain his own topic for rumination later.

“Okay, I’m . . .”

“Would you two like for me to take a picture of you? A courteous tourist softly descended upon Luis as Karla stood by wearing a half smile.

“Yes please,” Luis responded. He really didn’t want to. It was an awkward moment and things were just about to be settled and, “this kind gentleman interrupts . . .” There was a rainbow behind Luis and Karla. He didn’t feel the joy of the beauty because he had allowed himself to succumbed to it. He did however, feel gratitude toward the stranger, for his ice-breaking deed. “Maybe he’s a heavenly emissary interceding on our behalf.” He wondered.

Luis gave cursory instructions of his own cell phone camera to which the kind man nonchalantly and politely ignored. Luis and Karla stepped back toward the guardrail and responded to this unexpected task. Luis forced a smile, trying hard to make it appear sincere. The only feelings he felt at this point were numbness.

“Thank you so much sir,” he said as the stranger handed his camera back.

Luis and Karla came together briefly and he offered, “I’m sorry for yelling at you like I did. I know it was harsh. I didn’t mean to. I just felt like everybody was criticizing me for being on my cell phone. Forgive me okay?”

Karla nodded and that was that. “Step over there against the rail,” he said to her. She responded quietly, standing there in the misty fall of a light rain. Illuminated behind her were the most beautiful natural scenes his eyes seen. The colors of minerals in this deep, deep canyon valley were earthy, yellows, browns reds . . .

A bright baby blue sky covered the great dome of sky above her and grey clouds swirled off to the southeast . . . Karla wore a pink jacket with her head partly covered with its hood. She stood there, with a tired but sincere smile on her face. He snapped the picture.

They wandered a little bit further uphill admiring the indescribable beauty with each other. ’Ok, now you stand there and I’ll take a picture of you,” she said. Luis immediately obeyed. He put his camera phone away and pulled out the 35mm camera Karla had bought for his birthday and began adjusting and snapping pictures of the canyon. He snapped images of the canyon in a frenzy, almost as if he were making up for lost time. He felt better with each snap of the camera. Meanwhile Karla made her way ahead of the pathway admiring the beauty herself.

“Hey, Karla where’s Luis?” He heard a familiar voice above him.

“He’s down there taking pictures.”

“Tell him I want to take his picture.” In his own way, Ray was trying to neutralize the tensions. They boarded the shuttle and went off to stop number two.

Luis continued using his birthday camera on the Grand Canyon. At one point he stepped a bit too close to the canyon rim in an unprotected area.

“Luis, honey you’re too close.” He felt another surge of love for his wife; her concern for him was sincere, despite his harsh words on her earlier.

Resentment issues over his use of a cell phone disappeared. On the way back to the train station he refrained from typing on his phone. He mindlessly fiddled with his new camera and enjoyed showing Karla pictures he had taken. He made small talk with her, making sure he was engrossed in giving her ample attention.

Riding back to the Grand Canyon Hotel, Luis resumed use of his Samsung cell phone to continue writing. He wondered why people still settled on calling the device a cell phone. It was time for a change of name. Reason being: “this fricken’ device achieves a myriad of functions! It should be called something else, like: Mini PC, or Pocket Computation Device, (PCD), or Interfacer, something besides, cell phone.”

Then Luis reflected on the issue of cell phone use in general terms. This wasn’t the first time he and Karla had problems with matters pertaining to this incredible machine. Since its invention years ago, he and Karla had mutually settled on rules. At dinner, for example, each would refrain from use or overuse of said device.

He spied her with peripheral vision and determined to put the phone away. But then she asked, ’What’s the weather going to be like tomorrow?”

He pulled the marvel out again and checked the number of bars on his home screen. “I’ve only got a tiny bit of the first bar lit,” he answered. “I’ll have to wait for a better signal.”

“Why don’t they build more towers along these railways?” She asked with ironic indignation.

Luis took it as a green light. “What the heck, I may as well keep writing. I’ve got some great ideas stored away.”

As he settled down, creative juice began oozing from dormant cells. He felt the soft, airy fluttering of ethereal wings . . . cathartic . . . then, out of the quiet come Cacophony and Din! Followed by Raucous, another sound. As a unit they become tumultuous Noise who erupts from the back of the railway car. Noise stalks Luis and murders Epiphany.

Luis sighs, “Karla honey, it’s time for the railroad train robbers."

The noises merge into footsteps, funneling ever louder, menacing their way down the aisle.

Luis concedes to the coming disturbance. "The actors are coming to rob the passengers, ". . . great!”

This time Luis puts his cell phone back into its pouch.