The Invincible One

 The Invincible One
by Arlene Levin
(c) 2021

Naked I stood in front of my full length mirror examining the huge black and blue marks running down the side of my left leg from my hip almost to my knee.  Missing a poorly marked step, I’d fallen.  Looking at the bruise I was reminded of another time...

It was early February, 1972.  I was on The Talgo, Spain’s high speed state of the art train traveling home to Madrid.   Looking through huge picture windows, I was captivated by the beauty of the passing countryside.  The wonderful thing about train travel is that you are truly off the beaten path.  You move through farmer’s fields, pastures, through forests, over rivers, down into valleys and up again.  You see breathtaking vistas you’d never see any other way.

 

I’d been on the road for almost a month hitchhiking through parts of Algeria and Tunisia, a story I’ll tell you another time, but it’s important for you to know after such a long and challenging trip I felt Invincible. 

Entering the train station we rode out of the bright sunlight into a dark tunnel like entrance.  As we stopped I noticed a lone kiosk just steps away from the train.  Here you can buy candy, drinks, gum.

“Gum” I thought.  My mouth was so dry.  I was uncomfortable.  I’d been on the train through the night with hours still to go.  The Invincible One thought, “I want gum and it’s right over there”.  Train stops seemed long enough so I decided I had time.  I’d been chatting with a couple of Americans, I think they were from the Midwest.   Probably in their early 20’s, they were middle class dudes that might travel with a suitcase instead of a backpack.  As I left the train I asked, “Will ya keep an eye on my stuff, I’ll be right back.  Do ya want anything?”  They nodded no.  And with that I was off the train.

As I stepped onto the platform I felt a welcome rush of fresh air.   I hadn’t noticed the stuffiness of the train until that moment.  The change was in invigorating.  With a few quick steps and a smile I was at the Kiosk.  There was one person finishing their purchase.  “OK” I thought, “I still have time”.  But Not!  As I turned to return to the train, “Oh MY God”. Was my silent scream.  There I stood shoeless, moneyless, passportless holding a package of gum as my backpack with my everything slowly began to pull out of the station.

An open train door was slowly coming up to where I stood.  There were my friends standing with outstretched arms.  I quickly decided my only option.  I aimed for the open door and jumped.  I landed in the doorway but the forward movement of the train somehow threw me back.  Twisting, I landed in the space between the slow moving train and the platform.  I was about shoulder deep, my arms balancing me between the platform and the train as it continued moving forward.  Finally, with a sharp jolt it stopped.

Standing on the platform looking down on me was a uniformed soldier or security guard. A man about 50 with a worn ruddy complexion, I saw sheets of perspiration dripping down the sides of his face.  As I dangled between the platform and the train our eyes locked.  I looked into his imagination and saw a scene to gruesome to describe.

Suddenly he grabbed my arms and pulled me up.  His tense expression told me he didn’t know the extent of my injuries or how much of me was left to pull up.  Now standing on the platform I looked at a gathered crowd.  Silenced by my drama, the look of shock and horror covered the faces of my witnesses, 10 or 15 men, women and children.

My rescuer began checking to see if I was injured.  He was joined by a couple of men that stepped forward.  They all spoke Spanish I couldn’t understand but their tone was consoling.  They gently shook my arms, patted my back and legs checking to see if anything was broken.  They kept smiling and chatting as if to say, “She’s ok, nothing is broken.  What a lucky girl”.  In the meantime I kept thinking, “How did this happen?  What have I done?”

My Invincible self came crashing down around me.  I knew I was ok but thought, “What a terrible thing for all those people to witness. They probably had the same terrified thoughts as my rescuer”   I was very angry with myself for subjecting them to my incredible stupidity.   With that thought I stood on the platform and yelled out in my best  Spanish,  “I am so sorry for you to see me do something so stupid”. 

Was there a reaction from the crowd, I don’t know because a thoroughly recovered conductor stepped forward.  I couldn’t understand him either but no words were necessary.  He just hustled me back onto the train.  I think the conductor was making sure there was as little time lost as possible.  I’m sure he thought, “ The Talgo isn't going to be late on my watch!”  The entire incident, from the time I left the train till I was returned, was probably much less than 10 minutes.

That was 50 years ago.  I don’t remember the particulars of my return to Madrid, meeting Michael at the station, how I got home, it’s all a blur.  I do remember being in the washroom in our Madrid apartment.  That was the first time I looked at my body.  I had a few cuts and scrapes but from my waist to my knees I was black and blue, front and back.  I don’t recall any pain but I do remember it was weeks before I showed my wounds to anyone.  Embarrassed by my poor judgment, it was even longer until I fessed up to what actually happened.  As expected I received a loud and incredulous response...
YOU DID WHAT???  

Postscript:

At the time I never really dealt with the “What ifs”.  After a bad dream I decided to accept the event as a near death experience and to move on.  Michael and I returned to Toronto a few months later.

Shortly after arriving home, we ventured out to explore the city, noting the changes and almost missing the linguistic challenges.  It was a beautiful day.  The city glimmered in the sunlight, a bit of a breeze tempered the July heat.  We met a few friends at the entrance to the Bay Street subway.  We were rushing to catch a film at the Cinecity, a little art house just south of Bloor St. on Yonge.  

Everyone was in a playful mood, chatting as we rode the escalator down to the track level.  We reached the platform just as the train doors were about to close.  Everyone gleefully jumped on the train. The closing bells rang louder and louder in my minds eye and I began to remember.  Once again I had friends calling to me, “Jump, Jump”.  I froze.

Michael turned.  He realized I was in trouble and knew why.  With a forceful grab he pulled me on to the train.  There I disintegrated into my memory, shaking uncontrollably and weeping.  It was quite a scene.  My friends were shocked into silence not knowing what happened.  When we reached our stop I’d composed myself.  I had to tell my friends the whole sorted story.  As expected I once again received a loud and incredulous response...”YOU DID WHAT???”

It was my first flashback.  For quite a while after that experience stepping from the platform to the train and back again were tense moments.  I still occasionally I look down into that space and am reminded of my miss adventure.  

Today as I stood in front of my mirror and looked over my fresh bruises I recalled one of the stupidest things I’d ever done and how very grateful I am that I lived to tell the tale.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

At this moment I’m not sure what PTSD is or how it feels but I did make some interesting observations.  While writing this piece I felt waves of nausea and a bit of light headedness.  I hope these symptoms will disappear after my story is completed, presented and is “in the can”.