The+Jungle

June 17, 1932 The bruises is still fresh on m’ face. I have an old shirt ‘round m’ head to stop the bleedin’. I can still feel the repeated poundin’, over and over again, each strike breaking another bone. I can hear her screamin’, beggin’ them to let her go. It’s gettin’ harder to tell what day it is, what time it is. All I know is it’s been two years since I left Kansas. M’ mind is jumbled and twisted from the heat ‘n hunger. I have a constant headache drivin’ me crazy. I nearly forgot m’ name a week ago. I feel like I’m losin’ it, next thing I know I’ll be wanderin’ ‘round with no name, home, or history. I have to write me down. I have to do something, anythin’ to remember. My name is Samuel, Samuel Goodwin. I lived on a farm just outside Caldwell, Kansas with my Ma, Pa, little brother, Marvin, and my sister, Joanna. It was a small house on a dirt road, miles from anywhere, years from here. Once the hard times hit the family the blessin’s we were given on the farm stopped. M’ Pa worked all day and night for half of what he woulda made. M’ Ma started to cut back on the meals; we couldn’t afford the things we used to. Every night I heard them bickerin’ and screamin’ at each other in the livin’ room; carryin’ on about, “how we goin’ to take care of the family, how we goin’ to keep the kids safe?” Some nights it was so fierce, I could hear Marve wimperin’ in his room. I had never seen the family under so much strain, so much tension, so much depression. Hell, seemed like the whole world was goin’ to shit. One day a stranger came to town. He told folks about his travels and the possibilities away from home. He broadcasted the “rush of the rails”, and the promise land, California. The young in the town gobbled it up. The buzz was travelin’ faster than a bull chargin’ the trainer. M’ sister heard ‘bout it from her friend, and she wanted to go. She wanted to leave it all behind and jump the rails. I had already thought ‘bout it m’self. Every day I saw m’ parents struggle brought me closer to m’ decision. We didn’t have nearly any food at that point, and I couln’t stand to see Marve so thin at only five years old. I could deal with m’self but I couln’t watch him waste away like that. So we went. The first stop was ‘bout a two day’s walk from Caldwell, but we finally made it. ‘Bout half a mile out, I saw the train speedin’ down the tracks. We were so far. I began to run, hollerin’ and screamin’ at Joanna to keep up. We couldn’t miss the train. Who knew when the next one woulda come. I could feel the thunder of the train barrelin’ through the earth. M’ heart was pumpin’ and my legs worked fast. I kept glancin’ back to make sure, then I charged full boar.
 * __ The Jungle __**

We missed it by seconds.

The next train didn’t come till the followin’ day. I woke to the familiar thunder of metal on metal. The rush was amazin’ as we sprinted down the path, hands outstreatched, hopin’ to grab ahold of somethin’, anythin’. I gripped the bar by the door, and reached back to Joanna. In one fell swoop, I swung her into the car. She landed with a thud and slid to the corner of the old boxcar. As m’ heart slowed, I looked around at our new home. Folks scattered about the wooden box cheerin’ for us. Every one of ‘em was soot covered; trousers, hat, shoes, hands, faces, all of them was covered with a layer of dirt. All accept their eyes. They gleamed brighter than normal. Each one like stars in the pitch of night. I remember their shine and color; so calm and serene despite where they’d been. I knew we were gonna be fine. The next weeks went by in a blur. We didn’t really have a set destination, all we knew was we were gonna go. Any train that went by, we took. We got used to the rumble of the tracks beneath us, and the scramble when the train slowed at the station. Joana and I had to learn quick if we were gonna survive. There were bulls at every stop. Sometimes they’d even stop the train in the middle of nowhere and search it. Then, folks scattered across the fields like mice, runnin’ as hard as they could to keep from goin’ to the cells. Hearts pumpin’ and muscles chrgin’ me and Joanna ran for our lives. Every so often we’d hit a town, some big, some small. We would hop the train and search the streets for any work. Sometimes we’d get a job cleanin’ shops, a warehouse, or clearin’ trash at a restaurant or factory. Any time we found some, we sent the money back to the farm. Any little bit counted I guess. We had to steal enough food for the next ride, even though we shared it with the other folks on the boxcar anyway. Joanna found that if you walked up to a busy diner askin’ for work at the counter, and some wealthy folks were eatin’ there, even if you didn’t get the work the folks would tell the workers to get you some food on them. We stole from farm stands, trucks, anywhere we could. We got along alright. One day we stopped off at a large town in Illinois. Chicago I think it was. There were folks everywhere. The streets were jammed with ‘em. We searched for days, but couldn’t find any work. Hunger hit us and we had no way of scroungin’ anyhtin’ but trash. We went to the outskirts of town to a nearby jungle. It was our last chance. Who knew how long the next train would take to find another town with food. We couldn’t risk it. The buzzard there didn’t much like our company, but he didn’t make us do much for our board and food. He always gave us strange looks, and had us do the strangest jobs, like clean the trees and gather scraps in a pile in front of him. One time he made Joanna get a scrap of wood on a tree that was clearly too tall for her. She reached and reached but couldn’t get it. He would just stare. He started given me the creeps. We spent more and more time away from the jungle, in the streets beggin’ for money or food. The folks in Chicago were worse than any other place we’d been. They turned their backs if they saw you comin’, and they acted like you weren’t there if they had to go past you. At night we hit the jungle. Tryin’ to avoid the buzzard, we crept in through the back. Our life was consistent for the first time. Though some parts weren’t the best, it was all the same at least, until the buzzard got stranger. I always tried to be grateful to him despite his strangeness; he let us stay on his land for hardly nothin’. He got worse. His buddies and him would watch Joanna all day as she did small jobs for them while the buzzard sent me off to town to scrounge for food and such. At night Joanna would tell me of her day, and I grew scared. There was nowhere for us to have gone. The next train wasn’t comin’ for a couple of days, and we would have died on the streets. I told her be strong; on four day’s time we’d hop the train and get out of there. I was about to eat my words. One night I woke to the muffled screams of my sister. In the dark it was hard to see, but I made out a large dirty hand coverin’ her mouth. I jumped to my feet and started punchin’ the figure in the pitch. Out of nowhere another one came and grabbed m’ hands. I heard another one comin’ from the side. We were surrounded. I heard the buzzards voice in the darkness. “I’ve been waitn’ a long time fer this boy. Time fer you ta pay up fer yer stayin’ here.” I screamed in the night and kicked the one holdin’ me in the shin. He let out a loud groan and let go of m’ hands. I started runnin’ in the direction of the voice. M’ fist hit flesh and the buzzard yelled. Joanna musta bit the guy tryin’ to keep her quiet cuz she started screaming as loud as she could. I felt a sharp pain in the back of m’ head, and then on m’ thigh. A man was beatin’ on me with a plank of wood. Over and over again I felt the blows, each one breakin’ another bone. I shouted and yelled. I felt the blood run down m’ face. Joanna shrieked as I heard the sound of footsteps walkin’ away. “NO! Let her go!” I yelled No one listened. Her yelps for freedom sounded across the field. The man who had been poundin’ me shoved my bloodied face into the dirt and walked away. Faced down in the dirt, I was alone. I couldn’t move. My mind went blank, and the next thing I knew I was here. Sittin’ on a covered chair in some old run-down house. God only knows where.

-Fatan Trihn