Nobody Cries at Bingo Read Online Free PDF

again, nicotine had failed to quicken her synapses.
    Tabitha looked out the driver side window at a light far into the distance. “Is that a train coming?”
    Five heads turned in unison. David, Celeste and I got on our knees and looked out the windows. The light was huge and coming closer. It shone like a flashlight, except several hundred times brighter and scarier.
    I looked at Mom. “We crossed over the tracks, right?”
    Mom nodded her head. “Of course.” Then she got out of the car and checked. She jumped back in. “Lots of room.” Nobody sighed in relief. We were all too busy reviewing everything we knew about trains in our heads.
    For years Mom had been telling us that trains could suck you under. According to her, it wasn’t even safe to stand ten feet away and throw rocks at the train. To back up her point, she would tell the grisly story of her uncle who had graduated from the seminary and was travelling home in his long priest robes. A breeze had blown his dress too close to the wheels and the train had sucked him under. “They had to close the coffin for his funeral,” she’d finish. Everyone would shudder at this part, silently imagining what the closed coffin held.
    The moral of the story was that trains were dangerous, even to the very good and holy. For years I thought it was a warning not to become a priest or a nun — those long dresses were a menace.
    The train roared again. I could almost feel the engineer’s annoyance at our car. I’m sure he was thinking, “What kind of idiot parks that close to the tracks?” But he did not stop and soon the train was practically on top of us.
    Trains sound loud from miles away and when they are fifty metres away, you have to cover your ears. David lunged over the front seat and perched himself on Mom’s lap.
    Ignoring our mom’s admonitions to stay still and put on our seat belts, Celeste and I jumped over the back seat and got into the back-back. (Well, Celeste did it first and being the older sister, I felt obligated to do the same. At times like these it really sucks to have a brave younger sister.)
    There we lay on our tummies, our faces in our hands watching the train lumber past us. Unlike celebrities, sports heroes and priests who shrink with proximity, trains get a lot bigger up close.
    Celeste counted every car. I silently observed our position on the road and watched to see if the train was pulling us closer. When the car remained stationary, I was pleased to conclude that trains had no magnetic or gravitational pull, at least not where station wagons were concerned.
    â€œHow long is this damn train?” Mom wondered from the front seat.
    When the caboose finally sailed past, David cheered happily from the safety of our mom’s chest.
    Mom celebrated with a deep drag on her smoke.
    It was hard to decide which was more exciting, almost getting run over by a train or getting to see a train up close. Probably the latter because we all hoped that another train would come by soon.
    â€œOur cousins are going to be so jealous.”
    â€œI know, we are the luckiest!”
    â€œAre we going to sleep here, Mom?”
    This road was busy as it was only one of four main roads leading into the reserve. In no time at all someone, probably a relative, would pull up beside us and offer their aid. This time, however, help came from an unexpected quarter.
    On the edge of the reserve lived a family of Mormons. The land they squatted on belonged to the local town and was dirt-cheap for the simple reason that it was near the Indian reserve. However that suited the purposes of the Mormons for they saw the reserve as an infinite wellspring of converts.
    They were often seen driving from house to house, fighting off rez dogs and having tea with the house’s inhabitants. The Native population tolerated them well. It was nice to be visited by a white person who smiled a lot and treated you as