The Caboose

The engine roared toward the mountain pass at a blazing speed. It had never ascended this particular section of track, but it was ready. Where many other engines had failed, he would succeed. It was the last ascent before retirement, and he had a large pension waiting for him on the other side. His close friends cheered him from the top. He wasn't worried, and didn't really think about the rewards or the many other engines that were watching from either side, expecting him to fail. His only thoughts were those that could help him to the top of this hill, and nothing else mattered. He knew he was prepared.

He chugged and thundered forward at full power without doubt. There was a calm concentration about this engine, as if the challenge was trivial. The boiler was stoked and from its chimney spewed a totally environmentally irresponsible amount of soot high into the crisp mountain air. He was actually sympathetic to the cause of controlling climate change, but knew that getting over that hill was all that mattered in this particular instance. He knew his reputation would suffer for his social irresponsibility, but he knew he must ignore the discouragement. Anything that distracted him from his goal was a direct adversary. If he didn't make it, he would be taken apart piece by piece in an excruciating disassembly process. He would become toasters or something.

He barreled through the mob of protesters who screamed "death train!" and lobbed globes, which bounced off his grate and shattered his windshield. His wheels decapitated several hundred Cabbage Patch Kids, which had been carefully placed on the track. Their heads popped off and flew into the sign-waving crowd with unexpected velocity, causing the droves to scatter. He did not flinch, but continued to accelerate up the gentle grade, becoming steeper by the moment. His sides were caked in mud and grime, and he now smelled of organic fish guts. He was not perturbed or spiteful, but gratified at his endurance. He had so often proved capable of what he previously believed impossible that his confidence was high. As the mob grew smaller in his rear view mirror, he took slight pleasure in his small victory. He was now filthy and smelly, but had not been derailed.

In order to lighten the load he had left all of his possessions behind. His fine wooden seats and interior decorations were scrapped. Even the paint and trim on the exterior was stripped. He sparred nothing to ensure the train was as light as possible. He towed only one posession...it was the only thing he cared for at all, and just couldn't bear to leave it behind. He could not abandon his beloved caboose. It was bright red and stunningly beautiful. It had been a part of his train his whole life, his faithful companion, and he would take it to the grave if he had to. Many said it would be his demise, but he considered it part of himself and could not give serious thought to departing from it.

The grade became steep and the fire burned white hot, turning the metal surrounding the boiler red. It became increasingly painful and took every bit of his energy to forge ahead. The tree huggers had managed to fall ancient redwoods over the tracks in a desperate attempt to stop him, but he managed to crash through them. He was aware he had no help from anyone, and indeed every influence he had ever encountered begged for his failure...asked him to give up. He looked back at his caboose, which was still there, a constant reminder of his purpose. If he did not have that, he knew the trek was impossible. Its weight was severe, and it became increasingly heavy, but without it he was nothing...a pile of toasters. It pressed him toward the ridge, which was now visible.

The strain extended to every inch of steel surrounding him, and his anger became intense. He had never doubted his ability, but now had to face reality. There was a possibility that he would not make it. His stubbornness had always prevented him from asking for help or accepting charity of any kind, but he knew he was facing destruction. He turned around and asked a favor...

"You are a beautiful caboose, and I am sorry that I have to ask, but could you please push your oak cabinet over the side. It is rather heavy, and I believe there is a chance we may not make it otherwise."

The caboose was shocked. Being asked to push the oak cabinet overboard was an impossibility. That oak cabinet was the prized possession of the caboose, and nothing could possibly part the two.

The train began to labor intensely, and the progress slowed. The ridge was only a mile up the track and plainly visible, but the grade continued to climb.

"Please, by beloved caboose, toss the damn thing. It's just a cabinet."
"You can make it. I know you can. You have always made it, and I cannot throw away my cabinet any sooner than you can throw away me."

Clink.

The latch behind the locomotive released and the caboose began to drift behind.

He watched in sadness as the lovely, bright red ornament sailed down the hill with increasing velocity.

As he thundered over the ridge, he looked back one last time and in the distance saw the caboose smash into a fallen redwood and splinter into millions of tiny pieces. A festival of environmental activists congregated around the wreckage, tearing apart what was left of the caboose's frame with enormous chain saws and bulldozers in a frenzy of maniacal bliss.

His engine friends congratulated him as he chugged to a stop, and helped clean off the fish guts and repair the windshield. They even offered to help restore his paint job. Seeing the sadness and bewilderment in his eyes, they consoled him...

"We're so sorry for your loss. Do you think you'll be okay? That was a beautiful caboose..."
"No, it wasn't, it was nothing but a cabinet all these years. Still, it bothers me tremendously. If I hadn't chosen to ascend the mountain I might never have known..."