All Stories, General Fiction

An Overnight Train to Minnesota by A.R. Carrasco

literallystories2014

The other week I encountered a most unusual sport. You may know him. Wilson Mizner is a Broadway playwright, fine art forger, fixer of boxing matches, California hotel manager, and above all a professional gambler in all games concerning chance. His God-given talent of seduction enticed me into one game of cards I will never forget. The evening prior, the quick-witted 47-year-old traded a pistol fired by Wyatt Earp at the O.K. Corral for a mint condition 1922 ‘green pea’ Aston Martin, which he swapped for a remote ice-fishing shack on Devil’s Lake. He bet the icehouse on a game of war.

 

What would a dilettante like him want from a plebian like me, you may ask? Three years back an uncle I never knew left me something of an odd inheritance: a snow-white hound by the name of Coolidge. There was only one catch: the dog was as blind as a bat. What’s more, I received a letter from a veterinarian that morning revealing Coolidge is a full-blooded eastern timber wolf. As soon as word spread across the bar, Billy demanded to personally inspect my documentation. As the fabricator passed my parchment by candlelight, I recounted the strange habits of my so-called “dog.” 

Coolidge loves tapping his left paw to any song with a beat, refuses to eat anything that ain’t cheese, bones, or meat, never barks, never growls, and wouldn’t mount a poodle in heat. Yet, Coolidge never fails to leave a bush of red roses unmarked. I recounted how naturally children were attracted to Coolidge. During our weekend strolls, little ones ask me how Coolidge got his name, why his manners are so peculiar, why I ought not to lend him to a public zoo or donate him to a local laboratory, why hasn’t he a puppy, whether there was ever a creature like him before, whether he has ever tasted blood, whether he ever feels lonely, and whether I’ve ever heard him cry. 

Believe it or not, I have seen Coolidge cry with my own eyes. For as long as I can recall, I’ve been inclined to bouts of severe melancholy. Bedbound for a fortnight, Coolidge never left my side, except to relieve himself. One evening I broke down into a senseless crying fit. On my grandmother’s urn, Coolidge wept too. That blind wolf wept too. If the house caught fire that night, I know I wouldn’t have died alone. 

Before our gambit, the fabulous Mr. Mizner asked why I’d ever bet such a miraculous gift on a 50/50 odds card game with a notorious cheat. I confessed that I was having problems in my local business dealings and recently quit my dream of finding a doctor capable of breeding Coolidge an heir. Maybe a prince like him could ensure my boy’s posterity. Yet, when the last card fell, I became one icehouse richer. How else would fellas like Coolidge and I wind up on an overnight train to Minnesota? 

A.R. Carrasco

Banner Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay – old train on a bend heading for the mountains at night.

Image: From the author. White wolf type dog lying down and looking at the camera.

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Published by literallystories2014

22 thoughts on “An Overnight Train to Minnesota by A.R. Carrasco”

    1. Dear Leila,

      You might be right. Perhaps the narrator is a creative vagabond responding to a ticket clerk. Maybe the narrator has a phony voucher, but is telling a tall tale with the hope of staying out of the cold. If you are right, the endorsement of Coolidge may have purchased him safe passage.

      –A.R.

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  5. An entertaining little piece and who would question Coolidge – he’s there so it must be true. Shades of a country song playing in my mind right now. Does Cooleidge know when to walk away or know when to run – I’ll bet he does. Good stuff.

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    1. Dear Diane,

      Thank you. When I started writing this story I had shades of a country soul classic playing in my mind; A Midnight Train to Georgia. Still, the narrator indeed seems like a gambler too tired to sleep.

      –A.R.

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    1. Dear Thurman,

      I do not take your time for granted — I can hardly think of a more precious resource. Thank you for spending a moment with the characters of this story.

      –A.R.

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  10. Hi A.R.,

    This was very interesting.
    Not totally sure about it all but it’s as different as I’ve read for a while.

    I’m looking forward to reading more of your work.

    Hugh

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  11. I enjoyed this, but won’t pretend to understand it fully. I like the relationship between the narrator and Coolidge and the story feels like a metaphor for something, but I’m not sure what.

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    1. Dear Paul,

      I am impressed by your intuition regarding relationships. Writing to a possible lover, Kafka once remarked a good story is “like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.” The metaphor at the heart of this story is left for you to unlock and enjoy personally, otherwise I’ve failed you as a writer.

      I will, however, point out that since Minnesota has the most dense wolf-human ratio in the United States, Coolidge may become a father yet.

      –A.R.

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