Bucky's Time Capsule: Part Two
The Toy Train
624 Grand St, Glennwood Michigan, October 15th, 1967
It was the day after Tim's birthday, we had his favorite Beatle's song blasting on the radio while he played with his new toy trains. It was another day in Michigan, nothing extreme should have happened- but something did.
Dad was an FBI agent, he never told us what he was doing at work or how his day was, he just came home and plowed the driveway, then went straight to bed. Only on our birthdays or holidays did he say two measly words to us. The life in suburbia was hard for our family with an undercover dad.
I heard a bang from the neighbor's roof and a scream following. Tim stopped playing with his trains to look at Mom and me in confusion. Mom sat up.
"Oh my gosh your Father," she gasped. In the moments after, another bang was heard, this time Mom became still on the couch. I was scared for a fourteen-year-old, it became even more scary when he busted the door open.
The man was dressed in black, mystery shrouded his shoulders indeed. He froze when he laid eyes on my brother, Tim. Tim was lost in his own world of trains, crashing them into other buildings on the coffee table.
"Tim, come here," I whisper. Tim looks up at me and then resumes reality in this world, for the first time did he notice the man at the door. I don't understand my kid brother, I'll start with that. At five years old, he should have known who was bad and who was good- but Tim was almost pleased by the man's presence. Not only did it throw me off, but him as well.
"Mister? Are you good with trains?" Tim asks him. The man's eyes go large when Tim asks. A low mumble escapes from the plastic cover on his mouth.
"I don't like trains," he says.
"Everybody loves trains!" Tim says back
"Here," Tim grabs an emerald green train off the table and shoves it into his hands.
"You roll it on stuff, like tables and walls and people! Then ran into railings and other stuff that you don't like! It's simple mister!" Tim explains. As a demonstration, Tim runs the train up his poised arm. I see Tim on his tip-toes playing with a psycho assassin one minute, then the next I hear a ripping sound from one of the wheels catching on the fabric of the jacket on the man's arm.
Both Tim and the man are startled by the sound. I've had enough when a metallic object peeks through the black fabric. The man pulls out a pocket knife and in a flash, I have Tim protected behind me.
"Don't you dare hurt him," I warn. The man shakes his head and uses the knife to cut away the sleeve of his jacket. What emerges is a metal arm with a red star where the shoulder should be. At least it looks like an arm, from what I could tell at least.
"You can keep the train," Tim says behind me. His small hand pops up to my left with the same emerald train in his palm. The man reaches out his hand to gingerly take it. Without thinking I block the gesture. The moment I touched hands with the killer felt different than I thought it would be. I never knew how scared he was until we touched. My face turns red as I take my hand away, and the man resumes his actions.
"Thank you... Tim and...?" He says.
"Michael," I say back. I don't know what I was thinking telling an assassin our names like that. But his eyes just smiled, and he turns on his heels to flee into the night.
I call the police and an ambulance once he is out of sight. Dad is pronounced dead on the scene and Mom is in the hospital for the wounds the man has given her.
Captain America Exhibit, Bucharest Romania, January 4th, 2016
My grandson, Kevin, excitedly pulls on my sleeve.
"It's him! Grandpa come look!" He says.
"It's who?" I ask.
"Over there! At the Captain America Exhibit!" He says.
I look over at the Captain America wing and scrutinized the area. I see a man with long dark hair and one glove on his left arm looking at the Exhibit.
"How about you look over there," I point to a replica motorcycle standing in the corner. Excitedly, Kevin runs over to the vehicle without any thought. I take a deep breath and approach the man.
"Do you remember October 15th, 1967?" I ask him in English. Startled, he looks at me with a crazy look. Then his eyes dart left and right before he speaks in English as well.
"You're Michael... I..." He stammers.
"It's alright, your secret is safe with me," I say to him. Then like those so many nights ago, I turn on my heels and start to walk away.
"Wait!" He says. He sets down his backpack and opens the front pouch to produce a chipped, emerald toy train from Tim.
"Tim?" He asks. I can't believe I'm having this conversation with a killer.
"He... he umm... got a job in New York a while back... haven't heard from him since." I say.
"I'm sorry Michael," He says. "I understand if you never forgive me."
"Oh... I've forgiven you long ago."