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I was in my late 20s, heading home from the office during rush hour, when I was stopped at the Midland Avenue crossing.
From the corner of my right eye, I could see a car straddling the tracks, unable to move. Two women and an infant were inside.
The Author
I could hear the train coming (it doesn’t stop there — just powers right through), but they couldn’t. So I jumped from my car and onto my hood — in a business suit and heels, no less — and began shouting.
No luck.
Wolf-whistling as loudly as I could, I caught the adult passenger’s attention. I frantically urged her to get out.
Her daughter, who was driving, got out as the grandmother snatched the youngster from the back seat and ran to the edge of the embankment.
Then she threw the baby to me — a good five feet.
I caught the infant just as the train slammed into the car — BOOOOOOM! — pushing it so far down the tracks that I lost sight of it.
Then I gathered the three together and brought them to my car to wait for police. The young mother was vomiting, her mother was crying.
The baby was all smiles, unaware of what nearly happened.
The next thing I knew, police officers, firefighters and EMTs were there. It was time for me to go (I have no desire to be part of the news).
All these years later, I still think of that night every time I pass that crossing.
The baby girl, if still around, would be pushing 30.
Wherever she is, I hope life is good.
The writer is a Clifton mom
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