When I told my sister that I was traveling by train to New York to visit my daughter during college break, the first thing she said was, “Didn’t you see that Sex and the City episode when Carrie and Samantha did that?” I reminded her again that I go to bed at 9 o’clock and have no need for premium cable channels. I could tell from her tone that the episode was negative and I didn’t want to hear about it. I already knew to expect delays because freight and passenger trains share the tracks and freighters have priority. It didn’t matter to me; I wasn’t on a schedule.
This trip was going to mark the first time I’d see the states up close, instead of from air or the back seat of a car. My knees want to pop just thinking about my young legs crossed yoga style and crammed atop suitcases filled with clothes and other items for my mom’s relatives. My father had only two weeks a year to see his family and wasn’t about to waste time sight seeing. We drove 2,500 miles in 48 hours stopping only for bathroom breaks when we had to fill the gas tank. There were no fast food chains, so Mom packed our meals in a large cooler she kept between herself and Daddy. I was in charge of dispensing water from an enormous heavy metal Thermos jug. I would later kick myself for not inventing bottled water.
All those details came back to me when I saw the belongings of some of my fellow passengers. Obviously, this was not their first train trip. From my seat, I could smell fried chicken and saw elaborate deli plates from places like Whole Wallet Foods. I was content with my peanut butter and jelly on raisin bread sandwiches, apples and granola bars because I’d planned to treat myself to a meal in the dining car every night, just like in the movies.
I’ve always had a face and body language that makes people comfortable, so to maintain privacy, I put my belongings in the seat next to me. Apparently, on a train, everyone has a face and body language that makes people feel comfortable. Just when the Sierra Nevada Mountain scenery became too spectacular for me to pass by without taking pictures, the man four rows ahead of me told the woman next to him that he was on his way to meet the 18-year-old son he never knew he had until two weeks ago. He was nervous yet excited and everyone around him joined in his jubilation by asking 21 questions that he actually answered without hesitation. I felt like an intruder, so I took my camera and tried to look inconspicuous as I walked through the loud, jostling sliding doors to the adjoining car.
I hadn’t been in my new seat ten minutes before I knew the life stories of the two women in front of me. One of them turned 62 in July and just left her husband of 39 years. She said he married her for convenience and he thought she’d make a good mother for his children. She’d had an abortion after their third child because she knew the marriage was bad. She decided to get a divorce when she became ill and her husband had to take care of her. She said that he threw a fit when he had to do things for her that he wouldn’t have done for himself. She called that her turning point. This lady was on the train to get a job, live with a friend in another state and start fresh. “It’s gonna be good,” she said. The woman next to her simply listened the whole time and then confided that she was 86 years old and dating a younger man. She told the other lady that she’d had seven children and would have divorced her husband too, but he died. The sun was shining bright orange on the Winnemucca Mountains then, just like in a John Wayne western, only the bad guys were out of the picture.
