“all those who wonder are not off-track” – toniya
The Summer I turned 57 my girlfriends took me on an hour-long train ride for my birthday. Now I am not particularly drawn to trains or love them or anything, but that was about to change.
The day of the excursion, I chose a birthday attire that was also train friendly and soon my girlfriends and I were driving down a beautiful country road on our way to the train station. The drive, the chitter-chatter, and the incessant giggling through the entire drive were already a special pleasure of the day. That was until we got to the train station.
While we stood in line to board the train, the boxcars caught my attention. They were old, restored cars, full of history from various trains – their markings proudly displaying their identity. Here were these varied boxcars, strung together as one, always moving in unison in the same direction, no matter from whence they came. In that moment, for me, there was no better metaphor for humanity, and I fell in love with the thought of being able to experience riding in this unique locomotive. At our turn in line, we boarded the beautiful, esteemed machinery and took our seats among the other passengers, mainly families with little children.
Once the train reached cruising speed, I found myself going from window-to-window of every empty seat taking in the view as if I had never seen Ohio in the Summer. It is safe to say that the children on the train were far more disciplined than I. The other passengers no doubt wondered about my mental stability, not to mention my poor girlfriends, who, by this time could neither disown nor claim me as part of their party.
Meanwhile the windows did not disappoint. Each vignette offered me a different view, and I could feel my spirit absorbing every ounce of the joy that came from the moving landscape (pun intended). Soon the conductor came on his rounds and as he welcomed everyone aboard, he also visited with the passengers, briefly striking up little conversations with them before moving on to the next set. When he came to me however, instead of offering his familiar phrases he offered me a tour of the train. I’d like to think that the saucers that were now my eyes were thanks enough, because my anticipation of what was to come had silenced any sound that tried to escape my throat to thank him. The serendipitous bonus was quickly underway, and as I followed him from car-to-car we made little pit-stops where he described the origins and history of each car.
Soon we were at the helm of the train where I could see the massive engine and the back of the engineer’s (tiny by comparison) head in the window of his cabin. On impulse I stuck my hand out and waved at him squealing the words “thank you!” out into open countryside, my voice competing with the loud machinery that was hauling us. The engineer, still facing forward, stuck his big, burly, fully tattooed arm to wave back at me. How he heard me through the sound of the locomotive is beyond me, but for this man, who obviously worked alone in his little chamber with nary a personal connection to the passengers he transported, I hoped that my squeal of gratitude came as a happy surprise. I’d like to believe that the big, burly, fully tattooed arm is proof that it was.
Suddenly the conductor’s walkie-talkie summoned him elsewhere on the train and he offered to escort me back to my boxcar. I wanted to stay back where the lilt of the moving locomotive, although cacophonous, had become a soothing rhythm to my every cell. So, I excused the conductor from his guide duties and stayed back to make room for my ever-growing gratitude, for what this train ride had come to be in my world. At that time, it seemed my spirit needed nothing more.
It was not long before the slowing speed of the train confirmed that the train ride was coming to an end, so I returned to my seat brimming with memories of all the little marvels I had collected along the way, my gratitude for the gift deep and abiding. I relayed my mini adventure to my girlfriends, smiling through my words the entire time. While one smiled back graciously, the other wondered out loud what others might have thought of a grown woman behaving like I did. To her I replied: “May they all have the audacity to nurture the spirit of the child within. If they don’t who will?“.
Here’s wishing the child in you that audacity. Without fear and without fail.