Image: Verne Lo / Unsplash.com
It’s a cold October morning, one of the coldest we’ve had so far. I’m shivering in my leather jacket, that’s a little too short at the sleeves. I should really start wearing my winter coat, but part of me doesn’t want to say goodbye to summer yet.
I’m still sleepy, but decide to work a little bit on my laptop anyways. I used to love trains as a kid, and it was an adventure every time I got to be on one. But not anymore, now that I spend two hours a day in them.
The big screens next to the door tell me that it’s about twenty five minutes to my stop. Then I have to take a bus, only to sit in the same spot all day and listen to an old guy reading me words I can also find in my text book. I do not like this class, as you can tell.
Then a little girl gets in, with presumably her grandfather. She’s smiling, jumping and shrieks when the automatic doors close and the train departs again. ‘This is so cool! I can’t believe this is happening!’ She says enthusiastically. Her blonde curls are braided and she’s wearing glittery shoes.
“…what thrills me about trains is not their size or their equipment but the fact that they are moving, that they embody a connection between unseen places.”
― Marianne Wiggins
For a second, I see myself in her, the little girl I used to be. My dad used to take me and my sisters to the zoo, and if we were lucky we would go by train. I don’t think he liked it, but I did.
It makes me smile, just for a second. To see her enjoying something so small, so normal. Her grandfather tells her a story about how trains were made, and how they worked before electricity was widely available.
Suddenly my mood isn’t so bad anymore, and I enjoy the train ride just as much as she goes.