by Shari Randall
Dateline: Northeast Regional, Amtrak Train 171
Greetings from the Quiet Car of the Northeast Regional, aka
the Introverts Car. No loud talking or use of cell phones allowed. The
Introverts Car makes a great writing jail.
The air in the car is thick with Work Ethic. Most of my
fellow passengers have laptops open. My seatmate, a young woman with serious
glasses and a shiny engagement ring, is typing virtuously. Not wanting to be my
usual chatty, embarrass-the-kids self, I don’t ask her what she’s working on. I
saw the words “Hiring Top Performers” in the title of her document and figure it’s not
something I’d willingly pick up and read anyway.
Many riders are hunched over cell phones. Even the woman
across from me keeps her laptop open as she snoozes. The woman ahead of me
across the aisle has a Kindle and is reading a novel. I’m jealous. Amtrak’s WiFi entertainment offers a free excerpt of The
Martian. I am tempted but, encouraged by the professor two seats ahead who
is editing a Cultural History, I press on with my work in progress.
I like the idea of the quiet car. For an introvert it is a
haven. Noise is frowned upon, conversation is verboten. The woman in front of
me is on the phone with her office. The air around her is electric with the
disgusted looks of other passengers. She can’t ignore them. She cuts her
conversation short. Ahhh.
However, I think back to other train trips I have taken, the
people I’ve met. The majority of the casual conversations I’ve had with fellow
travelers have been positive and enjoyable. I’ve chatted with professors from
Cote d’Ivoire, missionaries from Maryland, students from New Hampshire prep
schools. These conversations have encouraged and enlightened me, underscoring
the wonderful diversity of our country. The old travel motto “See America” made
sense to me in a different way: You could see the American landscape pass
outside the windows, and meet America in all her wonderful diversity within.
Ages ago, before cell phones made Quiet Cars necessary, I
traveled from New London to New Jersey to see a college friend. My train
stopped in New Haven, where a young man carrying only a guitar got onboard. He
took the seat next to me. As he stretched out his long, lanky legs I noticed,
to my bemusement, surprise, and a bit of shock, that he had written whole
stanzas of poetry on his jeans. He noticed my surprise.
We started talking. He was a musician, he said. I figured this from the guitar. Sometimes, he said, he was seized with ideas, lyrics, and
poetry, and had to write them down somewhere before the Muse left him. He liked
to travel light; he didn’t want to carry a notebook. So the pants were his notebook.
He read some of the lyrics to me. I don’t remember any of
it, or even if I thought it was any good, but I admired his dedication to his
art. We talked music and poetry from New Haven to New York City. He was
traveling light, a guitar and a pen. What more did he need?
We parted amicably. I still wonder if his pants were a
weirdo conversation piece, a way to get girls looking at his legs? Weird but also
kind of wonderful. It worked on me! I wonder what happened to that boy, wearing
his heart not on his sleeve, but on his pants legs.
Do you travel by train? What do you think? Were those pants
a way to meet girls or just a creative kid’s substitute for paper?
