Green River Station. 7 AM
\nJust down from Ray\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Tavern
\nPadlocked, in hock, dry docked on Broadway
\nHistoric function mocked, doors locked, platform pocked with age and inattention
\nMisery clocked year by year, maybe a beauty in its day
\nA building now socked in the historical jaw.
\nNo place to sit except for a splintery old discarded pallet.
\nLooking in the window
\nAn air conditioner the only proof of a human presence;
\nAnd soon a Union Pacific guy comes by
\nOne hand around a small Thermos, the other hand on the doorknob.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Is it possible for me to come in and sit?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I say.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Sorry,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he says. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I just handle the freight.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I have nothing to do with Amtrak.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Disappears.
\nOne small Moabite shuffles back, forth, then back again across the concrete slab
\nAn SUV is parked nearby; they know how to do this Amtrak waiting thing
\nWouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want to be here after dark. A good place for a murder.<\/p>\n
The train’s right on time, I mount the metal steps, big as you please
\nNo taking off shoes or scanning or taking out the laptop; no scrutiny at all
\n30 seconds later we slip Green River bonds
\nI sit and am immediately pulled into a conversation with two young women
\nAbout men, children, mothers-in-law, and back to men again
\nThe conductor sticks a little tag above my seat
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Chi\u00e2\u20ac\u009d for Chicago. That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s who I am now.
\nOthers are Grand Junction, Denver, Omaha
\nHe-who-never-sleeps knows who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s getting off when and where
\nOur conductor will make sure you get off even if you fall asleep.<\/p>\n
Omaha, 3 AM.
\nPeople on the platform in coats, shoulders high, hands shoved in pockets
\nWatching for the right face at the door
\nFast hugs, long hugs, tentative hugs, no hugs, a back slap
\nThen pivoting, the connection made
\nTowing belongings, plastic shopping bags, pillows and blankets,
\nCar doors slam, headlights pull out into the night
\nWill they sit up till the dawn talking at a kitchen table somewhere?
\nDrive for hours till the right town or the right farm appears?
\nOur train slides away, clickity clickity clickity clack at first
\nAs it clears the metro switches and sidings
\nThe five-part-harmony moaning whistle as it approaches a road crossing
\nWhooo-whooo, whuh-whoooooo.<\/p>\n
That sound of longing and pulling away, signaling the insomniacs and the broken-hearted
\nI\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m going, why are you staying? I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m going, why are you staying? I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m going, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m going . . .
\nThen the swooooooosh of rural miles.<\/p>\n
Lots of announcements
\nDing ding ding. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We are now announcing the 5:30 dinner seating.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nDing ding ding. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Watch your step, we are having some rail turbulence.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nDing ding ding. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We are now crossing the Mississippi River.
\nNew stop Burlington, then Ottumwa.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153The caf\u00c3\u00a9 lounge is open till midnight.
\nThe dining car will be open for breakfast at 6 AM.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153If this is your stop and you wish to detrain,
\nPlease go back to your seat to gather your belongings.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nDing ding ding. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The snack car will be closed from 5 to 6 because I need break.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
Denver. 5 PM.
\n55 Boy Scouts pile into my car
\nHugely annoyed there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s no Internet
\nTexting and making calls to the friends who didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t come, mostly girls
\nCell coverage dropping in and out; demands of \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Are you there?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Can you hear me?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nBoys on their way to some leadership conference
\nHugely annoyed again that the snack car closes at midnight
\nA teenage male festival of cookies, Doritos, sodas, and whispered Chicago plans
\nPlanet Hollywood and Hooters topping the list.
\nGetting ready to compartmentalize leadership, ethics, and objectifying women
\nScoutmasters coming by every half hour to pat my arm,
\nThey look inquiringly into my eyes, hoping their smiles can help the situation
\nKnowing what a pain in the ass their boys can be,
\nSaying, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Are you doing okay, Ma\u00e2\u20ac\u2122am?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
Chicago. 2 PM.
\nAn extended Amish family speaking German camped out in the waiting room.
\nBoyish men with beards and straw hats
\nWives with bonnets over piled-up hair, plain hand-sewn dresses
\nBabies passed around from grandma to mom to sister to grandma again
\nSandwiches pulled out of tote bags, turning the heads of other passengers
\nYoung girls with bonnets and braids in chairs; boys sprawled on the floor.
\nThe thick-bearded patriarch, whom all the men resemble
\nOkays missions to the bathroom and Burger King
\nThe lucky ones return with precious cardboard flutes of French fries to pass around.<\/p>\n
New River Gorge, West Virginia. The next morning.
\nThe woman behind me says our conductor used to be a manager at Pizza Hut;
\nShe used to go there for pizza all the time. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s him!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she says to her seatmate.
\nHe comes by later. Yes, he says, it was me.
\nMy own seatmate has at least two fried chickens in the valise in her lap
\nEach of her four children has a different father
\nShe\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s going to visit her daughter who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a nurse in D.C.<\/p>\n
Alexandria, Virginia. 6 PM.
\nIt\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s my stop now. Drizzly and gray, no one waiting, I just step off, start walking.
\nAt the hotel, I pull out my dusty rose, chiffon, mother-of the-groom dress
\nThree days of being rolled up tight in a stowed suitcase, and I shake it out
\nNot one wrinkle.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Green River Station. 7 AM Just down from Ray\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Tavern Padlocked, in hock, dry docked on Broadway Historic function mocked, doors locked, platform pocked with age and inattention Misery clocked year by year, maybe a beauty in its day A building now socked in the historical jaw. No place to sit except for a splintery […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-710","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-travel-writing","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/710","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=710"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/710\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":721,"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/710\/revisions\/721"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=710"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=710"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kathygrossman.com\/writing\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=710"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}