Trains

64, cloudy and humid this morning, a possible shower might be in the offing this afternoon.

I have a thing about trains, I must admit. Our visit to Cass brought that love back full force, and I completely enjoyed watching the trains come and go while we were there. 

And the trains reminded me of a childhood memory.

When I was 5 we moved to Manassas, Virginia. Our house was about 200 yards from the railway tracks, possibly not even that far. I loved watching the trains go by, counting the cars and wondering about the people who got to ride them, and especially envied those in the dining cars. What did they eat? Was there a waiter, like on the TV shows I'd seen? Where were these people going? At night the cars would be lit up and we could see the people sitting in their seats, reading or talking. It was like a moving picture show to my young and fertile mind. I imagined svelte women stylishly dressed, men in dark suits and white shirts, with little mustaches. 

Once, when I was 12 or maybe 13, I can't recall, I got to ride the train from Manassas to Lynchburg. I'd been particularly difficult that summer. Hormonal changes had turned me into just a nasty mess of moods, and my mother seriously considered sending me off to my Aunt Dodo in Canada. So it must have been bad. Instead of Canada, the local priest offered to send me to a girls' summer camp at a convent called Villa Nova, in Lynchburg. And I would go by train.

It was beyond exciting, although terrifying too. I'd never been away from home for two whole weeks, and certainly not by myself. Usually if I went anywhere it was to my uncle's house while Mom had a baby, and one or more of my sisters went too. I dressed up for the train in my best Sunday dress and shoes, and I even had a suitcase. I remember how upset my mother was; she was crying and clinging to my father, but I was so scared I couldn't think about how my mother felt. I later learned that she'd had a miscarriage that summer and my shenanigans certainly didn't help her recover.

The train was not what I imagined. Maybe first class was all that I dreamed of, but I wasn't in first class. The train ride was bumpy and noisy, the seats hard and uncomfortable. Not that I minded--I was on a train! I had a packed lunch to eat, but I was so tempted by the man who came through carrying a tray of candy, gum and cigarettes. Since I had no money, all I could do was look. 

The most surprising thing to me was the bathroom. When I flushed, the bottom of the toilet opened, and all the waste went right out onto the ground! I was stunned. There was the gravel railbed rushing by, right there under the toilet. I flushed again to be sure my eyes had told the truth. As I made my way back to my seat, I was envisioning miles of railroad tracks strewn with toilet paper. In actuality I suppose the heat from the passing train burned it up, but even so it was a shocking discovery. Fortunately, trains have changed a bit over the years.

The time at Villa Nova was good for me. I learned a lot about my Catholic religion, and met girls from all over Virginia and other states. I was terribly homesick at first but soon got into the rhythm of the camp. Having breakfast and other meals served to us was a treat, and I was always curious about what we would have. While others complained about the food, I thought it was terrific. Dessert every day? Yes Ma'am! We played hard, and at the end of the two weeks we presented a skits we'd developed, along with songs and there were some girls who had talents to share, like piano, baton-twirling, etc. I had nothing to offer and was too shy anyway. 

I felt like a seasoned traveler when I got on the train to go home. Most of the girls had family that came and got them, and I think I was the only one traveling by train. I came home a different girl, calmer and happier, and thrilled to be back with my family.

But that train. I think it was worth being so badly behaved and being sent away just to ride that train.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.