Creative NF Piece

The trip was to Michigan. We went there every year, and it was usually by plane. But this year, my mom and dad said we should take the train to cut down the cost. So we took the train. A 12-hour ride, they said, and maybe an hour of driving once we got to the train stop. Faster than driving the whole way, but cheaper than taking a plane. We got to Penn Station, where the train would leave. Its massive size and multiple enterances and exits, all with thousands of people running through them, amazed me and my brother.

How long until we go? I asked, eagerly anticipating the time we could see the train.

Not long now, my mom replied, only a couple of hours. We checked in our tickets and extra baggage, and we headed over to the train. 15 minutes until leaving. We jumped on and were guided to our seats. I put my stuff down and looked around. Something I had always wanted was 10 minutes from happening.

I had always liked trains, since I was really little. Besides the subway, though, I had never really been on trains that often, but this love for trains had manifested itself in me over a long period of time. Once I started to like trains, I had never let go. Even though I was old enough to not be obsessed, I still thought it was really interesting and cool. I could never wait to go on another train.

We were moving. I was moving. Flying through the city, into the countryside. Inside the train, yet I could feel the wind through my face as a building, then the next, then the next, passed before my eyes. I could walk forwards, and time would slow down for me as my mind interpreted the images flying into my eyes. I could walk backwards, and relive the images again, only for a moment. I sat down, my face glued to the window. I couldn’t move away, I didn’t want to miss a single moment.

Are you watching this? I asked, before I looked at the rest of us, and I saw that they were. I didn’t need a response, and they weren’t about to provide one. The train rolled through the city quickly, and moved out away from it. We stopped briefly at some places, more passengers entering the cars, filling up the emptiness of open seats quickly. Sometimes, we would stop for longer, long enough to go outside and stretch our legs briefly, and look at the amazing scenery of the countryside. A few short hours in, and we were in a different world. We came to our next stop. I realized, when I saw the sign, that we were still in New York.

New York, still, huh? I asked. I knew we were supposed to go through Pennsylvania, and then it was straight to Indiana, where we would get off and drive. We were around three hours into the trip, and New York was supposed to be a mere blip in the long travel, not a fourth of it.

I guess so, my mom replied. She looked up as we came to a stop, then looked back into her book. The process which I had seen repeated several times now repeated again. Some people got off, more got on. No surprises, just repetition. I wasn’t thinking about it then, but this repetition was not real. Before, only two had gotten off. We were at the station for ten minutes. Two more got off here, but we stayed for thirty. We had just entered Pennsylvania, and it seemed like half the trip should be gone. But the people got on, and got off, and the time didn’t seem to care. The time was flying, faster than we could move. Faster than anything.

It was night. I put my head into one bag we had, searching around for some food. I hadn’t eaten much, just a sandwich for lunch, right as we crossed into Pennsylvania, so I wanted more food.

What do we have in here, mom?

I don’t know what’s left. Just go find it.

Oli, do you want anything? All we have left are two bananas and some cookies.

I’ll have a banana.

Me too. I ate the banana, the sweetness warming me inside. I was ready to go to sleep, to wait until we got closer to wake up for the drive. But the screeching of the wheels, the bouncing of the car, and the chattering of the people kept me awake. When my mind tried to wander and take me away, I was brought back by some disturbance. Mabye I fell asleep for a little while, but it wasn’t for long. We moved forwards, passing small towns and stations. We crossed into Ohio, I remember.

It was late, but I could still see outside. The hills and rivers of Pennsylvania had transformed into the open fields and farms in Ohio. Everything around us was golden brown, but the night made it grey. I imagined these majestic fields in the day. I imagined walking through them. Feeling the corn and vegetables hit me as I ran through the fields, free and unconfined.

I had finally fallen asleep, I realized, because I woke up. I woke up and it was still night. I looked around. My brother was asleep, and I couldn’t tell if my mom was awake. But I wanted to know where we were.

Mom, you know where we are?

Still three or four hours away… and it’s already midnight. Your uncle will be there to pick us up now, but we won’t be there for four hours. This is ridiculous. Four hours. Four hours behind.

You should call him.

No connection.

Let me try.

No. Go to sleep.

I can’t fall asleep, I said. I probably could have, but I wanted to know what was going on. I thought this an adventure- finding our way in the night, nothing to guide us, no simple way to find our path. This method of thinking kept me away from my mom on my right, whose worried and exasperated tone I didn’t then recognize as one of stress, but as one of tiredness.

You have to. Just go to sleep. Don’t stay awake. You don’t have to. Go to sleep.

Ugh, I don’t wanna, mom!

Do it right now. Don’t make me tell you again.

I groaned, seeing that I would not be able to win this particular match. I closed my eyes, but kept myself awake. My mom had the aisle seat, so when a man who worked on the train came by, I woke myself up more, trying to interpret the conversation. I was tired. Easily past midnight.

How long until we get to South Bend?

Uh, I don’t think it will be more than another hour. We’re sorry for the delay, but we couldn’t do much about it.

Honestly, we’re at least a 4 hours over the time it was supposed to take. How does this happen? This is ridiculous.

Sorry, ma’am, but we couldn’t stop any of it from happening. We are trying to go as fast as we can.

God dammit. We’re still an hour away, you said? Seriously, I don’t see how you all can let this happen… it’s kind of crazy.

They conversed on, the words fading as they reached my ears, melting into whispers that I couldn’t hear. Before long, the train man walked away slowly, and mom laid back down slowly, shaking her head. I laid down too, and I was thinking about the little bit of conversation I had overheard. Thinking.

I was woken up violently, being shaken out of a sleep that, though it didn’t seem like it, had only lasted 40 minutes. We were closing in on South Bend, Indiana. Grab your stuff, come on. Let’s get ready. My brother was awake, but he wasn’t as tired as I was- he had slept through the night. I looked around the area of our seats, picking up anything I wanted to keep, and throwing it into the string bag. The repetition of the train occurred again, but this time, something new and completely different would happen, as my family exited the train- one of hundreds who had done so before us on the trip. But they hadn’t experienced 16 hours of the ride before getting off. We did, and we were glad to be gone. The 3 AM wind and humidity was readily apparent as we stepped off. A change. Finally.