H is for Hope

I watched Mystery Train last night. It succeed in portraying the back alleys of Memphis as a seductively abandoned big little city. I love Mitzuko- and her t-shirts and her infatuation with ‘Elvis, …king’. I was so worried when they got off the train it would be at a strip mall across from super-Wal-mart and a Wendy’s, McDonald’s & Fridays. I might actually have to take the train to Graceland and cross my fingers on a visit from Elvis.
I love train travel - so much so that I try to make others love it too. I have never succeeded. I love that it takes a really long time, and you have no control over it and you can bring books and magazines and sketchbooks and beading. I love cleaning with antibacterial wipes- and my favorite Indian scarf that serves as a guaze sheet germ blocker or a head wrap on the third day of travel. I love the observation car- and, now that I think of it, the tracks in this country go through the old downtowns, which look similar - but at least the names are different, the levels of dilapidation vary.
One time, I talked my high maintenance friend Michelle into driving from Saginaw to Battle Creek to catch a train into Chicago. After a three hour delay on a Friday night in an admittedly sketchy station (where almost always, nobody is working)- she almost strangled me until we got into Chicago and found the most amazing dark smoky jazz club and ate at the most delicious greasy spoon diner at 4 AM. The train elevated Chicago to cloud 9-
Another time, I talked a different, closer friend into taking a train from Mount Vernon, IA to San Francisco, CA which helped send her into a bed-ridden depressive funk for the duration of our trip- which we flew- home.
Last fall, I “surprised” Matt with a train trip to D.C. and finally came to the realization that I shouldn’t ask people to take the train with me, until on our way back we upgraded to a Sleeper in which we ate for free in the dining car, drank a pint of cc, and played cards on the table/toilet-
In India, Lia and I once waited for a train for a half a day on the wrong side of the tracks- when we would ask, people kept pointing to the tracks and saying “half-hour, maybe” with the classic Indian yes & no nod. We were used to delays in India, so we waited and waited until finally some kind soul- or maybe laughing- told us, “You are needing possibly the other side, eight trains a day are coming and have come and here is coming the last one, so you had better hurry.” It’s just the unpredictability of it all!
And then, this one time in band camp….

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