Sat on the train, going home from Manhattan.
I see ...
Darkness out the window, we're still underground.
Woman next to me in a red jacket, reading a newspaper.
Blue vinyl seats on the train.
Digital readout with the next stop info, 'Harlem - 125th St.'
Daylight now, we've emerged from the tunnel.
City streets zip by below me, quiet today, it's a holiday.
Passing over the river now, into the Bronx.
The conductor collecting our tickets.
Elephants on a poster by the door, some sort of ad.
White and blue flecks in the grey floor.
Black and white stone blocks of the retaining wall by the tracks.
I hear ...
Chattering of the train on the tracks.
Scattered voices, subdued conversations.
Paper crinkling as the lady next to me turns the page.
Click-click of the conductor punching tickets.
Ka-chunk of the door between cars closing as someone moves down.
Gentle wooshing of the air conditioning.
Louder track noise when we go under a bridge, the sound echoes back to us.
Hum of the engines.
Ding-dong ad recorded voice of the station announcement.
I feel ...
The vibration and shaking of the train, making it hard to write.
Backwards motion, I'm in a seat facing opposite our direction of travel.
Cool, the air conditioning is making it slightly chilly.
Tired, weary, ready to be home.
Strangeness of my new jeans, they are tight in the thigh.
Sore feet, did a lot of walking in the last few days.
Lots more trees out the window now, we've made it into Westchester.
Blue sky, puffy white clouds.
Next stop, White Plains.
Man standing by the door talking on a cell phone.
Just whizzed by Scarsdale station, this is an express train.
Vines growing up an electrical tower.
Cars on the parkway parallel to us, matching our speed.
Ding-dong, "Ladies and gentlemen we are now arriving at White Plains ..."
The train will stop more often from here on up.
Still an hour to go to my stop.
My cell phone ringing to tell me I received a voice mail.
It was Davis, wishing me a happy birthday.
Next stop, Valhalla.
Station parking lot outside the window.
All sorts of trash in the gravel beside the tracks.
Man walking down the aisle with a long, large bag.
My arm looks sunburned.
Gravestones everywhere now, passing through Mt. Pleasant cemetery.
Child screaming somewhere behind me.
Not reading my book at all, content to keep writing.
American flags flying in the cemetery, reminds me it's Memorial Day
tomorrow.
Very suburban now, nice houses with tidy little fenced yards.
Curly haired young man carrying a backpack and a newspaper.
Westchester reminds me of the past, I used to live here.
I have a cookie in my pocket, but nothing to drink with it.
Concrete wall strung with cables, this station is nearly underground.
Next stop Chappaqua.
Not been writing all the stops, just whenever I notice them.
Lady next to me gets off at Mt. Kisco, I saw her ticket.
River parallels the tracks now, I think it's the Bronx River?
Maybe it's the Saw Mill, I forget.
People on the platform outside, waiting for the train south.
Red jacket lady got up, her stop it next.
I have the row to myself now.
So many trees now the houses are obscured.
Just passed a swampy area all covered with lily pads.
Passed a train going the other way, whistle blowing loudly.
Red-winged blackbird in the reeds, caught a glimpse as we zoomed by.
Next stop, Bedford Hills. That used to be my stop.
Eating my cookie anyway, lemon shortbread, I'll just be thirsty.
Conductor collecting all the seat markers.
This writing is getting me home without too much fretting.
Just passed my old apartment, starting to think too much again.
Another station, another platform, another parking lot, all the same.
Passing lots of water now, some branch of the Croton reservoir.
Staring at my nails, wanting to bite them.
Yellow maintenance cars on the tracks at this station, very cool
machines, can't tell what they are doing.
The tracks parallel 684 now, big road, lots of cars.
Next stop Purdys. Strange name for a town, I always thought.
Hah! The digital readout has it spelled "Purdy's."
Almost to my stop. Almost time to drive home.
Almost time to go sort out my life.
Makes me wonder if I could just ride the train forever.
Live forever in between one place and another.
"You must be in the last 4 cars for Croton Falls, the head car will
not platform ..."
I wonder if Mab will go look all this up on a map.
Lots of men in yellow tabards working on the tracks here.
Next stop Southeast, my stop. Used to be called Brewster North.
We've left Westchester, into Putnam County now.
All water and trees out the window now, left the city far behind.
"Southeast next and last stop, end of the line. All passengers must
exit the train."
I guess you can't just keep riding forever.