"Train arrives, sixteen coaches long."
The Carter Family sang that on a song called 'Worried Man'.
By the time Junior Parker recorded 'Mystery Train' for Sam Phillips, he had changed it to:
"Train I ride, sixteen coaches long."
---
My train is fourteen coaches long. I lost two a few weeks back. One of them got jammed up by heavy leaves on the tracks and got itself stuck. The other one stayed behind to help. Now I'm two short of the full set. I feel lighter - but also more alone. Sometimes, losing part of you means you move faster. And other times it causes an imbalance that just slows you down.
Freight trains pull through the center of New Orleans during the dead of night. They blow their horns loudly through the darkness. I can sleep through the noise, but I don't know if I'm supposed to.
The other day someone told me they couldn't understand my accent. The thing is, she could understand my accent - she just didn't like what was being said in it. I was telling hard truths, and she was being paid to muddy the waters, so she distracted by questioning the way I was saying my words.
I saw a group of tourists taking pictures of the homeless folk bathing in the Mississippi. Most days, groups of those-who-sleep-rough gather at the bottom of the steps down to the river in The Quarter and amble out into the racing waters. I think these tourists thought this was some sorta local tradition. As if we all clean ourselves in the river in a type of purifying ritual.
But down here, the rivers runs pretty dirty. Toxic and frigid. Muddy waters. Just like the ones the Used-Dream Saleswoman tried to run out at me. Those folks bathe in 'em because it's all they have. They don't have a choice. But this Saleswoman does. She does have a choice. I wonder which one is worse off. Is it the homeless who do this cause they have to or is it the Saleswoman who does it for money and clout?
In Los Angeles, there is an underground train network that most have never been on. The platforms are clean and stark. They appear to be sanitary and yet, still, feel really unsafe. Just because you cleaned up the mess you made, doesn't mean you can feel safe from the reaches of the ones you hurt. I think on this a lot. It's not repentance that brings closure - most of the time, it's vengeance.
And the messier that is, the better.
I wonder if this Saleswoman has been out on those platforms. I still believe that a train cures everything. She doesn't seem like the type of person who has ever taken a train anywhere.
I once lived with a woman who didn't ride trains. I should've known it would end up the way it did. You should never trust the love of someone who doesn't ride trains or watch the ships come sailing in or can't find comfort in an empty, dark airport terminal. This particular woman preferred to stare into mirrors instead. She looked into her own eyes more than she looked out into the world.
"Still is still moving to me."
Toots Hibbert sang that. He died a few weeks ago. I think of that song often. I don't believe that the mirror-gazer knew this. Neither the song nor the message - nor what I was thinking about most of time.
She thought locking herself down and focusing in on the tiniest imperfections of her face was proof of her stability. She thought questioning every fiber of her fabric was a strength of self-determination. But, still is still moving. And the longer she sat in her chair at the make-up table, the further she ran from her surroundings. Until one day, she found herself back at the beginning - alone, naked and cold.
A train could've brought her back. But, like I said, she didn't ride trains.
---
Sometimes, I wonder who is reading these words. And does it matter if they are. If the Saleswoman is reading this, I'd ask her to stop - please, first find yourself a train to ride.
Pack a light bag. A black and leather one, if you have it. With shoulder straps. Take wine, rye whiskey and a decent Korean Skin Moisturizer. Ride that train all the way to three stops before the end of the line and get off quickly. You want to be the first person to step out onto the road outside the station.
You can turn left or right. It really doesn't matter. What matters is how long you stay there and how long it takes you to come back. If your return trip is faster than the one out there, you have managed to leave behind that which you needed to grow, And if it takes longer, you're still a collected mess of imbalance and you need to find yourself a new train to ride.
