The Cardinal, Train No. 50
The giggling girls in the Café car are hairdressers from Charleston, West Virginia heading to the International Beauty Show in New York City. “What do you want to learn while there?” I ask.
“Just everything,” they squeal. “We want to see everything.”
Orland in the Cafe car on the Cardinal heading to Charlottesville, Virginia.
A man to the left of me is gazing out the window but turns to see what the commotion is about. I throw a “Hello” his way and he catches it. He smiles, but waits a few minutes before talking with me. He is probably registering in his mind whether or not it is safe to talk with me. I am safe. I’m not going to judge him, or hush him, or tell him he’s ugly (he is not). On the train there isn’t much to lose during these chance encounters unless you are a very sensitive person. The upside is train travel camaraderie.
He’s a retired civil engineer who is spending his post work life developing his creative side. “I like playing music, writing songs and painting,” he says. “What do you do?”
“I’m a writer.” Most people follow up with a ‘What do you write?’ question but he says: “Oh, wait here. I have something.” He gets up and leaves. I sip my coffee and wonder what he is up to. In a few minutes he returns and slides a black soft cover book across the café car table. Ugh, a self-published author. I try not to judge.
“I’ve written three books. My brother has written six,” he says. That slide across the table has become familiar to me. The authors don’t ask a dime for their books. They just shove it towards you as if it were something as measly as a business card.
I feel a pinch every time a self-published author thrusts a book at me. I bet some of them are actually good books, but when an author doesn’t hold it in regard, I don’t either. Books should be cherished, a treasure in the world. If you don’t love it, don’t write it. But I think that pinch inside me really comes from wondering: “How is it that a retired civil engineer has written three books and I haven’t written any?”
Orland is his name. He lives in South Carolina and boarded the train in Charleston. Like me, he is getting off at the Charlottesville station. He’s visiting two cousins of his. Orland doesn’t like the cramped feeling when traveling on airplanes. He says, “I like the freedom on trains and the comfort of wide seats. If the schedules were better and more locations added, I would take the train all the time. I prefer rail.”
I get off the train and start looking for a van driver who will take me to the weekend retreat I am attending. Lots of passengers get off at the Charlottesville station. Add the people welcoming them and it is a crowd. I see some of the people I met and wish them well. Then I hear my name being called. It’s Orland. He gives me a hug and says, “Have a good time at the retreat.”
“Maybe you are braver than me,” I say referring to his book writing.
“No. I’m too dumb to be intimidated. I just charge forward.”
This encounter reminds me of how a simple “Hello” can connect people while on the train and that everyone I meet has something to teach me.
From a bluff in Buckingham County, Virginia I watch the James River and a CSX freight train run their course.
