the ride home (lyn)

Let me say right up front, I detest people who, with a little bit of power, think they own the world.  And, I’ve never been good at following rules that don’t make sense to me.  I’d have never made it in the military.

Here’s the plan for the trip home:  My mom will drive Alexander and me to Bourne, where we’ll catch the 7:50 bus to Providence, arriving there at 8:05.  We’ll then take a cab to the nearby train station, where we’ll take a 9:20 train to New York, arriving around 1pm.   It’s a fair deal.  My mom always picks us up at the train in Providence when we arrive (about 70 miles from her home), and we always take the bus back to the train.

My mother is never late, and she gets manically nervous when she has to be somewhere at a certain time and there are others involved who do not share her obsession for timeliness.  Last night we agree to be all packed up with our suitcases at the door before going to sleep.  I tell her to wake me at 5:45, as we have agreed to leave at 6:15.  It only takes 15 minutes to get to the bus station, although my mother insists it takes 20 (it actually took 12).  “And don’t forget,  I have to buy the bus tickets,” which takes all of 3 minutes. 

At 5:30 my mom wakes me.  “What time is it?” I ask. “5:30.”  “Remember, I told you to wake me at 5:45.”  “Oh, I thought you said 5:30.”  She does this every time. 

Our suitcases are all packed, but now we need to fill a shopping bag with food for the 3.5-hour train ride back to New York.  First is the lobster meat I took from last night’s claws.  That’ll be dinner tonight.  Then the insulated mug filled with coffee (that later spills).  Then a bag of pretzels.  Then some grapes.  Then the cinnamon bun I had bought at Dana’s (the pie place) two days prior.  It’s my only one all summer (last summer it was a bi-weekly event, maybe more).  We have enough food packed to take us to Newport News, Virginia, in case we forget to get off in New York.  We leave behind the cooked pork tenderloin my mother made for dinner last night but then didn’t serve when everyone opted for lobster instead.

Alexander and I sleep on the bus to Providence.  Wait an hour at the train station.  And finally board the quiet car (as in no cell phones allowed) around 9:20.  The train is empty, so we have our choice of seats, and decide to sit separately so we can spread out.

I pull down the tray table and place on it my coffee and cinnamon bun.  I put my purse on the seat next to me, take out my book (Little Bee) and settle in for my trip to New York.  I love taking the train. It’s peaceful.  It’s a smooth ride.  I like passing through the small Rhode Island and Connecticut towns.  And I like having concentrated time to read and write and overall relax.  I continually rebuff my mom’s attempts at getting Alexander and me to ride the less expensive, more convenient bus (it stops only 12 minutes from her house).

A few minutes into our train ride the conductor comes by to collect our tickets.  When he gets to me he says, “I’m sorry ma’am, but you’ll have to put your tray table up and remove your bag from the seat next to you for the other passengers.”  If he didn’t look so serious I’d think that Candid Camera had been put back on the new fall schedule.  I look around at all the empty seats and tell the conductor I will happily oblige if the train becomes crowded.  He insists, telling me the train is “Sold out,” and adding, “Besides, you cannot take up more than one seat unless you pay for it.”  I tell him that I will absolutely comply, when and if more people board the train.  He gets angry and tells me that if I don’t comply now he’ll remove me from the train at the next stop.  Alexander is of course appalled by my behavior.  I ask to see the manager.  He tells me there are no managers on the train, just conductors, and walks away.

A few minutes later two more conductors, along with the first, approach me.  Unlike the first, they are polite.  They explain that it’s intimidating to passengers coming on the train to ask an existing passenger to move stuff.  I understand this logic and propose the following:  I promise to close the tray table and remove my purse from the seat next to me right before every stop, so anyone who wants to sit next to me can.  But between stops, I can leave the tray table down and my purse on the seat.  The two nice conductors agree to this plan.  The original conductor is not happy.  I’m sure he wishes he could throw me off the train entirely.

We continue on to New York.  Hardly anyone else boards. I remain seated alone.