Meet Me at the Station

Oh, shit, they're staring.  I flashed an apologetic smile and awkwardly hefted my giant suitcase into the seat by the window.  My smaller, hunter-green suitcase I tucked underneath the table, resting my legs against it.  My laptop bag sat in my lap, squished between my stomach and the edge of the plastic table – I have to get a new one of these.  The three young adults – around my age, maybe younger, if I had to hazard a guess – turned back and continued talking amongst themselves.

I thought people here were supposed to be really nice.  But they'd just watched me clamber onto the train, tripping over myself and self-consciously moving quicker.  The luggage racks were already full, even though the car itself was near-empty.  I didn't want to let my suitcases out of my sight, so I set about trying to maneuver my way to an empty table, face heating in embarrassment as the giant, cumbersome beige piece of crap luggage snagged on every seat.  I couldn't be a more painfully obvious tourist than if I dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, wore sandals and socks, and carried a giant camera around my neck.

My head connected with the suitcase, and I allowed a small period of sulking.  There's few things I really pride myself on; being a good traveler is one of them.  Having a mother who goes on business trips constantly teaches you how to be efficient pretty quickly.  Flying by myself?  No big deal.  Flying by myself to a foreign country for the first time with three bags coupled with a natural clumsiness that borders on dangerous?  I may as well have been another one of those people who you just want to shake as they stand there and argue with the guards at Security about why they won't take off their belt, and oh my god body scanners are such an invasion of privacy.

"Approaching Manchester Picadilly," a synthesized female voice informed the train car cheerfully.  I looked at the screen anxiously, then checked the sheet of paper the polite ticket attendant had given me.  My stop wasn't for another two hours, at the very least.  I slumped, tying back my flyaway hair and zipping up my sweatshirt self-consciously.  They can tell you're a tourist if you wear graphic tees, someone had informed me a week before I'd left.  Unfortunately, my hoodie was just as indiscreet as the rest of my wardrobe – the N7 on my chest stood out proudly, as did the red stripe that ran down the right arm.

The zipper practically screamed into the silence on the train.  I winced, but pulled out my computer and opened up a new window in TextEdit.  Save now my brain informed me muzzily, even though I hadn't typed anything up yet.  I listened to it anyway.  A few key taps later, "travel liveblogging why not" was saved to my desktop.  I began a quick bulletpoint list of my thoughts throughout the trip.  


Delayed travel liveblogging because lolwhynot.  It keeps me awake.

- In which the flight to Atlanta is fine.

- There was this beyond annoying woman at the gate for Manchester.  "OH MY BOYFRIEND LIVES IN ENGLAND SO I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT IT THROUGH THAT AND COMEDIES OH AND YOU LOOK LIKE STEPHEN FRY HAS ANYONE TOLD YOU THAT?!" Shut. Up.  Stop harassing these poor U.K. citizens who are obviously tired.

- The flight.  Went on. Forever.  I took a Trazodone.  You know what that does? It knocks you the fuck out.  Half one is for a good night's sleep.  A full one should lay you flat for eight or so hours.  I took a whole one.  Guess what happened?  I was awake the entire time.  Tried watching Wallander - time crawled.  Reading - time crawled.  Playing my DS - time crawled.  Playing my PSP - time crawled.  Listening to my iPod - time crawled.  ARRRRGH.

- Oh sweet jesus we're finally here.  AAAAHHH EVERYONE HAS AMAZING ACCENTS AHHHHH.

- British customs - takes them two minutes.  Customs for those with USA passports?  I was waiting for 45 minutes.  I'm not even mad.  I just think it's a hilariously accurate  depiction.

- I feel awkward every time I open my mouth.  Not even that.  I feel awkward moving around.  I feel like I have a neon sign over me that says HELLO I'M AMERICAN.

- Trains are a little messed up because it's Sunday, apparently, so I have to jump on four different trains to get to Norwich.  My journey begins at 10:44, and ends around 4:15.  I will have been traveling for nearly 36 hours straight.  Jesus christ.

- Have an hour and a half to kill.  Spend it letting my stomach settle because I've been hauling three really heavy bags across the airport, trying not to get in anyone's way.

- Screaming little children.  I will end all of them.  Reign in your damn kids.

- Finally, after the kids left, I went and got a greasy panini and two cokes. The guy behind the counter looked at me funny.  I'M AMERICAN AND I'M PARCHED PLEASE DON'T JUDGE ME.

- Made my first purchase in pounds!  I love the bills here.

- Going through massive culture shock, and realizing how homesick and lonely I am while I travel.  I'm by myself in a foreign country at the moment, and I really want a familiar face.


In a moment of panic, I crammed my hand in my jeans pocket, pulling out my wallet – I really need a new one – and pulled out my ticket.  An announcement informed me they would be checking tickets soon, so I let it rest against my computer screen, inspecting it.  An orange stripe ran across the top and the bottom, framing the typewriter text.  

Class: STD.  Ticket type: ANYTIME SUN.  Adult: ONE.  Start Date: 21 OCT 11.  From: MANCHESTER AIRPT To: NORWICH.  Route: NOT VIA LONDON.  Validity: TWO DAYS.  Price: £81.00

What if they made a mistake?  What if I wasn't authorized to be on the train and I was forced to get off at the next stop?  What if I made a mistake and missed a train?  Why the hell did I ever think this was a good idea?  Oh shit, I was supposed to call Mom.  I pulled out my phone for the trip – an international Blackberry, on loan from Verizon.  I missed the weight of my familiar phone in my hand, but awkwardly navigated my way to Mom: CELL.

"Hi, this is Kay."

"Hey, Mom."  A few people twisted their heads at the loud, flat tone that cut through the air.  I cleared my throat and sunk in my seat.

"I am not available to take your call right now, but if you'll leave me your name, number, and a brief message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Oh, shit, that's right, she's five hours behind me.  I hope I didn't wake her up.  Her voicemail beeped.  "Uh, hi Mom, it's me.  Just wanted to let you know I'm off on the train to Norwich."  I remembered the blank look the attendant had given me.  I would later – much, much later – find out it was pronounced "Norrich."  "It's uh.  It's a lot longer than we thought. I'll be in around 4:15 PM my time, so, 11:15 AM or so yours.  Um.  Just email me, since I'll be hopping trains and I may not have time to answer the phone.  I love you," I added pathetically.  If I get mugged or die out here due to some freak accident, let it be known that I told my Mom I loved her.  "Bye."  The Blackberry gently perched on the table.  I typed a few more notes out.


- Train finally arrives - I struggle to get on, fumble my way to a seat, and nobody helps me.  They just stare at me like they're annoyed.  Thanks for the help, guys.

- Now it's time for Danni to play the "Stay awake for the love of god" game.  I can't fall asleep and miss my stops or I'm boned.

- I kind of want to cry, but for no real reason.  I think just as a way to release all the stress I'd been building up.  I'm doing okay, my body just gets ideas of its own sometimes.

- This is the longest leg of the trip, thankfully.  Nearly two hours.  The other three legs are much shorter.  I am really nervous about train hopping, though - I usually only have about 20 minutes to find my next train and get on before it takes off, and I'm lugging three heavy bags around. >_<;;   Gotta be really alert.

- First order of business, after giving Fuzz a huge hug and getting back to her dorm: a shower.  I am all travelgross.


My laptop battery cheerfully informed me that it was low, and I shut the lid and tucked the MacBook Pro back into its case.  The ticket-taker slipped my ticket off the table, inspecting it, then making a scribble on it.  With a smile and a "cheers, love," he continued into the next car.

Well.  That was anticlimactic.

The next couple hours were spent looking out the window.  The gloomy, rainy morning gave way to sunshine just as suddenly as the cities gave way to countryside.  A tiny "oh," escaped my mouth the first time I saw the large, rolling hills.  They were peppered with livestock and fences – old wooden fences, with peeling paint.  And there were crops!  I was no stranger to farmland, either; part of my extended family lives in Oklahoma.  But this was a completely different experience all together.  The fields were on the swell of the hills, the plants immune to the fact that they grew out of the side of a miniature mountain.  

The Blackberry buzzed.  An email from my Mom:  Hey Sweet P – you ok?  You sounded upset.  How's the trip going?

I typed back an email assuring her I was fine, no need to worry.  Yes, I'd call when I was settled into Emily's dorm in Norrich.  Yes, I'd call if I needed anything.  I'm sorry if I woke her up and I loved her – send.  The lush farmland gave way abruptly to miles of bricks, flashes of suburbia peeking through.  The houses looked so different than back home – they built up, instead of sprawling out.  The streets looked narrower – I would find out later by riding on the top level of a local bus that they were much, much narrower.

The train began to slow, and the computer's voice announced my stop.  I shoved everything back into place, hauling my suitcases awkwardly down the aisle.  I had twenty minutes to find my next stop before I missed the train – and god help me if I did.

The next few hours passed in a tired haze of train-hopping.  Little did I know when I boarded the first train from the airport, but I'd lucked out.  As it grew later, the seats continued to fill up.  It got to the point that, on my second to last train, I set my suitcase among the ten others in the passageway between cars, and sat on it.  The wheels slid back, and I allowed myself to sway with the movement of the train as I looked out the window.  That was ultimately for the best; I was so tired, that if I'd been sitting in a proper seat, I likely would have passed out.  As it was, I wasn't alone in the limbo between cars – businessmen and teenagers piled in and out at different stops, leaning against the wall and talking to each other, or browsing their cell phones.  A few had their iPods on, nodding their head in time to the music, ignoring the countryside and the hordes of sheep that littered it.  I would have loved nothing more than to join the musically inclined, but I was terrified of missing my stop – every few minutes, I would pull out the sheet of paper and recite the remaining stops to myself, even when I knew them by heart.

"Do you need help?" a woman asked.  Her accent was thicker, so I stared stupidly at her for a few seconds longer than necessary until her words sunk in.  I wondered what she saw – my hair was frazzled and tousled from my attempted sleep on the plane, windblown by my quick stride from platform to platform.  Doubtless I had dark circles under my eyes, and a quick inspection in the reflective surface of the Blackberry showed that my eyes themselves were barely open.  Did I look lost?  Or scared?  Despite my paranoia, there was a building in my chest that I hadn't felt in years – confidence.  I hadn't missed a single train, and I was nearly at my destination.  I was navigating a foreign country.  By myself.  So I smiled tiredly at the woman.

"No, thanks.  I'm just double-checking.  Well, triple-checking."  After the first word, I'd stopped to lower my voice as a few people turned their heads.  "Can never be too careful, you know?"

"Oh!  Are you American?"  I nodded affirmation, and she peered at my curiously.  "What brings you here, if you don't mind me asking?"

I gave the same speech I had to the customs officer and the ticket clerk: "I'm here on vacation.  One of my best friends is studying abroad in Norwich" – here, she looked puzzled, and only now do I realize why – "and I'm on a break.  I'm in col – erm.  University.  Here for a week.  It's my first time here – I'm really excited," I added sheepishly, and she smiled.  We made polite conversation for a while longer, until the doors slid open at her stop.  She wished me well and stepped off the train.  I never did get her name.

At the final stop before Norwich, I pulled the Blackberry out and sent a text to Emily: At the final platform.  Train's pulling up in a couple – got delayed a few hours ago, but still pretty much on schedule.  Be there in about a half hour.  The response came back a couple minutes later, as I was boarding the quiet train.  Righto.  Getting a cab to the station – see you then.

For the first time since I'd boarded that morning, there as nearly an entire car empty.  I set my baggage onto the seat and pulled out my book.  After a while, the words blurred together, and I realized I'd been reading the same sentence for the past fifteen minutes.  Tucking the book back away, I fumbled for my Coke, before remembering throwing out the empty bottle two stations ago.  No wonder I was tired.  I blinked – slowly, finding it hard to keep my eyes open.  I stood, stretching, and moved to the passageway between the cars, keeping an eye on my luggage as I scrolled through my phone contacts and hit the green send button.  Boats moored in a small river harbor flashed by as the ringing gave way to a click.

"Hello, this is Kay."

"Hi, Mum."

"Hey sweet pea!"  She paused to laugh.  "Ohhh, do I get to be 'Mum' now?"

"Already picked that up," I admitted sheepishly.  "If you want to be, you can."  I self-consciously lowered my voice – the old woman engrossed in her novel had looked around as my voice carried back into the car.

"So are you there?  How's Emily?"

"I'm nearly in Norwich.  We got held up a couple hours ago – one of the trains was stuck on the track.  I'm lucky I didn't miss my connecting ride after that.  It was close."

"I'm sorry, sweetie.  You should've called if you were upset – I don't want you to feel like you have to be strong for me."

I shook my head, then remembered she couldn't see me.  "No, it's okay.  I had to learn to deal with the panic."

"Did you take a Xanex?"  She referred to the prescribed anti-anxiety medication I had tucked away in my laptop bag.

"When I finally settled in, yeah."

"Good."  There was silence.  "Are you all right now?"

"Yeah.  I'm.  I'm weirdly okay.  I've got this.  I did it.  Flew overseas, by myself.  Made it through customs by myself.  Made purchases in pounds.  Gone train-hopping without any major holdups.  By myself," I repeated dumbly, the realization sinking in all over again.  I scrubbed my eyes, which inexplicably filled with tears.

"Your Dad would be so proud of you."  I heard Mom's sad, proud little smile, and nearly lost it on the train.  After a few deep breaths, I agreed.  "So what are you going to do when you get in?  You sound so tired, Peanut."

"I didn't sleep on the flight," I admitted.  "Too anxious and scared."

"Did you take your sleeping medication?"

"Yep."

"Oh, Danni.  Just make sure you get some sleep tonight, okay?"

"No arguments there, boss."

"So how do you like the train?"

I opened my mouth to tell her I loved it – why wasn't this more common back home? – when a voice mumbled through the loudspeaker that we were approaching Norwich.  "I gotta go.  Train's in.  I'll email you after I get a shower."

"Okay.  I love you, sweetie, and I'm so proud of you.  And jealous!"

"Thanks, Mum."

"That's right – Mum.  I love you so much.  Bye, honey."

"Bye."  I hung up the phone and saw I had a message.  One New Message: Fuzz.  I opened it.  At the train station.  Awaiting your arrival, bro.  I moved to the car, nearly flying forward as the train suddenly slowed down.  My face heated, but there wasn't the usual feeling of my heart-shriveling when I embarrassed myself in public.  There wasn't much time to think on it, though: The train was pulling up.  I looked through the crowd for the familiar face that I hadn't seen in months.  I shifted my laptop bag, grabbed my handles, and climbed off the train: Frazzled hair, tired eyes, and a big, stupid grin.