A Memory From Another Time

The memory that keep returning to me as I try to think of one that happened earlier is of the trip my Mother and I took for my 7th birthday. You should know to begin though that I love traveling by train. It is the only way to travel and perhaps that is what makes this memory so memorable.

At this point in the story you should know that my Mother and I were stilling living in Seattle, and so we actually had a train station. For my 7th birthday my Mother planned a two week trip by train from Seattle to Los Angeles to visit my grandparents and go to Disneyland. What is interesting about this memory is that I remember very little of our adventures in Disneyland, which you would think would be a major event in a child's life. All I remember is being freaked out by how big Mickey was and crying and then riding Pirates of the Caribbean until the day was over. What does return to me every so often is that train ride and one night in particular.

If you have ever traveled by train you know that the quarters are very small. They try to jam a bunk bed and a small bathroom into a space the size of our full bathroom at home. When I was little though I loved being in cramped areas. That snug feeling as you read a book or colour, which is pretty much what I spent the trip doing. I loved making the trips to the dining car each evening for dinner and going to get more treats from the overflowing and enigmatic cart that was always there between meals, but was gone when we went to eat. I loved every aspect of the train. The slow pace, the sounds at night as you slept, the voices that would pass the cabin door and whispered conversations between the bunks as my Mother and I spoke in the middle of the night. To this day it is my favorite mode of transportation.

But the memory that is most prevalent is from one particular night. I of course was on the top bunk and on one side of me was the railing and on the other was a small, circular window. One night after awaking from a sound sleep I noticed that the train had stopped, and so I decided to check out the window. I pushed back the thin, soft curtains there and there seemed to be a kind of fog settling around the warm train from the chilled air that surrounded us. As the fog began to clear I saw several men standing there chatting, but something was strange. There clothes were like nothing I had ever seen in day to day life. They were dressed as if it were the early 20th century and perhaps in England. I was intrigued and all I could do was stare at the scene before me. The train began to move then and we passed them in the silence of the early morning, and I watched as they faded into the fag that had once surrounded the train. I lay back and slowing began to fall back into the haze of the sleep that I had left just moments ago, and dreamt about the scene that had been before me.

Every time I see a train this memory returns to me, and it is a pleasant thought about my travels. Whether it was a dream or not it is a memory all the same. While others may forget their dreams I hold onto them and they become memories that I can dwell on. I hope with all my heart it was not a dream, but either way I will remember it for all time. A memory from another time and perhaps in a separate realm I am continually trying to return to.