The Coast Starlight & the People You'll Meet
The first morning stretch of the train ride. It was profound.
Disclaimer: Some names changed because I couldn’t remember them.
I dreamed of going to Seattle for most of my adult life. I couldn’t really tell you why. Perhaps it’s because the PNW reminded me of the West Coast version of New England. Maybe it was my love for Practical Magic or The Ring? Or perhaps it’s because, in my opinion, it’s one of the most beautiful areas in the country. Either way, my wish was about to come to fruition, and I was getting there in style—the Coast Starlight.
Sleep is for the Weak
I had fallen asleep a few hours earlier. I knew if I didn’t get a couple of hours of rest, I’d pay for it on my journey ahead. It was now 10 p.m. My alarm harshly and abruptly sang an obnoxious tune. My brain was hazy.
“I need to hit snooze, but I can’t; I’m leaving soon.” I begrudgingly rolled out of bed. I grabbed my suitcase, and Shawn grabbed his keys. Half awake, we walked through the apartment door and felt the cool, crisp air greet us. I took it as a hopeful sign that my first solo adventure would go well.
Thud, thud, thud.
My drowsy body climbed down the stairs, each footstep heavier than the next. My overpacked suitcase followed behind. Shawn took my arm, walked me to the passenger side door, and guided me inside. My phone illuminated my face as I searched for the right playlist on Spotify. I needed to start my first solo trip off right. Upbeat music blasted throughout the car in a dual attempt to keep my nerves minimal and both of us awake. It worked.
Sacramento Valley Station
40 minutes into the delay, naively hoping the train would arrive soon. Boy, was I wrong.
Not entirely familiar with the area, Shawn missed the entrance to the train station, adding 10 minutes to our arrival time. It was 10:40 p.m. My train was set to arrive around 11 p.m. My nerves were high, but we managed to make it with time to spare. We both breathed a sigh of relief and sat in the seating area.
The train station was full of shady individuals, some tweaking quietly in the corner. Internally, I was nervous waiting at the train station by myself. As a solo female traveler, I was anxious about getting assaulted. I subtly stuck my hand in my bag to feel around for my Valentine cow stun gun (I named her Vealerie) to assure myself it was there. Knowing she was there was a minor comfort. Having pepper spray as backup didn’t hurt either. To ease my nerves, I observed fellow solo women and older couples traveling together, too.
Shawn was waiting next to me. “Baobei, I’ll be okay waiting on my own,” I told him.
“I worry about you and would feel more comfortable knowing you made it safely onto the train,” he replied while scoping out the people himself.
“But you need sleep!” I scolded.
He wouldn’t budge.
That’s when we saw the train was delayed for an indefinite amount of time due to a rockslide.
“I guess it didn’t matter we were late getting here,” I joked.
Instead of waiting aimlessly inside the building, I told him to walk me to the train platform. We found it without any problems. We both felt a little lighter once we saw a crowd of Coast Starlight travelers waiting with suitcases in hand.
“I’ll be fine. Please get some rest,” I urged him.
With a sigh he uttered, “Are you sure?”
I nodded and gave him a hug…and just like that, I was on my first solo trip at the ripe age of 31.
Newfound Friends at 2 a.m.
Looking like the Unabomber or a teen runaway.
Even though it was April in California, I found myself getting chillier by the minute. I was worried about falling asleep, but the lashings from the cold air made that worry disappear. The passengers grew restless with each passing hour. Finally, three hours later, at 2 a.m., the train finally appeared. Eagerly, everyone at the platform lined up with their suitcases and tickets in hand.
“Hi! My name is Adrian.” I heard a chipper voice say. I looked up from the ground and saw an extended hand. I shook it. “My name is Keisha. It’s nice to meet you!” I replied with a smile.
I remembered observing Adrian earlier. After all, with a delay that long, all you can do is people-watch. He wore a denim jacket with ankle-length brown stomper boots. Paired with the boots was a wide-brimmed hat on top of his quaffed hair. Shimmering beneath his hat dangled a crucifix earring.
His style reminded me of a Southwestern version of the Lost Boys or George Michael. Either way, I appreciated that he was dressed to the nines despite it being so late in the evening. Meanwhile, everyone else was dressed cozy. Then there was me, unintentionally dressed like the Unabomber.
As I chatted in line with Adrian, I observed his face. His eyes were shaped like crescent moons from smiling so much. I couldn’t fathom how someone had so much positive energy at two in the morning, but I admired it. I knew he had to be in his mid- to late-twenties, but he had such a youthful, boyish energy reminiscent of Ke Huy Quan. If someone told me he was 18, I wouldn’t bat an eye.
“You were the friendliest face here, and I figured I would talk to you while we waited,” he piped up.
With a tired half-smile, I yawned, “It’s always nice making new friends, especially since we’ll be on the train together for a while.”
It was soon our turn to scan our boarding passes. He grabbed my suitcase and helped me carry it up the narrow Amtrak stairs to the second level. We were given assigned seats. Luckily for both of us, we had aisle seats right next to one another. He happily began introducing himself to his seatmate while I blankly stared ahead. The sleep deprivation was kicking in.
Next to me was a gentleman about my dad’s age. I couldn’t help but miss my dad in that moment. Stan, as he would later introduce himself, had been on the train since San José. He was wrapped up in a warm fleece blanket and had a plastic grocery bag full of food. It was clear he was an expert on taking the Coast Starlight because he spotted a newbie a mile away. “You didn’t bring a blanket or food?!” he inquired in a concerned, dad-like tone.
“I figured I would just buy food from the food cart,” I chuckled.
“No, no, no. I have enough food here for the both of us. I’m going to catch some sleep, but since we’re going to be seated next to each other for the next 20-plus hours, we might as well share my blanket.”
And just like a father would to his own daughter, he covered me with part of the blanket, rested his head on the window, and fell asleep.
After Stan was passed out, I discretely gave him back part of the blanket. His kindness deeply touched me, but I didn’t want to burden anyone.
“This trip is already off to a beautiful start,” I thought to myself before drifting into unconsciousness.
4 Hours Down, 16 to Go.
A decent night’s rest was not in the cards for me. I tossed, turned, re-adjusted, and slept in a sitting fetal position most of the night. I woke up at around 5 or 6 in the morning. I looked over to my left. Adrian and his seatmate were fast asleep. Stan was still passed out next to me, loudly snoring. His breath created fog on the window pane. I was tempted to reach over and draw a smiley face. As I continued to look around, I observed most of the train car somehow comfortably slumbering. I took this as an opportunity to find my way to the nearest bathroom to relieve myself and brush my teeth.
I wobbled my way down the stairs, bracing myself for the unhygienic cubicle I was about to enter. Moist toilet paper stuck to my shoe. I promptly placed a seat cover over the toilet. I was hyperfocused on hovering over the target, insuring not to drop my toothbrush into the human excrement-filled abyss. It was barely a success. I washed my hands and quickly went back up the stairs.
Adrian was now awake.
“Good morning, Keisha! You looked cold when you were sleeping. I wanted to give you my blanket but didn’t want to wake you up. I hope you slept okay”,” he whispered.
“That’s really thoughtful of you. I wasn’t cold; I couldn’t get comfortable but managed to get a few hours of sleep”,” I replied.
“The food car should be open now; would you want to sit in the observation area with me and chat?” Adrian asked as he headed towards the car door.
“Absolutely!” I said.
A Train Car With A View
We were among the first to enter the observation car. There was nothing but prime real estate, and we managed to find the best seats. Once seated, Adrian and I stared out the window. Seeing the sunrise through the trees was an incredible sight to see first thing in the morning.
“What’s your life story?” Adrian asked.
“Oh man. Well, I’m new to California. I moved here last October and got married in March,” I said, gazing out the window.
“Married?! How old are you?” he asked with wide eyes.
“31!” I grinned.
“I’m 29! I thought you were 22 or something. You look so young!” he laughed.
Adrian was genuinely interested in listening to my life story, so I continued. I told him that I had recently lost my father after an intense battle with cancer. I looked down at my feet.
“The purpose of this trip is to live my life to the fullest. I’ve always struggled with anxiety and never traveled solo before. Now I’m throwing myself to the wolves and not allowing fear to control my life anymore.”
“You have balls of steel, Keisha. You’re doing a great job!” he complimented. I couldn’t help but laugh. Adrian was such a positive, shining light. I felt grateful to meet such a happy character.
He stood up. “Ready to get breakfast?” he beckoned. My stomach felt like it was going to consume itself and grumbled as if it were answering for me.
“I’m starved!” I exclaimed.
We walked down the stairs, and I found a cup of instant oatmeal. Adrian grabbed himself a black coffee and a breakfast sandwich. “Let me buy your breakfast!” he said enthusiastically.
“It’s okay! I got it!” I replied. A scruffy man came downstairs and heard Adrian’s offer to buy me breakfast.
“Could you grab me breakfast? I’m a little broke,” he asked Adrian earnestly. I instantly got a little sketched out, but with a huge smile on his face, Adrian said, “Of course, friend. What would you like?” I was in awe of his kindness. The man also grabbed a black coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Adrian started to check out at the register.
“I’d like to get hers too,” he told the cashier.
I thanked him and laughed at his determination to be kind. With our food in hand, we went back upstairs and were relieved to find our seats still available. It was now my turn to ask Adrian about himself.
“I was going to school in Sacramento for massage therapy, but due to the pandemic, I had to head back home to Washington. I decided to take time off to visit friends and decide if going back to school is in the cards for me,” he said, ruffling his hair and sighing.
I told him I believed in him and said that I knew he’d make the right decision. After all, it was very apparent that he was one of the rare people who actually follow their heart to greatness. He told me he currently works for his family’s company and is passionate about the work they do as well.
Red Robin
The view we would've missed if our train was on time. Happy little accidents.
A steady flow of people started to fill the train car. My fellow passengers were eager to witness the views of the sunrise peeking over Mount Shasta—something we would’ve missed had the Coast Starlight been on time. In the crowd was a woman about my age traveling with her mother. Her mother was in town visiting, and they were taking the train from Los Angeles to Portland. The woman wore a sweater that reminded me of something Mr. Rogers would wear—cozy and nonthreatening. Her hair was styled in a brunette bob, reminiscent of a muted version of Ramona Flowers. I was in awe.
She sat down next to us and silently fixated on the palisade off in the distance.
“I’m Adrian, what’s your name?!” my new friend said, beaming.
“My name is Robin,” she replied coolly.
“Red Robinnnnn. Yummmm,” he sang.
I held in a laugh.
Robin briefly chatted with us, but I could tell she preferred to stay introverted. The conversation quickly dissipated. In fact, my social meter also drained a little bit, and I went back to my seat.
Stan was awake.
Earlier that morning, Stan had told me to check out the observation deck because I’d love the view.
“You were right, Stan. The view was incredible!” I eagerly stated.
He responded with a warm smile and a nod. “I told you.”
A Wise Man Named Dan
I can't emotionally handle just how beautiful Oregon is.
Random waves of somberness kept crashing into my soul as I thought about my dad once more. Stan gave off a fatherly energy that made my heart ache for my dad. I felt guilty that I was witnessing these stirring glimpses of mountains next to a fatherly figure who wasn’t my own. I excused myself to Stan and headed back to the observation car. I spotted an open table, sat with my laptop, and gazed out the window, taking everything in.
“May I sit next to you? The view on this side is better.”
I looked up and saw a friendly man who appeared to be in his mid-50s. I smiled at him and said, “Of course you can!”
He sat down across from me, and we stared out the window silently for a while. That’s when he noticed the stickers on my laptop and quietly chuckled to himself. “I like this one,” he said, pointing to the sticker that read:
“He who hath no uterus shall shut the fucketh up. Fallopians: 19:73.”
“That one is my favorite!” I beamed.
The amused man reached across the table to shake my hand. “My name is Dan. What’s yours?”
“Keisha. It’s nice to meet you, Dan,” I said.
Dan exuded an aura of safety and familiarity that put me at ease. It was as if our crossing paths were fated. We shared a conversation about our personal reasons for traveling on the Coast Starlight, and I found myself opening up to him about the recent loss of my father. I shared my desire to experience all the beauty my father could no longer see. Coincidentally, Dan was traveling with his elderly father, embarking on a similar journey across the United States from Michigan, exploring different Amtrak routes together.
Dan noticed that I was lost in thought. I told him about all the additional life changes I’d experienced in such a short amount of time, outside of the loss of my father. I confided in him about the challenges of being a newlywed and adapting to the role of a stepmother to wonderful children who had already endured numerous tragedies at such a tender age. I expressed how I had left my family and felt isolated but needed to overcome my anxieties. Everything I had kept bottled up came pouring out to this kind-hearted stranger. He listened and gave advice that only a father could.
“Here’s my advice for young newlyweds: Love isn’t a feeling; it’s a choice. Marriage isn’t always picture-perfect; oftentimes, it’s tough. In those moments, it’s up to you to love and support each other, otherwise, you’ll grow resentful towards one another.”
The simple yet profound piece of advice awestruck me. “So, Dan,” I asked, “tell me a little bit about yourself. I feel like I word-vomited my whole life to you.” With a smile, he said, “It wasn’t a problem listening to you. As you know, I’m from Michigan. I sell antiques on eBay. I love it, as it’s allowed me to be a stay-at-home dad for my kids.” He reminded me of a friend of mine who is also a good father. It made me feel close to home.
On the intercom of the train, the dining car announced that there were four seats available on a first-come, first-served basis. “Would you allow me to buy you lunch?” he inquired.
“You don’t have to do that at all! I would love to have lunch with you, though,” I replied.
We headed to the dining car, and the waiter greeted us. “Pick any table you’d like,” the waiter said quickly. I sat directly across from Dan. I must have misheard the waiter, as he curtly said, “No, adjacent to him.” I quickly got up and sat next to Dan. I felt embarrassed by the mishap (I’m my own relentless critic) but told my self-deprecation to take a hike.
“For a train, their food isn’t half bad,” he said, simultaneously studying the menu.
He didn’t seem to notice or care about my mistake, so my tension faded.
The waiter came back and asked if we were ready. Dan gave his order, and I panicked, randomly picking a burger. “We’re on the same bill,” he told the now less-frantic waiter. I gave Dan a grateful look. “That’s so nice of you, and I greatly appreciate it, but you didn’t have to!”
“I know, but I wanted to,” he retorted. His focus returned to the waiter. “Add two desserts, please. One of each.”
As we waited for our food, the dining car doors opened, and a young couple in their early twenties were seated at our table directly across from us. Dan broke the ice and introduced himself. Curious, I asked the two bright-eyed sweethearts where they were headed. They were going back home to Klamath Falls. They had been in California for a friend’s wedding, but the young woman had to head back for work. She worked for an event planning company and exclaimed her enthusiasm for the job. “We’re going to Nevada for a big rodeo event!” Her boyfriend gazed at her with such adoration that pride beamed off his face. The admiration he had gave him a warm presence that swept through me. I felt like I had known both of them my entire life. In that moment, I felt proud of her, too.
Our food arrived, and we continued chatting with the couple. Dan was right; the food wasn’t half bad at all. I felt so isolated in California; it was nice to experience the simple joys of a good meal with friends again. I knew I would treasure this moment, knowing it wouldn’t last forever.
The train conductor made an announcement:
“We’re drawing near to Klamath Falls, with our arrival just 15 minutes away.”
The couple paid, exchanged happy goodbyes, and quickly went to their seats to gather their things so they could return to their daily lives. Dan had to make his way back to his elderly father. He flagged down the waiter to settle the bill and noticed the untouched dessert—a packaged brownie.
Klamath Falls
“Do you want to take this back to your seat?” the waiter asked.
“I’m stuffed and likely won’t eat it,” I told him.
“I think my dad would like this. Mind if I take it to him?” he inquired.
“Please do! Someone should enjoy it,” I replied.
After our farewells, we parted ways, and I headed back to my seat.
Off to Eugene
After lunch, I spent an exorbitant amount of time getting lost in the moments of the past several hours. I opened my notes app and jotted down the details of every lovely interaction I had; I didn’t want to forget a thing—something I do regularly due to trauma. I guess you could say it’s my way of preserving the rare positives in life.
I heard the crackling of a grocery bag and was drawn back to my surroundings.
Stan was packing his belongings, quickly throwing his items inside the translucent plastic bag. “It’s been a pleasure being seat neighbors,” he said, his voice steady and purposeful. “My stop is approaching.”
Earlier, we had shared a brief conversation about his mother, who is in her nineties. Once upon a time, she used to enjoy train journeys herself, but now the 15-hour ride is too arduous. Stan, originally from Eugene, moved out to the Bay Area. He built a family there and now enjoys being a grandfather. When he spoke of his family, his eyes beamed; nothing else mattered to him, and you could tell. “You remind me so much of my daughter,” Stan said with a smile.
Before he departed down the stairs, he looked at me very intently and said, “I know you still have a long way to go; take this food and enjoy it. You need to eat more”. I hadn't heard a tone like that since high school, when my dad used to mean business. It was strangely reassuring.
I graciously took the bag. As the train came to a screeching halt, Stan made his way down the stairs. I waited until he disappeared before I peered inside. It was full of Ritz crackers, salami, and Little Debbie snacks. It was a goldmine of treats.
And That Makes Three
I stared at the now empty seat, appreciating the conversations I had with Stan. It was a bittersweet moment, but admittedly I was excited to have the entire section to myself. I laid out my things and sat in Stan’s old seat, enjoying the view of the mountains. Off to my left, I heard a cheery voice having a conversation full of laughs. It was Adrian.
A photo of Willie Nelson & Adrian.
Adrian was talking to his seatmate. A scruffy gentleman with a short graying beard and a baseball cap. He looked tired but happy to be talking to Adrian. “Ah, Keisha, this is my new friend Jack!” Adrian said, motioning for me to join the conversation. “Hi, Jack, it’s nice to meet you,” I said, leaning forward so I could see him. Adrian leaned towards me and whispered, "He is making his way home after laying his mother to rest."
In that moment, I reflected on my own pain and emptiness from losing a parent. While I empathized with him, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy, wishing I had been older than 31 when my own father passed away. I realized then that some people were savoring every moment with their loved ones, trying to hold onto every precious second. Meanwhile, others, like me, were harshly thrown into a new reality, grappling with the absence of someone who meant the world to them. It’s a harsh juxtaposition of life.
Adrian soon left to mingle with other passengers. Not wanting to lose to my thoughts of loss and mortality, I opted to write about them. I returned to the observation car, laptop in hand, hoping to lose myself within my writing. For a while, my fingers danced across my keyboard. I overheard Adrian’s sunshine-filled laugh. He was seated diagonally across from me, gleefully chatting with an older gentleman who reminded me of Willie Nelson. The sight was endearing and a smile crept across my face.
I closed my laptop and decided to return to my seat.
As I sat down, I found Jack speaking to a woman in front of him. I loved how easy it was for everyone to create friendships, even though it was temporary. I noticed him shifting from his window seat to the aisle. "Care for a chat to pass the time?" he inquired.
"Not at all," I responded with a warm smile.
Jack of Hearts
Earlier in our journey, my fellow passengers and I were notified of a mudslide that had obstructed the tracks en route to Seattle. The crew kept us as updated as they could, despite information being scarce even to them. It wasn’t until we were roughly an hour away from Portland that the conductor’s voice filled the train cars with an update.
Attention, passengers: Due to a mudslide affecting our route, the Amtrak service to Seattle will be cut short. Our final stop will be in Portland. Greyhound buses will be on standby to transport you to your final destinations. We apologize for the inconvenience and appreciate your understanding. Thank you for riding with us.
I felt the all too familiar wave of anxiety beginning to swell, a feeling I frequently struggle with. Almost instantly, I found myself plagued by worries that, in reality, I would likely handle just fine—thoughts like, “What if I can’t find the correct bus?” “What if I get on the wrong bus?!” and a slew of other catastrophic scenarios. Jack noticed the worry staining across my face.
"These things always happen, and Amtrak always does a good job navigating people to the right buses”, he said with a calm demeanor, skillfully hiding his awareness of my anxiety.
“Whew. That’s a relief to hear! I always panic over the silliest things and this is my first time taking an Amtrak solo”, I laughed.
Jack was headed back home to Washington after spending some time in Northern California taking care of his late mother’s affairs. I could see the emotional toll it took on him, yet he seemed at peace. I wanted to tell him I was at the beginning stages of that process myself but opted not to.
Instead, we talked about his son, who lives in Seattle. I brightened and said, “That’s where I’m headed! But I’m a bit nervous—it’ll be my first time navigating a big city like this on my own.”
“Steer clear of 3rd Ave. and Pike if you can, especially as a young woman. DEFINITELY avoid those streets after dark,” he advised, his expression shifting abruptly. He confided in me that the area had succumbed to crime and homelessness, a far cry from the vibrant Seattle he once knew and loved. His adoration for the city remained, but it was tainted with wariness. He shared his insights from a local’s perspective, noting that while some streets might be perfectly safe, streets one or two over could be rough.
“A few months ago, while helping my son move into his new apartment, a shooting broke out right across the street as we were unloading the car,” he recounted. “I remember a time when things like that didn’t happen there.”
I subconsciously gulped, but reminded myself that a friend of mine, a single woman living in the area, loves it and has experienced minimal trouble.
Jack offered reassurance, “As long as you’re out during the daylight, you’ll be just fine. Just stay alert and be aware of your surroundings.”
The Paper Mills of Oregon City
We were just over an hour away from Portland, chugging along past Oregon City. To my right, a steel bridge that spanned across the Willamette River sparkled in the sunlight as the sun made its golden descent. It was beautiful. It reminded me of every '80s coming-of-age film I had ever loved. I got lost within my cinema-obsessed daydreams, visualizing the characters from Stand by Me running, petrified, across that bridge, narrowly escaping a high-speed train, or the kids from The Goonies embarking on some grand, extravagant adventure. In just a few short hours, I too would be living my own coming-of-age story.
”Y’know, Oregon City used to be one of my old stomping grounds”.
I snapped back into reality and turned to Jack.
“This seems like a beautiful place to live,” I said with a laugh, trying to mask my deep sadness about needing to return to Sacramento—a city ironically nicknamed ‘The City of Trees’ despite having so few trees and being covered in brown, dehydrated foliage.
“It’s beautiful out here. I’m a logger and used to do a lot of work in this area back in the day. There were a lot of paper mills out here, but one of the biggest shut down; the rest started doing the same. Locals were angry due to hundreds of people being without jobs”, Jack said with a sigh.
He looked as if he teleported back to that time, his eyes zoning out into the steel bridge. I wondered what memories he was reliving in that moment. Whatever they were, they seemed to have been bittersweet.
Jack continued on with the history of Oregon City.
“This place has a municipal elevator, one of the first of its kind to exist”.
I nodded along as if I knew what the heck a municipal elevator was. When he wasn’t looking, I Googled it. Apparently it was developed in the early 1900s and utilized the abundance of nearby water to power it and is essentially a vertical cable car that helped (and still helps) connect neighborhoods to one another. Coming from a small city in Indiana, it was hard for me to fathom what that even looked like.
Oregon City was also also a huge settlement crucial for the survival of a lot of settlers embarking on their journeys along The Oregon Trail. It was a little mind-boggling seeing it in person myself, as my only concept of it was through elementary school in the 90s and playing The Oregon Trail on school computers. Even though people can be known for their cruel, horrific choices in history, you can’t help but marvel at how far civilization has come.
Caca Cubicle
Sitting across from Jack was a woman named Elena, who radiated nothing but sunshine. Beside her sat her sister, Gabriela. They appeared to be in their late 40s or early 50s. Elena leaned back and asked Jack if he was looking forward to going home. He leaned forward and happily chatted with her, making jokes that only they seemed to understand. Their warm and familiar dynamic implied they could be old friends, but I was unsure whether they knew each other personally or had simply bonded on the train, as I had with so many people myself.
Elena and I exchanged pleasantries as well, only having enough time to discuss small talk and where we were headed before the conductor echoed through the train.
We are nearing our final stop, Portland Union Station. There will be attendants outside to guide you to your shuttle bus. Thank you for choosing the Coast Starlight. We apologize again for the change of plans but we do hope you choose to ride with us again.
We were about 20 minutes out and I was unsure of how long the bus would take to arrive in Seattle. I took the chance to rush down to the lower level for the bathroom. In the small, claustrophobic corridor, I bumped into Elena. There were two restrooms and I asked her if she was in line. She smiled at me and shook her head no. I headed for the bathroom that was green and said “vacant” and entered. Gabriela was washing her hands. We were both flustered and I quickly apologized as I backed out.
“I guess I was in such a hurry, I forgot to lock it”, she laughed.
All of us had a pretty good chuckle and I was grateful it wasn’t as awkward of a situation than it could’ve been. I did the all-familiar tip-toe across wet toilet paper, held my breath inside the heavy feces plume in the air, and did my best not to touch anything. I washed my hands, rushed upstairs, and gasped for air.
A kind hand touched my arm as I headed towards my seat.
“I know you’ve got a long stretch ahead of you. I’m going to throw my goodies away, but wanted to know if you’d like them?”, a familiar voice asked.
I looked up and it was Elena, gleaming at me.
“Sure!”, I said.
Just between us, the moment she offered me the snacks, I dreaded it. I wasn’t prepared for a barrage of more snacks, but I didn’t want to offend her. I took the bag and took a quick glance inside. It was full of more cured meats. I now had enough snacks to last me for an entire apocalypse. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful for everyone’s kindness, but I hadn’t the slightest idea of what I would do with all this meat.
Portland Union Station
The train came to a screeching halt, a sound that now fills me with a sense of adventure. I went down to the lower level, where I saw Dan helping his father with his luggage, and somewhere was Adrian, lost in the crowd behind me. Everyone quickly got off the train, and just like the conductor and Jack said, it was easy to find the Greyhound I needed to get on. Off in the distance, Jack saw me and gave me a thumbs up, and I stepped onto the Greyhound. And just like that, all of the friends I had made on the train became strangers once again.
I found an empty window seat and took it. The seats of the bus were comfortable and nothing like I remembered from when my mom and I took a train from Indiana to Albany, NY, when I was seven. It smelled better too. The seats quickly began to fill up, and an elderly lady sat next to me. She smelled exactly like my childhood piano teacher, a scent similar to Yves Saint Laurent Opium. It was an immediate comfort to me, and I took it as a sign that I would be okay.
Eleanor
“Milano cookie?” I heard a gentle voice say beside me.
I turned and saw the elderly lady’s hand extended towards mine. “I never say no to a cookie, nonetheless a Milano cookie," I gleamed.
Her name was Eleanor, and she too was headed to Seattle. She told me she had left Eugene, OR, to settle her parents’ estates. They had passed away seven years prior. She and her siblings had taken turns caring for their property, and she was putting the final touches on taking care of the rest. She asked me questions about myself, and I had told her my life story. How I was newlywed, lost my father, became a stepparent, and how I aspired to become a librarian in Washington one day.
”My dream is to live on Whidbey Island and become a librarian there. I’ve never visited, but I hope to and truly decide if it’s meant to be. It’s always tugged at my heart ever since I watched Practical Magic”,” I told her.
“It’s beautiful on Whidbey Island; I live there with my husband of 56 years. I don’t think I recall the movie Practical Magic”,” Eleanor stated.
Partially baffled that she had never seen it, I exclaimed, “If you enjoy 90s romantic comedies and love Sandra Bullock, I think you’d enjoy it!”
It turns out that Eleanor was familiar with the movie and had even seen the filming of Practical Magic. She stated that she once spotted Sandra Bullock strolling around town in between takes. Eleanor smiled at my enthusiasm, mutually enjoying our shared connection.
Eleanor was a retired English teacher. She seemed intrigued by my shared love of literature. I’m always curious about people’s interest in books, so I asked what she was reading currently. She reached into her bag and pulled out a book she had just started to read.
”I enjoy reading things people recommend to me. My daughter-in-law and I are reading this together," she said.
The bus driver stepped aboard the bus with a box full of Subway sandwiches, chips, and bottled water.
“Would anyone like some water?” the Greyhound bus driver announced as he stepped onto the bus with a box of water.
Eleanor was in the process of masking up and must have misheard him.
“Let me buy you some water, sweetheart,” she said.
I was in awe of her kindness. My paternal grandparents passed away when I was incredibly young and my maternal side lived on the other side of the world in Taiwan. I never had the opportunity to have a standard grandparent experience, so I thought to myself, “this must be what the love of a grandmother feels like”.
“He’s giving away water for free because of our delay, but I thank you for your thoughtfulness," I said, patting her arm.
The bus driver, a friendly middle-aged man with a mustache reminiscent of my dad's, began to hand out the water and 6-inch subs. I normally don’t eat them, but there’s something about free sandwiches that always tastes so good. I tucked the sandwich inside the bag Stan gave me and couldn’t help but think, “Wow, I have never been given so much free food on a trip in my entire life”.
Eleanor’s Love Story
“So 56 years!?! What’s your secret? How did you meet your husband?”, my curiosity was piqued.
While studying at the University of Washington, she was an active member in the college’s choir. As fate would have it, her husband, Gregory, was also a member. It was in those shared harmonies that their paths first crossed. Yet, it wasn’t until their choir toured all throughout Europe that they truly got to know one another. One summer day in Italy, Gregory confessed his intrigue in Eleanor. Their first date was in Rome.
Upon returning to the United States, they stayed friends, but their romance fizzled out as they pursued their career trajectories. She began her teaching career in Seattle, and he joined the military, becoming a Navy pilot. They still kept in contact every once in a while, occasionally writing letters to one another. One day she received a telegram offering her the opportunity to pursue a teaching career in Okinawa, Japan. She only had 24 hours to respond. Excited by the idea of such an opportunity, she leaped into action and accepted.
When she arrived, she befriended a lot of Navy pilots, telling one, “I used to know someone who was a Navy pilot.”.
Naturally, they asked what his name was.
“Gregory Whidbey," she said.
In disbelief, the pilot told Eleanor that Gregory Whidbey was out on a job. “He’ll actually be back tomorrow," her newfound pilot friend told her. She was suddenly reunited with the feelings she thought were long gone. And just like any woman would, she contacted her best friend as quickly as possible about the coincidence.
As I listened to Eleanor tell her cinematic love story, I could see the love and warmth radiate from her eyes.
“Do you know what my best friend told me?” she smiled.
I shook my head no.
“If you don’t marry this man, you’re defying both God and Cupid himself!”
I savored every detail of her story, much like the captivated grandson in The Princess Bride, hanging on to each word. Once her story of romance and love defied all odds, she let me in on her secret to a long-lasting marriage.
“Marry someone who makes you laugh. There will be hard times, but know it will all work out.”
King Street Station
After 3.5 hours on the Greyhound with Eleanor, chatting about our lives and what our plans were for the week, we finally approached Seattle. I stared out the window with wide eyes, gawking at the giant Starbucks building. Not because I loved Starbucks, but because that’s how I knew I truly made it to Seattle.
“How will you get to your hostel?” Eleanor asked, concerned. It was now 8pm and everything was starting to get dark. Thankfully, I was staying nearby at the Green Tortoise Hostel—an 8-minute drive away or a 24-minute walk.
“I’m not sure. I’ll probably grab an Uber; it won’t take long!” I assured her.
She nodded, but still looked worrisome. “I’ll ask my husband if he can take you to your hostel”, she exclaimed.
Not wanting to be a bother, I waved my hands, “Oh no! While I would appreciate that, it will truly be okay," I said.
Her husband arrived and he looked so in awe to see her, all these 56 years later. He was a dapper gentleman. Grey hair and refined. He carried the essence of someone who was a military pilot. He had a loving presence but had a protective, commanding energy. Without hesitation, he grabbed her bag and went in for a loving embrace.
“Honey, this is Keisha. Her hostel isn’t too far from here; could we take her there? It’s getting dark, and I don’t want her to navigate the city on her own alone," she stated in a concerned tone. The nurturing teacher energy made an ever-present cameo. I’m certain she was a favorite amongst many of her past students.
Immediately I could see the unease and worry in her husband’s face. After all, I was a stranger she met on a Greyhound of all places. He turned to me, trying to get a read on me. “I’m sorry, young lady; I went shopping at Costco, and I don’t have any room in the car. An Uber can take you safely there.”. They walked with me to a nearby King Street Station employee, Gregory, asking where the Uber pick-up was. His protectiveness reminded me of my own husband. I couldn’t help but smile.
I thanked them for their kindness and we bid each other farewell. I watched him open the passenger side door for her and saw him help her into the car. I turned on my phone, requested Lyft, and found myself on my way to the Green Tortoise Hostel.
-Keisha
*Bonus* Gallery of snacks
(Food from Adrian Not Included)
