The train was crowded when it left Union Station in Chicago bound for New Orleans, a trip that would take 14 hours. It was Easter break and I was going to visit the city I had heard much important information.
Across from me sat a young woman and we began a conversation. Her name was Alice and she was a teacher on Chicago’s West Side. She was upbeat and going to visit the Big Easy and her fiancé. However, as happens many times with strangers, she told me about her life. I listened.
I heard that she had been so afraid to live that she thought that she had already died. She was afraid of the night and the dark and the loss of light. She was afraid of flying. But, then, who enjoys being sealed in a silver bullet for hours? Who enjoys the thought of strangers, hundreds of them, who would share four miniscule bathrooms? Who could enjoy a flight when a bratty child keeps kicking the back of your seat?
I marveled at her, sitting so self-assured and composed, how it all came to be. How was it she expressed that she was afraid to die and could not muster the courage to live? She told me she had been afraid of rejection that no one was allowed to be emotionally close? Ever.
She had been timid and shy, given to being alone so no one could hurt her either with their words or their actions or their omissions. She used to be afraid the flower seeds would not germinate or the other flowers would not break ground each Spring. Would the brownies cook thoroughly and the blueberry jam jell?
However, approximately 10 years ago, she grew stronger and more confident. She did things she never dreamed she could do. In her small bungalow, she went up on the roof to fix it. She laid a new kitchen floor and hung wallpaper. She went white water rafting on the Colorado River. She had born a child who died of SIDS and was divorced from an abusive husband. She had been at various times betrayed, ignored, lied about and discarded.
The most heart-wrenching part of her story was that she had been criminally sexually assaulted by an uncle when she was 10. She told no one. It took her decades to speak to a counselor and to come to terms with the violation. How ever does a 10-year old child cope with such an occurrence?
Her life changed when she began to pray and when she found love again. Loving a good man had set her free to trust again. He wasn’t perfect just as no one is or has to be. But he showed her for two years what a true companionship was like when both are capable of caring. They planned to be married the following year in a quiet ceremony in Chicago.
I confided in her and we both knew we would never see one another again so our secrets were in safe hands. The conversation helped mitigate the long hours in the filthy train and we watched night turn into daylight.
Just like her story. Night for her had turned into a beautiful daytime.
Each of us had brought sandwiches and snacks for the long journey so we shared. There was no food sold on the train, nor beverages sold. It was a train ride never to be repeated because of those conditions.
We left the train so glad it had brought us to New Orleans, and so looking forward to seeing the jazz clubs and enjoying the foods. I wished her all the best and she did me. “Keep a song in your heart, Alice,” I said when we parted.