Soft, hazy flashes of warm oranges and yellows paint the window, leaving speckled imprints in my memory that recede with the ever-changing images of infinite leaves. Humming reverberates from where I gently rest my head against the wall—an illusion that I am hearing the spirit of atoms themselves. Time is astray, though I only go forward. The train is an other space that, somehow, suspends me in the landscapes of the railroad.

00:00

My first train was the T. The night before my trip, my dreams wandered and left me with intense wonder in the morning. Faint memories of the Polar Express and Hogwarts Express danced around in my mind.

10:43

My friend and I arrived at the Providence Station one hour before our train, confused by the excess of numbers on the online timetable. I needed time to take in my surroundings: the timid clock tower, the sleek yet unnerving dome, the curious circle of benches. The station cafe’s emptiness sprouted disappointment in me, as though I was missing out on an opportunity. Yet, the vibrant convenience store reeled me in, even tricking me into paying for a “gourmet” snack.

11:37

Although I pulled out a book while waiting, I reread the same sentences in vain; I squinted at the train schedule every few minutes. Suddenly, a track number appeared. I scrambled to shove my belongings in my bags, put on my jacket, and orient myself toward the right track. With a backpack and heavy duffel bag, I rushed down the stairs with my friend racing behind. The cold breeze met us. The tracks as a liminal space between the inside and outside amplified my curiosity as the long, seemingly endless train whooshed before me. It was not quite as enamoring as the steam locomotive I was fantasizing about, but was nonetheless thrilling.

The train came to a full stop, its doors sliding open as an invitation in. As I hurried to an entrance, I slowed my step to concentrate on the gap between the platform and train car. I ensured I did not slip in between the sliver of a gap and down into the unknowing darkness of the tracks. There was a little jump, and into the train I went.

It was a humble interior, with smooth oak walls, lived-in seats that looked of vintage leather, and wide windows with rounded corners. My friend and I squeezed ourselves into a seat, stacking our hefty bags atop each other and occupying the remaining space. At that moment of waning, everything rested but my blaring heart.

11:46

The train jutted forward and into motion, while I steadied my gaze out the window and at the moving cement bricks of the tunnel. I patiently waited until the edge of the tunnel, the sharp line where the walls ended—blurring with the bright sky and distant buildings. Now that I finally settled down, I let my thoughts wander with a somber kind of music, one that made me intimately immersed in reflection. Along the ride, from time to time, I watched my location on my phone glide through the map. In between these pauses, I lost myself in the views through the window.

00:00

Taking the train was not a transitional process to reach new experiences. The train was an experience in itself. Five days after my first train, a bigger opportunity arose: the Amtrak, the quintessential American train.

7:25

Boarding a train with a more vintage outer appearance, I stumbled into the car and found an interior vastly unlike the one I first encountered. There were rows upon rows of singular seats, whose sleek designs displayed untouched leather surfaces. Narrow lights shone on each chair amidst the dimness, the seeming vastness. Dark blue filled the seats, the carpet, the signs, the doors. The Amtrak was reminiscent of a plane cabin, a formal and rigid space. Unchanged, though, were the wide windows with rounded corners. I could still absorb myself in the ride.

The Amtrak had a swiftness too. New passengers rushed down the aisle to find an open seat, and newcomers like me wishfully looked for whole rows to ourselves. As I sought out a seat, I nearly tumbled when the train immediately started and thrust itself into full speed. My hands gripped others’ seats until I mustered the courage to ask a stranger if anyone was sitting beside them when my hands became too moist to hold onto anything. After hurling my duffel bag onto the overhead rack, I swung myself into a seat and shoved my backpack underneath the seat in front of me. This seat surprised me—its back side had a mini-table I could unlatch and a netted pocket with brochures, uncannily like a plane. In search of familiarity, I unfastened the table and rubbed my hands across its smooth surface, pulling and pushing the table to see how much it could move.

7:30

“Tickets! Tickets!”

As the conductor neared me, I hastened to find my ticket somewhere in my email. Once I felt their presence tower over me, I quickly made a final tap and pointed my phone toward the conductor.

“Zoom into the QR code.” I heeded. After a scan, a hole was punched into a physical ticket. My ticket, hovering over my head…

7:45

“Kingston in 10 minutes!”

8:24

“New London! New London!”

8:47

“Old Saybrook in 15!”

This voice stayed with me throughout the ride, emerging every so often while I stared into the novel scenery losing its sunset glow.

8:58

“New Haven in 10 minutes!” Someone rose from their seat and gathered their luggage, then made their way to the end of the car.

I jumped up, and without thought, snatched my duffel bag and yanked my backpack. The weight of these bags pained my shoulders, though I stood upright, taking cues from my model traveler.

9:08

The Amtrak immediately halted and nearly threw me off my feet, even with bags grounding me. At once, everything stood still for a quiet second. The sliding doors opened, welcoming me to the outside. My small jump landed me on the platform, feeling renewed.

24:00

Mobility: This is one of the many charms that adorn the Northeast. Walking and biking. Subways and trains. Everything is readily within reach. Perhaps this mobility amounts to nothing when one takes to a car. But sometimes, I want to forsake control. When I let go, I float about savoring the moments, unbounded to the world.

I create experiences each time at Providence Station. I board trains teeming with curiosity, prepared to encounter the rush and the new, but eventually sink into a comforting limbo: catching the cheapest train in the middle of the night or, during the comedown of the day, finding the ride a mellow escape from the tiring normal. With a friend, or strangers. To a modest hub of vibrancy that does not try to be greater than itself, that of South Station or Grand Central, a vast center that shows you are only a single speckle in an endless and unstoppable crowd, yet you flow with this dynamism.

The same train changes. But every time, I get to hear “Providence in 20!” I always return in time, anew.