ILLINOIS (Texas Eagle)

For hours there was nothing but darkness. As the train crossed Arkansas and Missouri in the night, glimpses of faraway streetlights flickering as we sped by, were the only discerning forms of life one could see from this part of the country. Waking up as the train was departing St. Louis station, I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon. Soon we’re crossing into Illinois which was covered with a thick rolling fog. It was daybreak on the plains but it all seemed to be asleep still on that Sunday morning. The train kept pushing on, the conductor honking its horn at every railroad crossing. It didn’t seem to bother any soul except for a sudden soaring Red-tailed hawk taking flight from the top of an elm tree or the occasional dog howling in protest for disturbing the peace.  

As the fog began to slowly dissipate as if making way for the passing train, the sun was still hiding and hanging low on the horizon. A few sleepy small towns began to appear, one after another. The train passed so close to these single homes that one could almost peek inside their windows. A few houses with their porch lights on, others completely in the dark still, a few others with a kitchen light suddenly turned on, as if the passing train meant the start of day. A few cars up the road began to appear on the two-lane narrow country road, frost still on their windows. From inside the comfort of the train one could almost feel the balmy midwestern weather.  

As if watching a movie from the window of a moving train, I began to bear witness on how the locals spend their time when work has been dealt with. From their driveways and backyards, rusty old pontoon boats, RV trailers sitting on cinder blocks, inflatable swimming pools of different shapes and sizes, barbeque grills and wooden tool sheds, swings hanging from oak trees, gardening tools scattered on lawns among mini-trampolines and mini-slides, mountain bikes and ATVs. It’s as if proof were needed to demonstrate that play is as important as work around these parts. 

Plain fields began to take over the landscape after a while, the small towns more scattered and the houses farther away from the train tracks. The sun still struggling to rise up as the fog had completely rolled away. Outside Carlinville, a Walmart with a nearly empty parking lot, isolated shopping carts surpassing the cars in numbers. A billboard under two big lights advertising a big sale on Home, Furniture and Appliances. A garbage truck crossing the parking lot in the direction of the dumpsters. A John Deere dealership next to Walmart, with pristine farming equipment of all sorts, protected by electrified barbwire, all in their shinning Phthalo green. Leaving town, loads of semi-truck trailers resting on the loading docks of the big “Prairie Farms Milk Factory”. The train tracks expanded to lead to big silos that stood tall above everything else to the horizon.  

We kept pushing north, following the trail of old Route 66, passing through picture-perfect small towns, with their water towers with the town’s namesake printed on them with big letters. Life seemed to be in full bloom in these one-light towns, where it doesn’t take much to be stuck in a traffic jam but where they are welcomed as an opportunity to catch up on each other’s week and local news and gossip. Signage from old Route 66 adorns the streets of these towns, nostalgia being a big reason for people and business in trying to return to the glory days of old. 

As we left old Route 66 behind and towns began to get more scattered between them, we started following State Route 53. It didn’t take long for the corn fields to start appearing on either side of the train tracks. From time to time, a pickup could be seen only by the plum of dust that trailed behind it. Farms with small silos, red barns and rusty tractors barely seen at the end of another gravel road cutting through the fields. The sun had now risen in full, hanging high above all else. The train kept pushing on, blowing its horn at the approaching railroad crossings, only a few pickups waiting to cross. Church bells in the distance ringing their believers in, as the sun shined bright over the huge corn fields bathing them in gold colors. I was fixated by their transfigured power. It seemed they could go on forever.

MINEOLA, TEXAS (Texas Eagle)

About an hour outside Dallas, as the train keeps heading east, we begin to enter Wood County, named for an early Texas governor but that could be misconstrued for its origins as an important timber center in its inception. It´s not too long before to begin our approach to Mineola, the first stop after Dallas. The train stops just outside the station, waiting for it to get lined up to the station. From outside the window, we are face to face with the Iron Horse Square Park, a novelty train-themed kid´s attraction that includes a mini-train replica of a steam locomotive. It is packed to the to the rafters this Saturday afternoon with kids riding the mini-train and toddlers waving goodbye as the mini-train passes them by, from their parent’s safe hold.

A phone rings on the seat behind me, and a woman in her mid-30´s, who I remember boarding the train with me in Austin, answers it with an enthusiastic “Hya Pete”. She is dressed casually but impeccably tailored with just enough makeup and a professional-looking hairdo, to peg her as a typical city girl. After some quick exchanges, from which I gather that her brother is on the other side of the line, she begins to direct him to where she is sitting on the train. She has located him easily enough, waiting at the edge of the depot, and is now giving him clear directions to proceed near the mini-train ride. I see him walking towards us but unable to see inside the train. She tells him that she can see him right in front of her and counts the windows back to the end of our lounge car to indicate to him where she is sitting. She waves at him and asks: “Can you see me?... I’m waving at you”. He is still in the dark, but waves briefly in the general direction of her window.

They keep talking on the phone, the sister saying that he looks good, that he must have lost a lot of weight since they last saw each other. They probably haven’t seen each other for a long while and their sparsely phone conversations probably didn´t venture that much further into too many personal details about their lives. Nonetheless, I can sense in her voice, a kind of a nostalgic longing for othet times, which I gather were happy ones between them. The brother keeps looking intently, trying to locate her sister. He is a bulky, bald-headed man in his early 40´s, with a genuine smile on his face, that he tries to extend as long as he can while talking on the phone.

It dawns on me, by the way he moves, slowly and painfully it seems, that the weight loss must have been due to some serious health problem. The sister asks him about their parents and it’s all he can do to divert his eyes from the train, lose his smile and look down as he speaks. I can sense by the silence on this side of the line, that it must have been a serious concern in the past. She asks abruptly if he has moved out of the house again, followed by a swift reply saying, “Mom should have left him years ago... I always knew it would come to this”. I can feel the restrained anger in her voice in trying to stop saying any more of it.

The brother stops talking briefly but then offers he some advice on how to deal with their father, making her promise him to not to stir the pot too much, for their mom’s sake. I can sense a mixture of disappointment and resolve in her decisive voice as she proclaims, “Something needs to be done. He can’t just leave when he wants, leaving Mom all alone, while he’s out somewhere, on another drinking binge with his hunting pals. He’s in his seventies, for chrissake”, her voice suddenly raised and echoing through the lounge car.

The train starts finally moving into the depot and the brother can finally see his sister on the train and waves enthusiastically at her, like her outburst was something to be put firmly behind. The sister gets up, gathers her belongings and moves down the lounge car towards the exit as the brother starts walking towards the depot. The train stops and he hangs up the phone and waits anxiously, puppy-like eyes on his face, for her sister to exit the train. He hurriedly tries his best to run towards her and gives her an embrace so strong that she has to drop her two heavy bags to the floor to commit to it with the same vigor and being surprised by her own sudden emotions.

He smiles broadly as they keep the embrace, trying to hide the tears in his eyes. She smiles back at him and pats him gently on the shoulder, ending their embrace. He tries to pick up the two big bags, but she takes them from his slightly swollen fingers. He smiles innocently at her as they start walking in the direction of the parking lot. They disappear from view as the train begins its slow departure.

I look back at the Square Park and every kid stops whatever they were doing to wave goodbye to the train. As we leave the station behind, there’s a long line of cars waiting at the Railroad Crossing. A few, with kids, have their doors open to let them wave goodbye at the train. A few cars behind I spot the sister and the brother in their car, a smile as big as heaven in the brother’s face as he looks at his sister, and apprehensive but determined look in her face.

I try to see beyond her thin veil of contrasting needs and promises made to herself but see a definite resolve in her eyes to come to terms with coming back home as if she never had a choice in the matter but becomes her only possible choice. She looks at her brother, who’s now looking straight ahead at the train leaving, but still talking in his quiet manner. She smiles at him, a genuine happiness exuding from him. She diverts her eyes briefly and catches the tail end of the train as it’s leaving the town behind, tries her best to keep smiling, and seems to join everybody else in waving the train goodbye.

SAN MARCOS, TEXAS (Cafe on the Square)

The late lunch rush is finally over and it takes a while for me to adjust from the rumble of overlapping loud conversations and the constant clinking of plates and cutlery to the low hum of the waitresses’ gossip while on their smartphones. The sudden barrage of sounds coming from the mounted television seems to be the prevailing sound above all others now. Local sport commentators seem to be trying to outsmart one another and out talk each other with their best options for the local Bobcats team upcoming game this weekend. As if I need more reminders that this is a college football town, a couple of students come in wearing their best Bobcats gear and sit way on the back of the cafe. I finish my grilled cheese and onion rings, push the plate away and finally lean back in my chair, sipping the last of my coffee and look around the place. 

About a dozen Formica tables adorn the long but narrow space and it seems to make it a lot bigger than what one would expect from the outside looking in. A long service area counter with Diner style seating occupies most of one side of the cafe. The sounds coming from the kitchen contrast with the sudden quietness of the place as the TV sound is adjusted. Jet streams of water and clinking of dishes and machines whirling full blast almost drowning the sound of the commentators on TV who are soon interrupted by a commercial break. A sale of mattresses this coming weekend with promises of slashing prices up to 80%. A scintillating man wearing a Viking outfit is slashing mattresses left and right on a parking lot with a nine-foot long shinning sword, as if the spoken promises isn’t enough to entice costumers. 

I open up my notebook and look briefly at the empty page before turning my attention to what’s going on outside the window overlooking the square, as if looking for inspiration. My waitress Rose, a young woman in her early 20’s, comes by with coffee pot in hand and asks if she can take the plate away for me in her most adorable West Texas accent. She smiles as she juggles the plate in one hand, and looking at my almost empty coffee cup, fills it up with the other hand saying, “Let me top that off for you”. She looks at my empty notebook and asks what I’m writing. I say, “Nothing particular, I just like to look for interesting stories to write about whenever I’m traveling”. She asks if any of them turn out to be love stories, her favorites. I say “Sometimes but they’re hard to come by these days for me.” She ponders and offers an “Hmm” as she leaves, her voice lagging on as she says to let her know when I’m ready for the check, but offers that I’m welcome to stay and enjoy, while looking at my open notebook. 

A middle age couple comes in and sit at a corner table overlooking the square. They seem to know each other only slightly and their awkwardness is evident by the way they keep trying to avoid looking at each other’s eyes for too long. It’s safe to assume that they are probably on a first date as they soon resort to small talk about the weather to try to patch up pauses in their conversation. I sip from my coffee cup, take out my pen and sit back watching the steam off my coffee rise up and disappear. I look around for inspiration, for some sort story to present itself to me, but instead notice the big display case behind me with the biggest, most delicious-looking desserts. I call out for Rose and ask her to bring me what she thinks it’s her favorite dessert since I can’t seem to make up my mind. She smiles widely and, in her own words, accepts the challenge. 

On TV the commentators are at it again. It seems the opponent’s team quarterback is coming back from a knee injury and so the consensus among all of them is to take advantage of that in the defensive plays. That seems to have left the moderator without any other questions for the commentators and it’s the best he can do to fumble through his attempt at calling out for a quick commercial break. Even the Bobcat wearing young men, who had up until then pay little attention to the commentators, stop talking and look in disbelief at the TV and the few seconds of dead air. Rose comes back with an enormous slice of raspberry cheesecake. She places it in front of me and asks if I want her to top off my coffee cup again. I nod and she proceeds to do so and says, “Hope you’ll like our cheesecake. It’s made right here in our cafe everyday”. I smile as I take a big bite of off it and hurriedly give her a thumbs up as my mouth is filled with more cheese cake than I should have had in one bite. She laughs as she leaves saying “Enjoy it.”. 

Outside, afternoon is leading up to evening and foot traffic is picking up around the square. A group of students come running down as they cross the street, all in their game T-shirts, and go in into a sports bar. Streetlights are being turned on around the square, giving a more respectable view of the majestic Hays County Courthouse in all its glory. There’s a few Band-tailed pigeons sitting atop Jack Hays statue, that take off together when a dog on a leash stops and barks at then. Three women in their early 40’s come into the cafe, laughing hysterically at something that has happened earlier in the week in their office party. They stop laughing as they look around the cafe and pick up the mood of the place. One of them offers a silent “sorry” with her hands and nods to me as a way of apologizing and I smile my understanding back at her. The couple at the corner table are now holding hands on the table, whispering something between each other that is surely making both happy by their wide smiles. 

On TV the programming has changed to the local news and the upcoming local elections for the council. The women have finally settled down on a table to sit and are now looking at the huge menu. The woman who offered an apology in my direction looks at me and waits as I finish the last of the cheesecake to ask me if that was as good as it looked. I say “Even better”. She thanks me and calls out for Rose to bring three slices of the delicious cheesecake along with a pot of herbal tea for the table. I smile and raise my coffee cup at her and sip from it. The Viking mattress sale commercial is back on and it’s all I can do not to be lost again in such a poor executed but still engaging spectacle. I smile at the screen and the insanity of it all that ends with a group of Vikings sailing on the North Sea on the way to their land, their dragon-carved shallow and narrow boat filled with mattresses as the they celebrate another kind of victory. The women are indulging themselves on their cheesecakes and resume their earlier conversation about their office party but now use a lower, almost whisper of a voice, to detail some sordid details about some of their colleagues. 

I finish my coffee, close my notebook and just sit and relax for a moment. The sun outside is setting fast, with orange hues sprawled across the horizon. The dark of night is fast approaching but the town seems to be coming alive all of a sudden. The middle age couple are now exchanging stolen kisses from one another and giggling like a pair of teenagers. I smile as I look at Rose stealing looks at them while pretending to be on her smartphone, daydreaming of the day the love story will be hers. On TV, the local weather is predicting clear skies and sunshine for the Bobcats game day. I linger awhile longer not to disrupt Rose’s daydreaming and look at the women’s table where the cheesecake is gone but the talk and the tea keeps happily flowing. When Rose comes in to their table I finally ask her for the check. When she comes back, she places it on the table and says, “Whenever you’re ready”. I thank her and she asks me, “How was everything?” I pause and look around the cafe before my eyes land back on her looking at me. “Did you get what you needed?” she asks, with a smile on her face. When I don’t answer immediately she offers, “Hope everything was alright”. I smile and say “Everything’s perfect, just as it should be”.