Yesterday: Thurs. Feb. 11/10 Train to Toronto

We saw as we boarded that the train was packed with travelers. Our little suitcases needed to be stored in the last remaining available space, the refrigerator! My friend and I walked the length of the train car, laptop cases bumping the elbows of seated passengers to mark our arrival. Even on a train it becomes difficult to keep a low profile. Almost to the end now and no empty seats. It was clear we would not be sitting together having that much anticipated chat that friends who work within the same system, but in different roles, frequently need to have.
There were two seats remaining at the very end of the car. My friend took a window seat across the aisle from me. As she sat down, I lost sight of her visually, but throughout the ride, I heard snippets of her conversation with the gentleman beside her. I heard a pop tin open, such an instantly recognizable sound, and I heard her laughing. She has an infectious laugh that I like to hear. Like coffee, hearty, robust, full-bodied with a lyrical tail that most often ends with a final sigh.I'm envious that she has slipped into the "lucky" seat. Nice stranger, quick connection and spontaneous engagement.
I like to hear the laughter of others. I like to make others laugh. I think about my own laugh. I don't have a distinct memory for this. Wow, I don't recognize the sound of my own laughter. I think about this as the train lumbers now through rural terrain. The view of the snow covered fields of Southwestern Ontario is pretty. You tend to miss this when you are driving along the same route. I'm still bothered by the fact that I can't hear my own laughter. I try to conjurn up the sound but can't.
My seat was in one of those 4 packs that face each other. I sat down facing backwards, a position many people have trouble traveling in. I've spent many an ambulance ride in my former life as a nurse traveling backwards monitoring patients. The motion and sensation do not bother me. I am more uncomfortable with the notion of where do I look and what space do I own in this seating arrangement?
My seatmates all know each other. They are decades younger. They are attuned to their various netbooks and other devices, occasionally throwing out verbal "tweets" at each other - those responses of 140 characters or less. They might be surprised that I recognize their language. This language of youth, those fortunate digital natives. I'm embarrassed though. I'm sitting holding my big "mom purse," my travel bag, and my briefcase in my lap. The young man beside me points out quietly that I may wish to store these in the large space behind my seat. I do this and I pull out my e-reader. I'll try to read so they won't think I'm staring at them, and I am staring at them.
I am reading Villette, trying to concentrate on all of the French dialogue that Charlotte Bronte felt so critical to the story, and construct partial meaning of the final chapters. It is not the best choice to read on this busy train ride. I'm too distracted. I'm listening in on those snippets of my friend's conversation, I'm worried that there is something wrong with me because I don't know the sound of my own laugh and I know that I'm eavesdropping into the sound bytes of conversation occurring between my seatmates. I use my reader as a prop today.
The young lady across from me pulls out an old, yellow copy of The Princess Bride by Goldman. The cover is dog eared and one corner has been torn away. She reads for some time. She stops and says to her friend that this is her favourite book. She frequently brings it on the train for her long journey from London to Kingston. This version is not the children's version. It is the original tale. He asks her how many times she has read the book and she replies 10. I am smiling now. This is dear to my heart. He then tells her that he has also brought a book with him. I've lost the title now, but it is a humorous tale about baseball. He explains that this is his favourite re-read and he carries it with him when traveling.
In this world of immediacy it was refreshing to watch these two young people tune into reading. Somewhat ironic that I was reading a classic on a virtual reader and that these tech savvy students were reading traditional books. We came to have a talk about my e-reader. They were quite intrigued and asked me plenty of questions about its use and how I downloaded texts to the reader. They were friendly. They were polite. They expressed genuine interest in getting to know their seatmate.
Turns out we have something in common. Both attended UWO and I myself was on campus for my undergrad decades earlier. I shared a few memories about my days on campus. The days prior to the advent of the personal computer. I came to know within that hour that these two students were friends from the same city who came from opposing high schools. They were traveling home for "Reading Week." The girl was a cellist and a music major. The young man was a visual arts major.
There was another student sitting directly across from me who did not address me during the trip. He appeared glued to his netbook and was wearing thickly padded headphones. Interesting that many students had these big, black retro phones. These I remember. From time to time he would sporadically blurt out sentence fragments such as "listen to the clarity of this music" or "watch this video." I had a different impression of this young man. I admit that I judged him based on these fleeting, superficial observations. He did not hold my attention in the way that the other two students did. But as he got up to go, I noticed the book that he slipped into his knapsack.... Descartes - this young man was studying philosophy. I felt pretty ashamed of myself.
As each of the students on the train stood and gathered their flashy, silver technology, stuffed their arms into their identical navy wool (or optional grey) pea coats, I thought that I often look at youth and form a false belief about their nature. At times, I see them as either being "tuned in" or "tuned out". I wasn't looking for what I should be looking for. I saw only what I perceived them to be. Lesson learned from youth today. It made me smile. Maybe that's who I am. A smiler.