I never meant for trains to become the great and predominant symbol of my life. I'm not even sure that they are, and yet somehow, when I sit down to write it is the themes that relate, even remotely, to trains that carry me off. It is the constant illusion, the transporting undertone, that last bit of uncynical romanticism that I have left.

Maybe it is the ironic contrast of the ever-moving train to the unmoving track, tied in place. Is it coincidence that they're called railroad ties? The loud clanging rush, the pounding echo following the shrill brake, and the silence when it is gone.

Maybe it is the constant presence in my life, my constant proximity to track as a child, and then again as a young adult. I didn't notice until it wasn't there, and it was a long time. The first place I lived as an adult was no where near a line, and I found it so quiet, but also disturbing, like something was missing that should be there.

Growing up there wasn't just proximity to the track, there was also my father. Dad worked for both Conrail, and SEPTA (SouthEastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority), at different points, and so the trains were a constant of his life, and therefore mine.

The train was like a being at college, something that stopped professor's mid-lecture until it passed, made students late for class, blocked out the view of the river, and reminded everyone - coal, coal, coal, coal, coal…

The train emerged as a metaphore for almost anything at this point, though mostly it reflected angst. The trains that went through were either hollow and empty, or full of black coal, both fitting metaphors for any forelorne lover. I wallowed self-pittying, self-justifying, and ocassionally, self-deprecating.

And now I ride the DC Metro each day. A different train, with different noises, and all week it chants like the coal cars, work, work, work, work… But on the weekends it changes it's tune, and the tourists and runners and bikers flood in. They're here to see the monuments, the buildings, the museums, and the Mall. Even those who ride it will hardly notice the train.

Will I continue to use the trains in future writing? Maybe. I never set out to use them in the first place. So if the words come riding on tracks, than that's the way they'll go onto the paper. And if they come by other modes, so be it.

But I think the trains are with me forever, constant, not a lurking symbol or ghost, just a parallel, like the two tracks, extending with promise into oblivion.

Now Boarding... The Train