The Woman on the Train

I lug my luggage onto the last-train-of-the-day which will take us to our final destination: Zurich International airport. The train is full of people, overloaded with luggage. Tony has wandered down an aisle with his suitcase, but I hesitate to follow because I have to pull the "beast." I can't even get past the first passenger, a woman whose bags are partly in the aisle and isn't going to move them. I feel lightly irritated, but then she says to me, "It's only a seven minute train ride. Why don't you just wait in the hall," which is the little overflow space where train cars connect. I see that I can indeed just stand in that space. I take her advice; I stand with other passengers and their luggage.

I think of what could have been a different scenario. Me, dragging the "beast," trying to get past luggage and people--all the while feeling silly for the size of my luggage and my feeble attempts. 

I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the woman who suggested I do otherwise. And I need to tell her--this is so clear.  But we are separated by standing, moving people, and she is sitting, facing the other way.  I watch close for the moment when I can make eye contact.

In watching, I see she is everything I am not. Her bag and handbag are petite. She wears a slim dress with a belt. She wears heels. Her wrists and fingers are dressed with beautiful bracelets and a watch. Her fingers are adorned with jewels. Her hair is blown out and smooth and her roots don't need to be done. Her makeup is perfection along with her manicure.

I on the other hand, am what Oprah once called a Schlumpydink. I am dressed for two flights, one that is over night and ten hours long--cropped sweat pants with a matching top and a t-shirt underneath. My furry pullover is wrapped around my waist. I wear airport-walking sneakers. My hair is unruly. I don't wear makeup and I don't travel with jewelry--except for a necklace tucked and unseen beneath my clothes. My love handles have thickened from a steady diet of fondue.  I have an inexpensive, imitation, leather backpack and with the oversized suitcase, I look like an inexperienced American traveler. Dressed like a Schlumpydink.

I settle in this insecure assessment for only a fleeting moment. I can't change anything, and I'm not sure I would. The greater thought is to thank this woman. 

The train comes to a stop. The woman stands. She fluffs her hair, smooths her dress. We make eye contact. I smile and say loud enough so she can hear, "Thank-you." I don't need to explain. She understands. She smiles and nods her head.  

 There are certain incidences in one's life that stay with us long after the incident deserves. The incident is slight but strangely profound. It confirms the mystical and the perplexing feelings that follow the seemingly unimportant and fleeting moments of human engagement.

And I try to dress a little better.

A good resolve as I really leave Switzerland ~in writing.

Thanks for coming along on my journey.