Enchanté

 

            It seems to be a truism that on every long journey some things fall away. But if you are fortunate, perhaps something is also gained. I suppose it is trite to say that travel is a transformative experience. But there it is!
            Folkie Joe, Maurice, and I rode that Greyhound right into the heart of Kansas City. Don’t think of prairies and small towns when you hear the name Kansas City. It’s the biggest city in MO, and definitely a downtown kind of place.
            We caused a little bit of a stir as we walked the dozen or so blocks southward to the Kansas City Union Station. You remember that Joe had become quite a star. Even with his sunglasses on, and dressed pretty seriously down, he was recognized by a few people. Or, they thought maybe that guy with the really hairy friend, carrying an old beat up guitar case, just looked like Folkie Joe, the new star. The ones who stopped and looked seemed unsure, but, still looked at us after we had passed. 
            One of the things that seemed to fall away was Joe’s glamour. His shades and good grooming didn’t halt the change. Once more he could have passed for a street musician toting an old guitar and making his living on the fly. His traveling buddy, Maurice, carrying me in the pet carrier did nothing to gainsay that impression.
            The Union Station is a big old pile of fancy marble built in 1914. It was closed in 1985, but some rich types got together with the city and paid to have it remodeled. It’s a real train station. The main hall is huge and shiny. The stuff of movies and adventures.
            Joe paid for a compartment, which is the only way to travel if the trip will take several days. It’s neat because you can stretch out and lie down or just stare out the windows. They bring your meals to the compartment.
            We sat around the station for a couple of hours waiting for our train. There was a café, so we bought lunch. I ate inside the carrier. It was not ideal.
            Finally, inside our compartment, I was able to escape the close confinement of the carrier. It was a nice little room on wheels. There were two bunks on each side. One on the bottom and one on top. Maurice took the top of one set. I settled in on the bottom. Joe put his guitar in the top bunk of the other side, then stretched out on the bottom bunk and closed his eyes.
            When we started rolling Joe sat up. He removed his shades and laid them up by his guitar and rubbed his eyes.
            “Man alive, Sue. This is a trip in more ways than one,” he said.
            “Yeah,” I said. “Even in this fancy car, it brings back memories, doesn’t it?”
            I could see Maurice’s big hairy feet in their high-tops swinging over my head. He was rummaging around in his pack, and at last brought forth a really hammered harmonica. I knew he could sing, in a manner of speaking. I mean he had been hired by two bands. But neither Joe nor I had seen him play a harmonica. It seemed like this was a day of surprises.
            Maurice played Scarlet Begonias and then went onto Touch of Grey. He wasn’t bad, and he wasn’t too loud.
            “Jeez, Maurice, you could have been playing with me all along,” said Joe. “Why the big secret?”
            “I’m not that good, Joe. I just do it for fun sometimes. And then, you don’t really like the Dead, anyhow,” said Maurice.
            So, just to be friendly, Joe got his old guitar down and played some Dead songs. They sang along. I didn’t.
            Later the boys had ravioli for dinner. They ordered a little piece of salmon for me.
            Then they tuned up again. Joe played and sang some of his hits. I noticed that other passengers slowed down to listen outside our door. I bet they had heard the same songs on the radio.
            “You’re going to blow your cover, Joe,” I said, “if you’re not careful.” He laughed softly.
            “Oh, that’s OK,” Joe said.
            By the time we got to North Dakota it was fully dark. This trip to Everett was said to take 64 hours, darn near three days. The moon was shining outside the window. None of us had ever seen North Dakota, but all we could see was rolling hills covered in scrub, and some mountains in the distance, with moonlight on them. It was magical, but a little sad and blue too. So many miles. So many stories I would never know. Lives lived. History, deep and inscrutable. Well, that’s life on earth, is it not? Even cats feel these things.
            I curled up on my bunk and drifted off to sleep while they continued to make quiet music.
            When the sun came up in the morning filling our compartment with bright light, the train was slowing to a halt at a tiny country station somewhere. It was a thirty minute layover.

            We got out to move around and throw off the night.
            “They oughta call this town Nowhere,” giggled Maurice.
            “Maybe they do,” said Joe. Both of them seemed pretty frisky for an early morning train layover in Nowhere.
            They wanted espresso.
            “You’re nuts,” I said. “There is no espresso in Nowhere!”
            We walked around for a good twenty minutes, then jumped back aboard. Nobody wants to miss their train. We sure didn’t want to.
            Nobody in this town had noticed Folkie Joe, or Maurice, or me walking with them. We only saw a few country types drive by, or walk to the train. It was a quiet place. You could hear the wind sweep by, and a few whippoorwill calls.
            The tracks turned to the west. This would be the longest part of the trip. Two days heading west. Crossing Montana is a serious investment in time.

            The miles went by. The hours slowed. We didn’t talk much. We enjoyed the scenery, and we got into the mood of the journey.
            “I’m pretty sure Ralph will be there,” said Maurice. “He’s that kind of a guy. I think he has always been there and always will be. I hope so. He helped me a lot and didn’t mind me hanging around when I was seriously down and out.
            “You guys will like him, and his family too. He has a wife and two kids and two mountain lions. Did I say he was one of those Forest People?” said Maurice.
            “Who or what are Forest People,” I asked him.
            “You’ll see,” he said.
            The train rolled on. There was a lot of flat country, but also hills, rough terrain, and mountains.
            Joe got his notebook out and worked on some lyrics. He hummed and fooled around with his guitar a little. Maurice slept. I looked out of the windows. We had nice train food meals. The experience was mesmerizing.
            We had another layover. This town was different but no bigger than Nowhere.

Something like this?

            “Maybe we ought to call this town ‘Getting There, MT,” I said.
            “You’re not as funny as we were,” said Joe.
            It was a hot day. We walked up and down the covered area for ten or fifteen minutes. It was dry too. I didn’t think there was any espresso here either.
            On our last trip down the walkway, passing the benches, I noticed something lying on a bench. There was no one around. It hadn’t been there five minutes before.
            “What is it?” said Maurice, going over to take a look.
            “It’s a book,” said Joe. “Where the heck did it come from?” he said, glancing all around and seeing no one.
            I  hopped up onto the bench to look closely. It was a red bound book about 6 by 9 inches and an inch thick. It looked like leather with a gold stamped title. It said Allegory.
            I flipped the cover, and a few pages. Every page was blank.
            Joe looked at Maurice, Maurice looked at me. I shook my head. The wind blew. I blinked my eyes.
            “Shall we bring it with us?” I asked them.