By nat raum
night has long since fallen and i have already professed my fear of the rail bridge over the susquehanna, so i will not dwell on it now. this train ticket was only five dollars because i will arrive back in baltimore after midnight. miraculously, traveling into the following day is the only ride i ever take where no one is invading my earspace; i am a perennial devotee of the quiet car, otherwise. trains are for staring out the window listening to emo music.
philadelphia embraces me like a twin flame would. it spoils me with good company and traces of a life i sometimes wish i still lived in my own city. there is still an anchor chain which binds me to this river, to this bay, but i microdose euphoria each time another city shakes my hand so firmly. i own three eagles t-shirts and a sweatshirt. i know the way to my friend’s neighborhood bar without a map. my lover has a great love for memphis—i am refreshed, replenished by the spirit of philadelphia.
i have always flitted from city to city, but never without attention to the journey’s details. i know the line between bare and snowy earth below means the plane is closer to chicago; i know aberdeen warehouses and the drone of their parking lot lights mean the train is closer to baltimore. i have always admired the patchwork of farms from above and the silvery-amber of floodlight and moonbeam mixed together. i may say sometimes that i hate the stress of travel, and it’s true: i hate delays and the feeling of scrambling. but i do love the act of traveling itself, the process of experiencing a million different flavors, all of which i couldn’t possibly hope to remember later.
part of this is about having friends in other places. when i used to travel alone, i would always wish there was someone to enjoy it all with. i don’t know why bulgogi or cheesy tots taste better in the company of others, but they do, and i’d be a fool not to notice. the destination has started to matter less when it comes to my want to wander—i am now only here for the crowd, the inside jokes, the convenience store pizza consumed in a dive bar among my chosen family.
the train car jostles in the wind. i know that the river will always look like rippling crude oil in the moonlight. i know havre de grace will always shine from the other shore, the landmark that signifies i have survived the bridge again when the train roars through what i must imagine is downtown—i’ve never been, but have heard legends of their waffle house. i think of flyover often, but never in the context of my own state. in this case, i suppose it’s more passing through.
nat raum is a disabled artist, writer, and genderless disaster based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They’re the editor-in-chief of fifth wheel press. Their writing is published or forthcoming with Split Lip Magazine, BRUISER, beestung, Gone Lawn, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.
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