The Punctual Observer

Keikyu Train

I boarded the train returning from Tokyo, dragging my son and pleading, “Stop screaming, please. Trains are quiet places like libraries.” He flailed and whined. He wanted to hold the rings — the hanging handles for people to hold when the train is full. Our train was nearly empty, and I don’t believe the few passengers on board would have appreciated an impromptu circus act that would surely end in a death-assisting fall. He was over-tired, and so was I.

I stood at the door, facing the window and staring hard at passing houses. My eyelashes fluttered.  Scenery blurred as I fought back tears. Two escaped. Just two, but dammit. I had reached exasperation. I wiped my sleeve across my face, probably smearing mascara. My child hadn’t noticed and had occupied himself with my drawstring backpack.  If any other Japanese passengers noticed, they didn’t let on.

Ding. “Kanazawa-hakkei.” Usually our transfer point, today this train continued to our destination. I stepped aside. Passengers I swore were napping opened their eyes and disembarked. A businessman scurried off, briefcase in hand. New passengers found seats or leaned on rails, unaware that the American on board had just had a minor meltdown.

Ding. Houses, trees, tunnels. And on we traveled.

My moment of sorrow, fatigue, helplessness, lost to all but the punctual observer: the train.

How many private moments had that train, that very train car, shared with its passengers? Tears like mine, or others. Tears of joy, maybe. Perhaps that car was the only witness to the young man with sweaty palms who waited until everyone left before proposing to his girlfriend; they had sat in the same seats on their first date, after all.

How much human energy had it absorbed and dispelled with its hundreds of thousands of stops. Anticipation, fear, grief, lust. All bottled up when the doors closed and let loose when they opened. Did it even get a shower at the day’s end to wash it all off? (Perhaps it did because it was immaculate.)

Trains are an immutable fact of life in Japan. People take them every day, multiple times a day, relying on them to arrive on time and safe. Some people spend hours a day commuting. Some are on and off and around and about. And I’m sure some people go for a ride through the countryside just because. Trains are ingrained in the culture of modern Japan.

I will remember that train. I will remember how I felt my sadness trapped inside it, and how it whooshed out the door at the next stop, cleansing me with new hot station air. I will probably ride that same train a hundred times while I live in Japan. I wonder what of me it will observe next time.