The Train
By Roberto Manchago
The moment I rode a train alone for the first time, nerves and thrill twisted together hard - something totally new. Clutching my backpack close, I moved toward the platform as the train rolled in slow, sunlight bouncing off its metal skin, wheels clanking against the rails. That noise - it hit loud, steady, shaking up from the ground right into my shoes, making my pulse jump each step nearer. Not sure where to park myself, I grabbed a spot by the glass, using the view outside to calm the jitters. The train rumbled beneath me, making everything wiggle just a bit - meanwhile, the world outside zipped past, shifting so quickly it turned into smudges. Flashing trees, buildings, folks on sidewalks lit up like snapshots, one after another - I couldn't catch it all, yet somehow my eyes snagged tiny things I’d normally miss. Folks nearby sat still, some flipping pages, others whispering low - their quiet hummed in the space between us. Being unknown to every single person there left this odd hush inside me. I checked out their faces, watched how they moved - little things like foot-tapping or the grip on their books, others leaning back slow in their seats. Instead of writing, even after pulling my notebook from the bag, I just ended up gazing outside. My focus drifted to the beat of the train, air brushing my skin, the roll of wheels, and, now and then, a muffled voice from the speaker. For a bit, I closed my eyes, rested my forehead against the cool window, feeling the shake and sway sink into me. Felt oddly peaceful, caught me off guard - not deep thoughts exactly, more like the ride carried me across quiet moments, moving without rushing.
On the ride, little stuff stood out, stuff I’d never noticed, like how sunlight hit the windows, or the faint coffee smell drifting from a trolley passing through. Small grins shared between people who didn’t know each other also caught my attention. Every sensation felt fresh, kind of surprising, plus it clicked that traveling alone made me notice more than I would’ve with company nearby. Feeling so small seemed odd at first - but somehow nice too. When the train reached my stop, I didn’t jump up fast; I moved slow, almost reluctantly, kinda bummed the trip ended. Still, deep down, I felt proud - I managed everything solo, no guidance needed. Slowly, I stepped off the train, holding my bag close, while keeping an eye on the train vanishing into the distance until it disappeared completely. Sure, it wasn't long, yet the trip seemed like a small journey, one moment that taught me to notice things, pay real attention, or even act bolder than I believed possible. Besides, I knew this one would stick around in my mind for ages.