Waiting for US epiphany
It’s my first trip to the US since … well, the last election. And, now, another looms, and I think he might take it again. I don’t understand it at all. These are the things I see out the train window as I Amtrak across America, down the eastern seaboard:
Salt marshes. Pretty clapboard houses. Trailer homes. Ponds. Sail boats.
The leaves turning to autumn, to red and orange and yellow, like the warnings of winter. A wet, white sky. And no sign of an epiphany. I see fuel stations. Porches. Scrap yards.
A 24-hour diner (and the blueberry pancakes I had a few hours earlier are still heavy in my tummy).
I see a supermarket-sized CVS pharmacy – but I don’t frequent them cos they donated to … him.
I see postboxes like in the movies. A red barn with a mansard roof. White herons on grey water. A cluster of outlet malls. I’m in the quiet car on the train. “A library-like atmosphere must be maintained at all times,” says the conductor when new passengers board. It’s nice not to be bothered by the clamour of other people.
Is that the glimmer of an epiphany perhaps?
I see American flags flying outside occasional houses. Flags make me uneasy, like a call to nationalism, which usually means exclusion, pushing back the people you don’t recognise as like yourself. Flags are jingoism-lite.
I see masts of ships over a rise, or maybe it’s the tree tops of a dead forest. I see the sea, the Atlantic. I see graffiti, but there’s no wisdom written under these bridges or on these walls. It’s just big bubbly names, a desire to be seen, noticed, acknowledged. Maybe that’s the epiphany. I hear “excuse me” as people claim seats, polite but brooking no dissent. I hear the cold mantra of “you’re welcome”, of going through the motions. I’m waiting for the epiphany. I see America doesn’t smile as much anymore.
Then we’re in a tunnel so dark I see nothing except the space immediately around me, everything beyond unknown. Maybe this is it. Or maybe it’s just a tunnel. If there’s light on the rise, I hope it’s called Elizabeth Warren.