she said.

She said “night train,” and I got excited. Not just letter-in-the-mail kind of excited, but REAL, win-the-lottery excitement, with only a slight twinge of concern. After a missed train falling among other failed attempts, fate left us no option but to take the parent-forbidden night train. Not only did we cross the line of defiance in this decision, but, more importantly, we were going to fulfill my age-old, romantic idea of traveling Europe in a sleeper car, by night. The seemingly epic realization of this movie-like scenario fueled my thoughts, and immediately, I prepared my mentality for battle. My imagination raced through cartoon images of sinister gypsies lurking in cabin hallways, and of dangerous co-passengers to whom we would be forced to share a compartment with. Even after the father-like conductor placed us safely in a quad-bolted, secure room, I didn’t let my guard down nor my thoughts subdue. Every peculiar screech or shuffle outside our fastened door offered new material for my over-active, thrill-set mind. Eyes peeled to catch any outside glimpse of a foe at each Slovakian border-crossing and two close friends in shelved-beds above me, the 7-hour voyage marked a climax for my European travels thus far. What an escapade.

She said “night train,” and immediately the felt weight of a daylong hesitation seemed to hover. From nixed plan to nixed plan since 9 a.m., the growing concern of the last-resort endeavor loomed in her conscience. She had promised their mother she would offer a savvy opinion in any compromising situation. Now, the friends seemed to have no choice but take the banned night-train to Prague. Though she worried little of her own safety, resting in a long and successful history of questionable scenarios, the potential perils for three female Americans inevitably existed. With a “make-the-best-of-it” mentality, she prepared her mind to navigate the ensuing prospective for disaster. Yet after boarding the train and quickly being offered a “safe room” from the friendly conductor, her day-high pile of apprehension instantly diminished. Relieved from the alleviated burden of responsibility, she could sit back on her fold-out wall cot, above the pajama-geared lady below, and enjoy a restful night of cherished time with two friends; the focus of her travel in the first place. What a relief.

She said “night train,” to let the others know their final verdict. She neither felt excitement nor concern at her own words, however. Yes, the night train had been warned against. Yes, night-travel proved possibly perilous. But she had traveled this way before. And plus, “safety in numbers,” right? The only miniscule feeling that carried any significance in her mind pertained to her mother, and the account she would later have to relay. But even such a duty mattered little at this point. So numb were her feelings, and so drained was her brain from the 9-hour chaos of decision-making and dead-ends, that she no longer possessed the slightest leftovers of emotion. She, the appointed “travel agent” of the trip, only cared that her friends make it from point-A to point-B. And then to point-C, once arrived in Prague. After steering through schedule-shambles at the Budapest train station, she could’ve train hopped and felt ok about it. Thus, the conductor’s guidance to a “better” cabin only seemed appropriate. And as she sat on her  “bunk,” seemingly without comment about the day’s pandemonium or her cousin’s over-eager enthusiasm, she began to plot out the groups’ next steps. What a headache.