The Sleeper Car (Encore)
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Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location. And since I'm a person... and not a computer. I sometimes sound just slightly different, but the stories are always soothing and family-friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams. Now, I have a story to tell you. It's a soft place to rest your mind, and just by listening, you'll be training your brain to settle and to sleep. I'll tell the story twice, a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, you can turn a story right back on, or sometimes it's enough just to think through any part of it that you can remember.
This sleep training will improve with time, so give yourself a few weeks of regular use to really get the hang of it. Our story tonight is called The Sleeper Car, and it's a story about a trip where the mode of travel is more important than the destination. It's also about crisp, ironed linens, a little notebook that fits perfectly into your pocket, the mystery of strangers across the dining car, and waking up to a snowy sunrise. Now, get as comfortable as you can. Lights out. Maybe a sleep mask or a teddy bear. Or just the right pillow in the right spot. And then let your whole body relax. Whatever today was like is what today was like. And now we're here. And it's okay to let go. Take a slow, deep breath in through your nose. And sigh from your mouth. One more time. Breathe in. Out with sound.
Good. the sleeper car. From the window, a broad, white landscape stretched out under the afternoon sun.
We'd just cut through a small city, and I could still make out a few buildings in the distance. I loved passing through towns. watching cars waiting at the crossings, catching a glimpse of people walking on the city streets with bags slung over their arms, caught up in their own routines.
Seeing people in this way, a single frame of their life, while my own blazed past
It reminded me that we were all our own main characters, and I found myself charmed by the faces I saw and the stories that might go with them. I was still thinking about the last town, the flash of their city square as we sped through, their tree still lit, and the ice rink in front of it swirling with skaters as the sun began to sink lower and an orange glow fell on my face.
We were a little more than a day into our journey, with a couple more to go before the last stop, and I was thoroughly enjoying train travel.
I thought I might be bored, but bored was the last thing I was. I was relaxed, though. Compared to driving, following directions, watching for traffic and road closures, this was positively meditative. The scenery was always changing, though the pace was steady.
And I spent a good deal of time just looking out the window, either in the dining car or here in our compartment. We'd splurged a bit for this trip. And since the mode of travel meant more to us than our destination itself, it had proved worth it. We had a small stateroom with a wide bed, a neat little washroom, and a sofa where we'd sipped our coffee this morning.
I'd never been in such a cozy, well thought out space as this little room.
It was engineered for comfort and to fit well within the limited space and also with a bit of nostalgia in mind. And for me,
This was nostalgia for something I'd never actually had or known. I'd seen elegant train travel in black and white movies and read about it in books, but never lived it.
And now that I was here, I found it lived up to every expectation. and then some. The linens on the bed were ironed and crisp.
The pastries that had come with our coffee this morning were delicate and filled with the best apricot preserves I'd ever tasted.
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