My Baltimore Friend

“Excuse me,” I said to the only other woman waiting on the light rail train car. “Do you know when this train leaves?” I had been sitting on the train for 15 minutes, trying to entertain my one-year old and four-year old boys, wondering if I was even in the right place. 

Edward and Anton by a train at the B&O Railroad Museum in Baltimore (2011)

“Probably soon,” she replied. She turned in her seat to face me from just a few rows ahead. A gentle smile lit up her face. “Since this is the beginning of the line, sometimes they have to wait for trains ahead of them on the tracks. Sometimes they have to wait because of a schedule. But we should be going soon.” 

“Thanks . . .” I was distracted from her response by Edward, my younger, wiggling around in the stroller to my left and Anton, my older, wriggling off my lap to stand in the aisle.  

“I love trains!” he declared to her. 

“Well, you’re in for a treat then! Where are you headed?” she directed her question to me. 

I hesitated, reluctant to admit the truth. “I don’t know, honestly!” She must think I’m crazy... “We’re staying at a hotel near here, my older son loves trains, and my husband is busy all day, so I thought we could play tourist and ride the train. It’s so cheap!” 

I was trying to balance sharing too much of my life with a sudden idea in my mind that perhaps this woman could help me. The full story was that Jason was beginning a Master’s program at Goucher College in Baltimore that had a two-week summer residency requirement. We had decided that rather than spend two weeks apart, the kids and I would travel with him. We would play tourist during the day while he was in classes and we would have evenings and some weekend time together as a family.  

The problem was that I was trying not to spend too much money each day and yet the kids needed to get out of our hotel room because they were too loud for that small space. Plus, the hotel hadn’t turned out to be as pleasant as it had looked online. I was still learning Baltimore, and trying to navigate it with two kids wasn’t proving to be easy. I had been near tears several times that morning already. 

“I love the light rail,” the woman was responding. “It’s clean and safe and new. You made a good choice to just take a ride and entertain your boys. Now,” she turned to Anton, “you say you love trains. Are you going to the railroad museum?” 

Anton turned to me, his eyes big.  

“I’d thought about it,” I told her. “I wasn’t sure if I could navigate it with the stroller.” 

“Oh, that should be no problem,” she said. “They’re used to families with kids of all ages. And there’s the streetcar museum too. I think the boys would like that.” 

I hadn’t heard of that so I thanked her for the information.  

“Now,” she said turning her body to face me, “if you’d like an experience for the boys that’s a little less expensive, you could consider stopping along the way today at Jeppi Nuts. It’s a lot of fun for the kids to look around and see how they roast and package the nuts and how they make the candies.” She told me which stop to get off on and then rattled off a few other ideas, commenting on which ones her son liked when he was young. 

I was feeling better by the moment. Here were ideas from a local that I would never have found on my own. We talked a bit more about Baltimore, Anton interjecting what he liked about trains whenever possible, until the conductor came on board and he was silenced, in awe, and we were set to go. “Thank you so much!” I told the woman.  

“You’re most welcome,” she replied. “Enjoy Baltimore...and enjoy those beautiful boys.” 

I think I told Jason that night about our new friend, and I am confident Anton told him all about Jeppi Nuts and the train ride. I decided the next day we’d head to the B&O Railroad Museum at the woman’s recommendation. First, after dropping off Jason, we headed to a McDonald’s for a breakfast treat. After ordering inside, I was trying to maneuver among tables, Edward in my arms, a tray in my hand, and Anton hopefully staying close, when suddenly I heard a familiar voice. 

“Let me help you with that tray.”  

I’m not sure which one of us was more surprised to see the other—the woman from the train or me. But there she was, nowhere near the train station of the day before, nowhere near the train line in fact. 

“Well...” I couldn’t find words but gratefully let her take the tray and set it on a table. “Thank you!” I finally said.  

“We’re going to the train museum!” Anton said. 

“Oh,” she clapped her hands together, “I’m so glad to hear that. I just know you’ll enjoy it.” 

“And Jeppi Nuts was a huge hit yesterday. Thank you for the recommendation.”  

“Excellent. Now enjoy your breakfast.” 

She walked away to her table by the window and I sat down, shaking my head slowly at the unbelievable coincidence. In a city of nearly 600,000 people, how was this even possible?  

Ten minutes later, I heard her gentle voice at my side again. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I have something for the boys and a story for you.” She handed me a bag of pretzels in the shapes of characters from the Cars movies. “First, I’m a very faith-filled person. This morning, when I was at home having my first cup of coffee of the day, I just got a sense that I was going to see you and your boys today. Something told me to get them a treat. I almost didn’t because I didn’t think it was possible, but I’ve learned to listen to that little voice of the divine inside me. So I did.”  

I took the bag and looked up into this woman’s face. For the first time, I studied it more carefully and I thought about her as a person, about her journey through life. I saw the fullness of her cheeks, the small lines by her mouth, the warmth of her brown eyes. I wondered what her life had been like. I wanted to know more about what it was like to be an older African American woman in Baltimore. In a moment, she went from being a stranger I’d chatted with on a train car to a woman I wanted to know. But I wasn’t sure how to do that.  

She figured that out too. “I have one favor to ask of you, if you would consider it.” She handed me a slip of paper with her name, address, and email on it. “I collect newspapers from different cities. I like to see how different places view themselves and the world. If you’re willing, please send me a newspaper from your hometown when you get back—and then email me to let me know it’s on the way.” 

“Of course!” I said. She smiled at my boys, wished us a good day, and walked off. I shook my head again in disbelief and tried to help Anton understand how amazing it was we had run into her again. He not only couldn’t understand that coincidence, but also couldn’t stop wondering when we would go to the train museum. 

I shared the story with Jason that night. And I searched the woman’s name online—curious now about her.  

And I discovered her son had been killed as an adult, years earlier. Suddenly her humanity was even more present to me.  

I sent her a newspaper. We wrote back and forth via email for a while, about Baltimore, about children, about loss, about faith. Then life got busy for us both and we stopped.  

I think about my Baltimore friend every few months. I think it would be beyond coincidence if I am ever able to find her again. I don’t have even her email address any longer and I can’t recall her name. And that’s ok.  

What I carry with me from her is precious. I carry gratitude for her patience and kindness in helping me move from an overwhelmed, stressed-out, somewhat lost mom to an empowered, stressed-out, somewhat lost mom. When I see parents in a similar state, I offer a smile, a kind word, or a compliment about their kids’ curiosity and engagement with the world.  

I carry with me an awe that there are people who listen so carefully for the voice of the divine within them, who are so deeply connected to the divine infused throughout the world and all its creatures.  

I carry with me a respect for those who are willing to go out on a limb and take risks—and that includes respect for myself, for all I learned to navigate during those two weeks in Baltimore. Her faith in me gave me confidence in myself. That confidence in myself has helped me take other opportunities to travel with my kids at all ages, and the rewards of those travels continue to multiply. 

And I carry with me admiration for her strength. How impossibly hard must it be to smile upon others’ children when you have lost your own? I have known too many people whose children have died before they have. My Baltimore friend reminds me to cherish my good fortune and respect those whose strength carries them through a life without that good fortune.  

We've gone back to Baltimore as a family several times, both during Jason’s graduate studies and years later when the boys were older. It’s a beautiful city we’ve come to love. Each time, we take the light rail train. Each time, I think of her, of me, of my boys then and now. Each time, I remember with gratitude my Baltimore friend.