The first group of women got on the train at Mountain View. Older, maybe in their fifties. White women from prosperous families of the sort in these parts. They sat and quietly went unnoticed.

Then three more women got on at Palo Alto and there was a tremendous show of elation. Friends, it would seem. They hugged joyfully. The new group included two women newly arrived from Germany, still feeling the effect of the long flight. The seats on this train come in pairs and all face forward, so the group began to take pairs of seats toward the back of the car. The chatter increased. Ten minutes later, somewhere around Belmont, another woman joined them. More smiles and introductions. Soon, those sitting furthest ahead had to turn around on their seats and kneel to face backward and join the myriad conversations.

They discussed their children, those who just got married or are about to, the latest news about aging parents. More stops passed, more members of the party appeared. Shirley in Burlingame, Stella in San Bruno. Their galaxy expanded and took up half of the seats on the first floor of the train. Their stars lit up the surrounding space.

Outside, it was a gloomy sky. Traffic lumbered past trees along distant freeways as I read about forgotten gods and carousels. Old neighborhoods that continued to relent to the pressures of development swept by until we reached San Bruno mountain, where things remained roughly as they had since I began to know them. Listening to those women, their words floating up in thirds and fifths, I realized there would be no going back. Just the next time we could meet, the next update on this and that. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we will get the chance.

The women got off at Bayshore, an old place on the edge of everything. I can’t imagine what they’ll find. But they were thrilled to be there, together.