The Last Train Home

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Let's take a deep breath together.

In through the nose

and out through the mouth.

It feels good to breathe deeply.

And the air we breathe, especially at night, matters more than we might think.

While we sleep, our bodies are hard at work, restoring, repairing, and recharging.

But that work can be quietly disrupted by what's floating in the air.

Things like dust, pollen, and other allergens.

I didn't used to think much about indoor air quality.

But once I did, I realized, if we care about what we eat and drink,

why not care just as much about what we breathe?

That's why I sleep with a Jasper air scrubber in my room.

It has no annoying lights and doubles as a gentle white noise machine that's become essential to my bedtime rhythm.

But more than anything, it's turned my bedroom into a sleep sanctuary.

A space where the air helps me sleep, deeply and peacefully.

I can't recommend Jasper enough.

You can learn more at jasper.co.

And if you use the code SLEAP, you'll get $300 off.

That's JASPR.co.

Use code SLEEP for $300

off.

Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone.

In which

nothing much happens.

You feel good.

And then you fall asleep.

I'm Catherine Nikolai.

I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens.

Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

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And this week we are giving to Greyhound Pets Inc.

They work to find responsible, loving homes for greyhounds, to acquaint the public with the desirability of greyhounds as pets, and to help them adopt.

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The first month is on us.

Knowing a bit about how this works can help it work even better.

So know that by listening to the steady sound of my voice,

by attending

even with just a small part of your brain,

to the shape of the story, we are giving your brain a job to do, and that keeps it from wandering and lets you drift off.

I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through.

If you wake later in the night,

Don't hesitate to turn an episode back on.

Over time,

you'll find yourself falling asleep within seconds.

Our story tonight is called

The Last Train Home.

And it's a story about a few moments at the end of a long day.

It's also about dogwood flowers and sodium lights, a seat on a bench, the long summer twilight, a yawn that resets your system,

and some soft, quiet time

settled in with your fellow passengers.

It's time.

Turn out your light.

Set down anything you've been looking at or working on.

Feel how good it is to be in bed,

to be at the end of your day.

You are safe.

You have done enough for the day, and nothing remains but rest.

Draw a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh from your mouth.

Again breathe in

and release it.

Good.

The last train home

It had been a long day

And it felt good to be nearly at the end of it.

The bag slung over my shoulder

felt a little heavier than it had when I set out this morning, though it was actually lighter,

since my lunch pail was empty now,

and my water bottle only had a few sips left in it.

The air was cooling off

as the sun slid further down the western sky.

On the way into the station,

I noticed the dogwoods in full bloom.

Their star-shaped white flowers

were just starting to drop petals,

and when the breeze blew, a few showered down on the sidewalk below.

I took the steps up and into the station.

There were just a few others,

and all of us carried the same energy

That end of the day quietude

The morning zip converted into a lived in rhythm

that had us ambling rather than rushing to the platforms.

I found a bench near the tracks

and set my bag down beside me.

A long sigh

left my lungs,

and I clasped my hands in my lap,

looking out past the platforms

and into the field beyond.

Whipperwills gathered on a distant rooftop,

and their calls echoed in the evening air.

On a bench further down the platform

a man sat with a boy dressed in soccer gear,

a ball on his lap.

The boy leaned against his dad,

who shifted to put one arm around him.

He murmured some small joke that made the boy smile,

and the smile turned into a long yawn.

His eyelids drooped as he tipped his head on to his dad's shoulder.

His yawn became my own,

and I stretched my arms overhead,

flipping my palms inside out

and feeling my joints creak and pop.

Pandiculation,

I thought to myself as I rolled my shoulders and settled back in

to wait for my train.

I'd looked it up a week or two before

that kind of

long

and often involuntary stretch

that makes you yawn yawn and shiver and sometimes twist your face into funny shapes.

I'd learned it had a name,

pandiculation,

and a purpose,

that it eases tension

and helps your mind and body to sink back up after a period of inactivity,

which is why it hits us most in the mornings.

It was also one of those things

that our bodies did

to help us close out stress cycles

and return to neutral.

Our bodies did a lot

to protect us each day,

and learning about pandiculation

made me even more grateful to mine.

In the distance, the train whistle blew

when I looked down the tracks

to see the headlight of the front car rounding a bend.

Vibrations rumbled up through the pavement

and into the soles of my shoes.

I sat

waiting a moment before I stood to board.

Even though taking the train was a regular part of my day,

I still felt a little thrill

when the rush of air passed over me

and the cars came to a stop.

There was a soft hiss

as the doors unlocked and slid back.

I stood and reached for my bag

and climbed aboard.

The train was nearly empty.

Just me,

a few other commuters,

and the soccer star and his dad.

I settled into a window seat

and propped my chin in my hand.

The doors closed,

and I felt the train rock backward

and then forward

as we set off.

The tracks ran along a row of shops and cafes,

and as we picked up speed

I saw people shopping,

talking on street corners,

and eating at outdoor tables.

There must have been a group bike ride happening.

A dozen or more cyclists were riding with lighted helmets

and flags on their baskets.

Twilight was so long this time of year,

not like in winter,

when day turns to night, like a light switched off.

There were angles that accounted for such things,

but I'd also read that in summer

the warmer air holds more particles,

more moisture,

and they scatter the remaining light

so that summer evenings feel brighter and more colorful.

I thought it made sense.

In the summer I too wanted to stay up later.

I smiled at the angled reflection of my face in the glass.

I was looking out at the world through the faint image of myself.

I remembered that that was nearly always the case,

even when it wasn't so literally true as in this moment.

We see the diners at the cafe,

the shoppers in the window,

our fellow travellers,

all of them, refracted just a little

through our own hopes and history.

I leaned back in my seat as we passed through a short tunnel.

I closed my eyes and felt the brief flash of each passing light on my face.

The tracks curved, and I let the momentum rock me in my seat.

My stop was coming up.

I was so used to this stretch of road that my body knew it before my mind did,

and I found myself taking a few deep breaths

and reaching for my bag

before the train began to slow.

Almost home, I thought,

as the station came into sight.

I nodded to the soccer player and his dad

as I stepped off the train,

hoping they only had one more stop to go.

I passed through the station and came out onto the street in the purple light of dusk.

A patch of lilies grew in the flower bed at the corner,

and their scent stood out in the night air

so sweet I imagined

every honey bee within five miles was in love with them.

A row of street lamps turned on overhead as I made my way up the block toward home.

the faint buzz, an orange glow

of their sodium light

made warm pockets on the sidewalk.

From inside the houses on either side of the street,

I heard the laugh tracks of TV shows,

the chorus of music, and the low voices of conversation.

A calico cat watched me from the top of a porch pier,

her tail wrapped around her ample body.

The lights were on in my house

and I smiled in the dark.

I hoped there might be a plate in the oven for me

and a place waiting at the table.

Another day was done,

and I was home.

The last train home.

It had been a long day,

and it felt good

to be nearly at the end of it.

The bag slung over my shoulder

felt a little heavier than it had when I set out this morning,

though it was actually lighter,

since my lunch pail was empty now,

and my water bottle

only had a few sips left in it.

The air was cooling off

as the sun slid further down the western sky.

On the way into the station

I noticed the dogwoods in full bloom.

Their star-shaped white flowers

were just starting to drop petals,

and when the breeze blew,

a few

showered down

onto the sidewalk below.

I took the steps up

and into the station.

There were just a few others,

and all of us carried the same energy

that end-of-the-day quietude

the morning zip

converted into a lived in rhythm

that had us ambling rather than rushing

to the platforms

I found a bench near the tracks

and set my bag down beside me.

A long sigh left my lungs

when I clasped my hands in my lap,

looking out past the platforms

and into the field beyond.

Whipper wills

gathered on a distant rooftop,

and their calls echoed in the evening air.

On a bench further down the platform

A man sat

with a boy dressed in soccer gear,

a ball balanced on his lap.

The boy leaned against his dad,

who shifted to put one arm around him.

He murmured some small joke

that made the boy smile,

and the smile turned into a long yawn.

His eyelids drooped as he tipped his head back

onto his dad's shoulder.

His yawn became my own,

and I stretched my arms overhead,

flipping my palms inside out,

and feeling my joints creak and pop

pandiculation,

I thought to myself

as I rolled my shoulders

and settled back in

to wait for my train.

I'd looked it up a week or two before

That kind of long

and often

involuntary stretch

That makes you yawn and shiver

and sometimes twist your face into funny shapes.

I'd learned it had a name

pandiculation,

and a purpose

that it eases tension

and helps your mind and body

sink back up

after a period of inactivity,

which is why it hit us most

in the mornings.

it was also

one of those things that our bodies did

to help us close out stress cycles

and return us to neutral

our bodies did a lot

to protect us each day

and learning about

pandiculation pendiculation

made me even more grateful to mine.

In the distance,

the train whistle blew,

and I looked down the tracks

to see the headlight of the front car

rounding a bend.

Vibrations rumbled up through the pavement

and into the soles of my shoes.

I sat,

waiting a moment longer to stand and board.

Even though taking the train

was a regular part of my day,

I still felt a little thrill

when the rush of air passed over me

and the cars came to a stop.

There was a soft hiss

as the doors unlocked and slid back.

I stood and reached for my bag

and climbed aboard.

The train was nearly empty

just me,

a few other commuters,

and the soccer star

and his dad.

I settled into a window seat

and propped my chin in my hand.

The doors closed

and I felt the train rock backward

and then forward

as we set off.

The tracks ran along a row of shops and cafes,

and as we picked up speed

I saw people shopping,

talking on street corners,

and eating at outdoor tables.

There must have been a group bike ride happening.

A dozen or more cyclists

were riding together with lighted helmets and flags on their baskets.

Twilight was so long

this time of year,

not like in winter,

when day went to night,

like a light switched off.

There were angles that accounted for such things.

But I'd also read

that in summer

the warmer air holds more particles,

more moisture,

and they scatter the remaining light

so that summer evenings feel brighter

and more colorful.

I thought it made sense

in the summer.

I too

wanted to stay up later.

I smiled at the angled reflection of my face in the glass.

I was looking out at the world

through the faint image of myself.

And I remembered that

that was nearly always the case,

Even when it wasn't so literally true

as in this moment

We see the diners at the cafe

The shoppers in the windows

Our fellow travelers

all of them refracted

just a little

through our own hopes and history.

I leaned back in my seat

as we passed through a short tunnel.

I closed my eyes

and felt the brief flash of each passing light on my face.

The tracks curved

and I let the momentum rock me in my seat.

My stop was coming up.

I was so used to this stretch of road

that my body knew it before my mind did.

And I found myself taking a few deep breaths

and reaching for my bag

before the train began to slow.

Almost home,

I thought,

as the station came into sight.

I nodded to the soccer player and his dad

as I stepped off the train,

hoping they had only one more stop to go.

I passed through the station

and came out onto the street

in the purple light of dusk.

A patch of lilies

grew in a flower bed at the corner,

and their scent stood out in the night air

so sweet I imagined every honeybee

within five miles was in love with them

a row of street lamps turned on overhead

as I made my way up the block toward home

The faint buzz and orange glow

of their sodium light

made warm pockets on the sidewalk.

From inside the houses on either side of the street

I heard the laugh tracks of T V shows

the chorus of music,

the low voices of conversation.

A calico cat

watched me from the top of a porch pier,

her tail

wrapped around her ample body.

The lights were on in my house,

and I smiled in the dark.

I hoped there might be a plate in the oven for me,

and a place waiting at the table.

Another day was done,

and I was home.

Sweet dreams.