北京 ⇀ 上海

we’ve been on this train for 7 hours, with at least two more to go.

we were supposed to have arrived hours ago, but snowstorms began sweeping through in the morning, and our train slowed to a crawl.

during the day, time passed easily as the snowy landscape rolled by—fields cut neatly into white squares with black dirt borders, large red banners with stern white block characters like “put your whole self into improving quality” or “walk forward with the party towards a harmonious society” looking almost festive strung in rows across the streets. occasionally, we would slow to a halt a few hundred yards from an empty station, with snow falling heavily, silently, coating wire fences and matte billboards in a layer of white.

but now it is dark outside, and only the telephone poles are dark enough to stand out against the dark background, the black sky, the purplish black of the snow. brighter than the landscape is the layered reflection of the train compartment on the glossy window panes. the compartment feels smaller now, and too brightly lit, like a stage. the man in front of me keeps leaning forward to hack phlegm into the pink paper bag in the seat pocket in front of him. my ears feel plugged and oversensitive, the way they sometimes do when i’ve been sitting in the same position for a long time with headphones on. far away sounds are muffled, but close sounds are sharper and louder than before.

the woman across the aisle from me picks up the phone. the connection must be bad.

hello? she says
hey.
hello?
hey.
hello?

like a pingpong match with herself.

we haven’t reached nanjing yet, she says. i’ll call you when i’m there.