Dasani remembers herself, as a little girl, riding the train. She was too small to touch the floor with her feet. They dangled from the plastic seats that her grandmother cleaned for a living. Some trains went so fast that Dasani felt she was flying. She would cover her ears when the brakes screeched. She watched as the doors opened like mouths, spitting out a dozen people before swallowing a new batch. Then back into the tunnel they went. She called this “traveling with Mommy.” Or just “traveling.” They were always traveling, it seemed, while never arriving.
