COLUMN: Looking for ward to looking back

From Karen Pasternack's, "Effective Immediately," Fall '98 From Karen Pasternack's, "Effective Immediately," Fall '98Page 217: Four thirty and the train pulls away from Union Station in Washington, D.C. I stare in silence out the foggy window as the conductor names the places we will stop: Baltimore, BWI, Wilmington; the list is extensive. I have passed through these familiar towns on trains all my life, yet each time there is a difference. Where are you graduating from, I ask? I feel the journalist in me looking for another story. She explains that she goes to the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, right near the Franklin Institute. I am quick to jump in and assuage her. I know Penn, I say, pulling out the latest installment of The Pennsylvania Gazette I was saving for this out-of-town expedition. She almost looks a little startled, as if I am privy to a secret that only she previously knew. Class of '98, I say, smiling. I can't believe we are already on the brink of our 10th reunion. "What do you do?" she inquires, her eyes are bright and eager. I like her sincerity. "I'm a television producer," I say. Have you ever heard of the show The Emerging Story? It's on NBC Sunday evenings. Essentially, we look at the week's news and find the most off-beat human interest angles -- the real stories of people, behind the scenes, beyond the glitz and the glamour. I've been working there for a year now. I've always wanted an excuse to tell stories and now I have one. "Wow," she says. That sounds really interesting. But she explains that she never thought about a career in television, always wanted to work in politics. Then she relays the doubt about it all, telling me she is thinking of traveling for a while, maybe working in a random country for a few years. She asks a forgotten question: What did I do when I graduated from Penn? I am laughing to myself now, remembering when this was the constant dialogue at Smokes, arising within conversations every other minute. I tell her triumphantly that I graduated without a job. But that I had many ideas and passions about what I wanted to do. I was hoping to do work similar to what I'm doing now, I tell her, adding that Stories didn't exist at the time. She asks about my Penn days. Do I have a favorite anecdote? And I think about all the ones I could launch into. From fire drills in the Quad to late nights at Cavs. Where do I begin without sounding cliche? I decide to tell her about a time freshman year when my hallmates had a mouse in their room and some of our friends attempted to remove it, disguised in full-fledged camouflage outfits. Although this silly moment was reminiscent of an episode of Friends, I saw the emergence of a community, a family that extended beyond the boundaries of a Hollywood script. She nods her head as I talk, and I find myself telling her about my abroad experience in London as well. And she responds with stories of her Paris trip, in the spring of her junior year. I describe the intense friendships I developed, the intelligent people with their spontaneous enthusiasm, our willingness to take intellectual risks. I did take great classes, I acknowledge. But in the late night hours when I can't remember how I got from where I was to where I am, what stands out are the details, the spaces in between: writing various Daily Pennsylvanian pieces, listening to poetry at the Writers House, climbing the hilltops in the Lake District of England. The train slows down as we approach Philadelphia. The two of us sit in silence for a few minutes, feeling the connection -- this link between the present and the past. Finally, she thanks me for my openness. I scribble my home number on my card and hand it her, telling her not to hesitate, I would love to chat more if she's interested. Through the rain trickling down my window, my eyes trace the outline of Franklin Field and Spruce Street. I can see the tops of the high rises that peak out above their surroundings. And I think, I don't remember saying goodbye. At some point on the sunny morning of graduation we all knew we would be leaving. We would live our lives, make good choices and bad, succeed and fail and yet all keep moving. The seat next to me is empty now. And the train has pulled away. But I feel a certainty that I will be back.