I arrived at the depot ahead of schedule – which you have to do or you miss the train! Evidently, The MBTA doesn’t wait for me. (Do they know who I am?!)
I climbed aboard the upper deck, which I seem to already prefer. The train is not crowded at this end of the line or hour. I picked my forward-facing seat, a type of loss control for my inherited motion sickness, and opened my free book (a benefit of working in publishing). I observed the expressions of passengers reading their morning paper before I started “Paper Daughter” on the express to Cambridge.
At Porter Square, I descended into the subway. When I transferred at Park Street, I did it too quickly and was on the wrong side of the tracks. City life does have its ups and downs, so I went back up, and then down, to wait for the next inbound car.
During the last two stops to the office, I noticed a young girl about the age of my own daughters. She caught my eye because she sounded and looked miserable. I would portray her as a young professional if she hadn’t continually rubbed her Rudolph red nose with the back of her hand.
As the subway car slowed for my stop, I pulled a travel size pack of tissues from my shoulder bag and asked if she wanted a kleenex? An astonished “Yes!” was accompanied with clouded, swollen red eyes.
I gave her the whole pack as I walked down the stairs. I didn’t wait for her expression because I didnt look back. My life in Boston is about making a difference, wherever I can, and moving forward – because I have arrived.
How are you moving forward?