--Editor's Note--

Dear Readers,

The author wishes to make known that he has not abandoned his goal to write on each day he takes the T. However, due to a lengthy vacation, he has not had the opportunity to do so in the last several days. Stay tuned for more regular observations at the beginning of September.

Yours Truly,

The Editor

12 August 2010

Blue Line, inbound:

A man boards the train at Airport Station. He is wearing a long sleeved, collared t-shirt and khaki shorts. He epitomizes cool with his slicked-back hair, his gaudy rings, his silver crucifix necklace and his demeaning expression. I was about to take his attitude seriously until I looked at his feet. He was wearing tennis shoes and calf-length socks. On his right leg, poking about an inch up out of his sock, was tucked a comb.

6 August 2010

Green line, outbound:

Two priests sit together, dressed in their black shirts and white collars. One sat, reading a book of prayer while the other stared out the window. With the exception of the book being closed and handed to the other, neither priest communicated with the other, and they very rarely moved. After several stops, they simultaneously stood, without any apparent attempt at synchronization, and exited the train.

5 August 2010

Kenmore Station:

The Kenmore station is where the B, C, and D Green line forks converge. To accommodate this sudden influx of trains, there are two tracks on both the in- and outbound sides. Today, my B-line train arrived, opened its doors, and waited. The C-line inbound showed up and left. Then the D-line showed up and left. Then another C-line. When the fourth train arrived, I had had enough. I jumped ship and ran over to it. Three other people followed my lead. No sooner had we gotten on our new train than the old one closed its doors and left the station.

4 August 2010

Green line, inbound:

A man stands across the aisle from me. He's wearing tattered denim shorts and a loose button-down, striped shirt. Under his collar is a harmonica holder; the harmonica is still in position near his mouth, on the other side of which is his girl. She is not wearing makeup, which doesn't detract in the slightest from her beauty. Their conversation is held while the one is no more than three inches from the other, lips to lips, eyes to eyes. And even though her arms are around his neck and her sentences are frequently punctuated with proffered kisses, he still can't resist looking away periodically to play a few lazy chords and sing.

3 August 2010

Red Line, outbound:

A college undergrad boards the train at Park Street with me. We sit across from each other. He is wearing carefully tattered jeans, a light blue v-neck t-shirt, and a jacket and has an impressive amount of dark, spiky hair. Three stops later, a girl enters the train, yells his name, runs to him, and gives him a kiss on the cheek. They sit together, talking animatedly. Two stops later, the girl leaves the train with flourish, promising to keep in touch this time. This rendezvous was apparently serendipitous, an unplanned meeting in the place of highest variability.

2 August 2010

Red line, Longfellow Bridge:

Departing from the Park Street station, heading toward Alewife, the red line train makes its single foray above ground over the Longfellow Bridge. The train fills with the softer glow of natural sunlight and the windows suddenly display a wide river and a striking city skyline. The wakes of boats, which have passed under the bridge minutes ago, leave smooth, semi-straight lines on the otherwise choppy water. Two tour boats gurgle their way down stream filled with gawking tourists. In the distance, a sailing lesson; a flotilla of sailboats and their inexperienced captains try not to run into each other. At their proximity, I'm quite positive their success rate falls short of 100%.

The eeriest view of every day comes from looking North after the bridge on the outbound train. As we descend from the bridge into the tunnels, we pass a building with mirrored windows. The train passes close by, and its reflection is clearly visible to the passengers. However, since the exterior windows of the train are also reflective, one cannot see the interior of the train in the mirror. Today I stare at the mirrored building and peer into the reflection of the window out of which I gaze—looking for myself—and see only the train descend into darkness.