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.
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