No, not that Subway. Publix does a nice sandwich, thank you. It’s the underground I miss. The tube. The rapid transit. The metro. I like them all but I really miss the T, the Boston subway.
I commuted on the Boston subway for a few years. I loved the system, its noises, the shock of coming-up into daylight, the mystery of going back down into the dark tunnels.
I loved its roars and screeches. Its hisses, bangs and rattles. The thwack of the turnstiles. All the comforting sounds of travel, down below life above.
I loved knowing that neither sleet nor snow nor dark of night would prevent it from taking me to my destination.
I had no need to look at maps. No need to ask if I was on the right train. No confusion about where to get on. Or off. I was part of the throng. Part of the rhythm.
Last time we were in Boston, everything had changed. As I walked down, deep into the bowels of the system, I looked like, felt like, and was, in fact, a tourist. And a confused tourist at that. I choose to forget that and remember the subway I knew and still miss.