further reflection, August 24th

The Braintree bound lumbers heavily across water, bouncing past trees the backside of buildings coated with graffiti slide out of view. The aim is steady, at a speed comfortable enough to sleep. Cacophony of rails and rattling windows pose light nappers an issue. As the skyline shrinks and disappears, this passenger malls over his current destination. This stop is North Quincy, in which a college sits, that as a youth, idle hands wasted time in patience for his mother. Leaving the platform behind, a lingering connection still impresses emotion, the rider uncertain of its importance. Without passengers boarding, the station darts out of Wollaston, a recent development that crawled as this line does at times, yet sat pristine, renovations complete. The race from Wollaston slowed as the next stop approached. Quincy Center, where this student was a recruit to nearly another, revolutionary clique, beset with improving other lives. This passenger felt a pattern forming, which inspires further reflection. How anyone could be desirous to venture out so far, when danger lurked around every corner? The train’s turbulence agreed violently, then tumultuous turned tepid as everything gathered into Quincy Adams. Experienced goes both ways, either the best teacher or a foul’s lesson, but one did not need travel far to open their mind. The collaboration that took place years prior in this very spot served as testament. At time where social media meant more socializing, a group of like-minded individuals took photos like a child, shared dreams like a child. Their efforts took them places, as it could for this writer, anyone so determined. Slide into house shoes as you step inside your home, the light rail strode toward its final stop. The marathon continues, with that truth. To move from this city, turn traitor, felt unfamiliar like a warm day in New England.