Friday Night on the MBTA

Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows that as a writer, I believe in getting out into the world, and taking a look around. If you are out in the world somewhat beyond your comfort level, that is even better.

To backtrack a bit, yesterday we had one of those typical Boston weather days: 54 in the morning, followed by rain, wind, more rain, more wind, power goes out, mercury plummets like a pregnant paratrooper, as we used to say back in the dark ages when I was in high school.

We had tickets for a concert at Symphony Hall. Power still out. Took shower before hot water disappeared. Hair dried with towel and sort of brought into style with a butane curling iron. I don't "dress up" for symphony hall, but neither do I go forth in car wash clothes. Wore a leather skirt and a very heavy cashmere sweater with a 40 degree coat. Lightweight hat and gloves. After all, we just had to catch the subway and be deposited at the doorstep of Symphony Hall. Great concert with rousing chorus, soloists, Mozart's Birthday music and everything fine.

Caught the 2-car green line back to Park Station with a horde of other people. Moderate wait for the red line back to Quincy Adams. Train arrived, got on with plenty of others. We go two stops, almost to Broadway, and the train stops. Dead. Not unusual. Someone says words, "medical emergency. We will be here for a while." O.K. Nice and warm on train. Can read program notes from concert.

Significant Other notices the people in the car ahead of us are leaving. Hmmmm. We appear to be in the tunnel, not the station. Finally, T employee tells us to go thru and exit the car in front, go up the stairs and wait.

We follow orders, and discover we are actually in the Broadway station, just. While we are leaving, notice a huge force of MBTA police at the front of the train. Didn't even know they had that many. Fireman coming down stairs. Medics, more police arrive, along with the stray words "in front of the train."

Meaning someone jumped or was pushed in front of the train, which is why so many emergency personnel are in the station. We are herded out of the station into the cold. Outside, fire trucks, police cruisers, ambulances surround the station.

We wait there, in the cold, contemplating what would cause some poor soul to fling himself in front on a subway train at 10:55 on a frigid February evening. No reason and lots of reasons. A stretcher is carried downstairs but never comes up. Medical emergency is something of a sugar-coated whitewash by now.

The magic words, "shuttle bus" are heard and after a long wait, one arrives. We just follow the crowd which seems to know where to wait and what to do. The bus takes us to JFK station where we hope a train will be waiting.

Hopes dashed. No train for a long time. By now feet freezing and fingers feeling frostbitten. Unroll neck of sweater to cover neck and lower face.

Finally, finally, a train lumbers in. Lots of people by now, as several shuttle buses have deposited the late night commuters at JFK.

Inside, the train is warm. We defrost. At North Quincy a young couple gets on. He wears a t-shirt (dirty) and jeans; she has pants with fabric flames at the hem (pants one would wear at Burning Man) and asweat shirt zipped down to reveal nothing under it. The outside temperature is 29 degrees.

Druggies.

I steal a look and notice the sores on his face. Probably meth. Saw the TV special last week. She appears to go to sleep, wakes again and starts a noisy argument over a bag that she thinks she should have. He is the reasonable one, telling her they never had the bag. Offers a few places they can go. She yells words that cannot be printed in a newspaper. They both look so young.

Finally the train gets to Quincy Adams and I exit through the door where I can avoid passing in front of them and the ever-loudening argument. Can't imagine where they will spend the night. Don't want to.


Sometimes, you see more of the world than you wish to.