The Heart Of The T

THE HEART OF THE T

Written by Madison Lucchesi

Photographed by Laura Valentine

“The next Blue Line train to Bowdoin is now arriving,” the intercom says as I sprint up the escalator to make the train. My long black coat and backpack straps trail with the wind. 

Ding, ding. As the doors close, I hop into the train car and find a seat near the window. I reach into my backpack to find my purple earbuds and start listening to NPR.

Every morning, it’s the same routine: sit across from the window on the right side and read the New York Times. It’s the same route: Beachmont to Government Center to Boylston on the Blue and Green Lines. It’s the same community of people. 

“Suffolk Downs.”

A woman carrying a child boards with a small box of candy in her hands. Without a word, she asks each passenger to buy something. I wonder what her story is, and I feel helpless without enough cash to buy anything. 

“Orient Heights.”

As the woman selling candy rushes to the next train car, my professor in her bright red winter coat boards. We act as strangers until class begins later that morning. We avoid making eye contact, and I wonder if a smile or wave could eliminate the crippling awkwardness. 

“Wood Island.”

The little old Italian man from my neighborhood pushes his cart onto the train, coming from the bottle return center. Long-retired, he told me he collects bottles from recycling bins so he can spoil his grandchildren. I strive to love the people in my life that much. 

“Airport.”

With the sound of suitcase wheels, three flight attendants step onto the train, laughing with one another. Proudly in their JetBlue uniforms, they discuss their love of being home and excitement for their next destination. I’m reminded of my upcoming trip to visit my long distance best friend. I miss her. 

“Maverick.”

“Everybody on the train. Sit down or hold on!” a teacher shouts to a flock of students on a field trip. Two students sit on each side of me and share chips for breakfast, passing the bag over my legs repeatedly. The nostalgia of a field trip washes over me.

“Aquarium.”

“Good morning!” says the train operator in a sing-songy voice. Her loudness wakes the man fast asleep with his head resting on the window. I pause NPR to listen closely. “Be kind and gentle with yourself and with others.” Her positivity sticks with me, and I smile wide. 

“State Street.”

Ding, ding. As the doors open, the raspy voice of a busker singing “What a Wonderful World” floods in. The song plays in my head long after the doors close.   

“Government Center.”

Dusting off the potato chips on my shoes, I gather my things and exit the train. On the Green Line platform, my fellow passengers and I agonize over a long wait for the E line, the only line running. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, my leg bouncing, as the wait times climb and the clock inches towards the start of class. Finally, the train screeches to a halt, full to the brim, yet somehow the riders make enough room for one: me. 

“Park Street.”

With my backpack at my feet and nowhere to hold on, I fly into the woman in front of me when the train abruptly stops. One more stop, I think, hoping I’ll stay standing.

“Boylston.”

I trudge up the stairs. The purple and white banners of Emerson College stare me in the face as I leave the station. The screech of the Green Line is still ringing in my ears.

As a lifelong resident of Greater Boston, I love the T. And I mean that honestly. Sure, it’s really slow and loud and dysfunctional and inconvenient, but that’s what makes it the T. 

My favorite part of the T, though, is the people. It’s no secret that the T hosts Boston’s best cast of characters. And while some of those characters can be off-putting, others are some of the nicest people I have ever met. I can count on my fellow T riders. The woman selling jewelry in Government Center will smile at me as I walk by. Riders will hold the train door open so I can make it home—so we all can make it home to the people we love. A woman will give me her seat after a long day’s work because she can see my workload wearing on my face. I thank her with a smile, and there is a silent expectation that I will show someone else the same kindness.