20 August
1999
There's just something about driving on familiar streets, winding my way home below midnight skies, that makes me nostalgic for Boston, even before I've left. Weaving through narrow lanes of traffic while the Prudential looms over Jamaica Pond, memories of that freezing early December morning spent pond-side swim through my mind. I can't believe how long it's been and how much things haven't changed. And then Brookline Street crosses Francis and I know Longwood isn't far off. And I think about the first time I fought my way through rush hour traffic to get to Mike's room in Vanderbuilt Hall. Sunlit glare bounced off the chrome trim of impatient, angry cars fighting their way through a left turn signal. And there I sat, wide-eyed and impressionable, soaking up what I interpreted as irrepressible charm. Approaching Mass Ave, the breeze imports the purring of engines and emanation of exhaust as dozens of motorcycles and choppers make their way around the bend. I follow them up the alphabetical crosses of Boylston. Between Gloucester and Fairfield they skillfully weave through the normality of cars like mine, leaving us in the shadows of our envy. Crossing Dartmouth, I begin to notice the pedestrians twisting their necks, faces laden with joy and wonder, watching these shiny black metallic groups dance along. And as I drive, I feel like the omniscient narrator that no one ever thinks about... even for a second. Turning onto the Broadway Bridge, I'm showered by water falling randomly from the I93 overpass. The droplets cling to my window and magnify the tiny white lights strung from the squillions of cranes strewn about the Potsdamer Platz-like Big Dig site. And the last thing I see before leaving the bridge are the thick lines of trains, waiting patiently for life and speed and destination to whisk them away. And as my car glides along the familiar streets near home, the half moon catches my attention, tilting over toward the West. And suddenly something clicks. And Boston isn't so bad after all. Where do you call home? biggest kiss... ...kristen |
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