Janina

The Ashmont subway sped upward and out of the dimly lit tunnel.  Finally, the loud clatter and rumble that had accompanied the underground ride, from the center of downtown Boston, grew silent as the passing suburbs absorbed its thunderous roar.  Suddenly, comfortable quiet and brilliant sunlight was all about.  As the radiant sunshine touched my skin, the early morning October chill was bathed away.  A diagram, posted on the opposite side of the subway car, confirmed the next stop would be mine.  I waited and watched patiently out of the window for our arrival.  As I did, I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful blue sky.  It was a more striking and intense blue than I was used to seeing in Southern California.  Lazy, white, puffy clouds lay motionless overhead and soaked up the warmth of the sun, as if they had nowhere to go. 

As the subway eased to a stop at the Savin Hill station, I was standing and waiting eagerly for the car doors to slide open.  I stepped out onto the aging canopy covered, wooden platform along with a few other Dorchester commuters who pushed by me.  I made my way down the platform, past a brass gate, through double swinging doors and onto the street.  My watch indicated it was exactly 10 A.M.; just an hour since I had called Janina from the hotel. 

Although I was quite familiar with Boston, as a result of my naval service during the Korean War, this part of the city was completely unfamiliar to me.  I paused for a moment to take in the quiet and unhurried atmosphere of Dorchester.  Small markets and shops, along the street, appeared to rest peacefully in the morning sunlight.  Only an occasional customer passed in or out of the stores.  Wouldn’t it be nice if this same tranquility existed back home in Los Angeles, I began to think. 

I realized that this was my first time back in Boston for 15 years. 

Although Boston was the same, much had changed for me.  The lonely void of single life in the service was now filled with the responsibilities of a wife, four small children and a large house.  I no longer wore sharp navy uniforms decorated with gold braid.  Dress of the day was now a white laboratory coat.  Transient shipboard schedules were no longer a part of my life; they had been replaced by the stability of routine medical research.  Daily laboratory experimentation, at the research center, and rigorous study for my Ph.D. degree in microbiology, at a university across town, were becoming by unrelenting masters. 

Putting my thoughts aside, I realized it was time to find Janina’s house.  I started up the walk, following the directions she gave me on the phone.  Within a few feet, I crossed a bridge that passed over one of Boston’s busy turnpikes.  This told me I was going in the right direction. 

As I continued on, noise from the busy turnpike faded away, and my attention shifted to the beauty of the old, three story homes that overlooked the street.  I was overwhelmed by the size of the homes.  After all, three homes, the size of my boyhood home, would fit into anyone of these houses.

My thoughts drifted back to reality and I started to look for the numbers on the homes to make sure I hadn’t gone too far.