The Ocean on the T

[asakiyume]

In the last nor'easter, the ocean got on the subway at Aquarium, and it hasn't gotten off. Like a phalanx of manspreaders, it's laid claim to all the seats. Like a voluble crowd after a Red Sox game/July Fourth fireworks/protest, it's filling the aisles--there is no room for anyone else.

By all accounts, it got on without paying. It seeped in through the roof and slid in under the turnstiles. It does not have a monthly pass; it did not stop at the machines to purchase a Charlie card. Like the fabled Charlie himself, will it be forbidden to exit until it pays?

No: MBTA spokespeople tell us that while they take issue with its destructive behavior, the ocean is not being detained on the train.

(Destructive behavior? Seriously? We shake our heads at that remark. There is no sign that the ocean is anything other than a respectful transit passenger. So salt water damages and corrodes--so what? Countless tramping feet and jostling bodies take their toll on trains too. Such things must be categorized as ordinary wear and tear, not willful damage or mischief.)

Yes, the doors have ceased to function, but this should not present a problem for the ocean. It seeped itself in; surely it can reverse the process. And yet, if you go stand on a Blue Line platform and watch the train pass by, there is ocean, cold and abyssal, gazing back at you from every salt-rimed window.

Perhaps it is unsure of its destination. Does it understand it may need to change trains? If it has a hankering to hear a symphony or wants to catch the Escher exhibit, then it should switch to the Green Line. If it is interested in acquiring a credential or in broadening its knowledge--well, there are institutions of higher education crusted like anemones along the entire reef of the MBTA system, though tourists gravitate to the Red Line. But this is nonsense. What is the sum of human wisdom compared to the ocean's own?

We are beginning to suspect that it needs to transfer not to another subway line but to the commuter rail--not the Newburyport/Rockport Line, of course; the ocean is already at Newburyport and Rockport. And not the Plymouth Line--the ocean is already there too. We sense in it an inland urge, and while climate change may one day acquaint it more intimately with Chelsea, Revere, and Lynn, it would take a lot of carbon to bring the sea to Fitchburg or Worcester. And yet all that is dry land today was ocean once--brine thou art and unto brine shalt thou return. The sea seeks reconciliation with its long-estranged children.


Photo by Robin Lubbock for WBUR. (Source)

Comments

[nineweaving]

Perhaps it is unsure of its destination.

Lovely piece. Thank you.

Nine

[asakiyume]

My pleasure! It will not surprise you to learn that it was sovay who prompted it.

[kore]

Sovay is totally a sea-person.

[asakiyume]

She totally is.

[cmcmck]

What with storms there and snow and potential thaw floods here.......

[asakiyume]

water's rising!

[sartorias]

You, that photo is scary! (Though I loved your riff. And the images, especially the ocean, cold and abyssal, gazing back at you from every salt-rimed window.)

[asakiyume]

The images have been mind-blowing. There's one of waves crashing over entire two-story houses.

I'm glad you liked my take, too :-)

[sovay]

And yet, if you go stand on a Blue Line platform and watch the train pass by, there is ocean, cold and abyssal, gazing back at you from every salt-rimed window.

This is wonderful.

[asakiyume]

Thank you very much for the nudge!

[sonia]

The sea seeks reconciliation with its long-estranged children.

I like the images your words weave, and I am deeply frightened of the reality behind them.

[asakiyume]

Thank you--and yeah; it's alarming.

[aamcnamara]

Lovely!

[asakiyume]

:-)

Thank you!

[shewhomust]

Lovely!

[asakiyume]

Thank you for reading!

[kore]

This is GORGEOUS. It reminds me a lot of Le Guin honestly.

[asakiyume]

I am deeply complimented! Thank you!

[pameladean]

That is beautiful and very creepy. I love the remarks about how the ocean is no more destructive than all those regular passengers.

P.

[asakiyume]

Thank you! Regarding human passengers, I'm reminded of how my kids had to wear gloves when they were altar serving, because the ordinary whatevers (sweat? oil?) from human skin wasn't good for the candlesticks they had to carry.

[umadoshi]

This is wonderful. *^^*

[asakiyume]

Thank you for reading!

[queenoftheskies]

Yikes!!!

[asakiyume]

Ocean is powerful

[minoanmiss]

Oh my God I love this post SO MUCH. Not least as a regular T commuter. BWEE.

[asakiyume]

Say hi to the ocean for me if it's still on board!

[amaebi]

Too big for the subway? Sizeism everywhere!

[asakiyume]

Oh, it seems to have managed to fit!

[amaebi]

Which just goes to show, doesn't it? Humph!

[missroserose]

This is lovely. It reminds me in passing of a quote from Virginia Woolf's The Voyage Out, which remains one of the most vivid descriptions I've found of being in the grip of a severe fever:

...she fell into a deep pool of sticky water, which eventually closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothing but a faint booming sound, which was the sound of the sea rolling over her head. While all her tormentors thought she was dead, she was not dead, but curled up at the bottom of the sea. There she lay, sometimes seeing darkness, sometimes light, while every now and then someone turned her over at the bottom of the sea.

[asakiyume]

That is an amazing quote; I love it! And yeah, really a very accurate description of what it feels like to be fevered.