THIRD PLACE
The oldest subway station in the nation. Where the Green and Red Lines meet. Where I get confused and take the wrong train, wind up in Quincy only to turn around. Where the peanut man sold hot, oily, peanuts in brown bags. That salt tang memory still twists my tongue. Where my mother last spoke to me that day the social worker took me to a new family, my heart lurching like the train jostling passengers all the way to the next stop. All of us holding in secret hurts, knowing it is rude to stare, to cry in public.
Author: Linda Carney-Goodrich, 55 years old, Hyde Park.
Illustration: Jerel Dye