I sat down on the crowded train and did my COVID-era routine of wiping down surfaces, walling myself into a small semi-sterile space. Just me and my mask, computer and headphones, on the way home to Boston from a weekend in New York – a four-hour ride.
A woman appeared in the aisle and said, “I believe I’m your travel companion,” indicating the window seat next to me. I got up and offered to help stow her luggage above. She thanked me, sat down and entered her own bubble of privacy.
But at some point, after reading, eating a sandwich, reading some more, and napping, we ended up talking. We were both heading home after a visit to see family – her trip had been for a cheerful occasion, mine had been to a hospital. I said it was especially hard because the patient was railing against being a patient. “Is it because of the physical state he finds himself in, or the emotional one?” she asked. The question cut to the quick of the …
