Jumping on the T at the Brookline Village station is a daily and monotonous task of mine. I have my AirPods in, sending the message to men to not speak to me. A brief pause in my music allows me to hear an announcement from the train. “Next stop: Longwood.”
I suddenly feel extremely self aware and questioning my outfit choice for the day – my usual oversized sweatshirt and leggings. How could I let the green line man see me like this? Every time he makes an announcement, I feel like he’s speaking directly to me.
I take my AirPods out so I can hear the mysterious voice. “No smoking, please.” “Face coverings must be worn on all MBTA transportation and in stations.”
By his voice, I can tell he’s older and more mature than the men I’m usually into. I can also hear a little pain in his voice, but I know he’s trying to hide it. I think I can fix him.
I look around to see if anyone notices it too – if they are also hearing the longing and seductive tone behind his announcements.
“Next stop: Fenway.”
“Next Stop: Kenmore” Sadly, this is where I must depart the only man to show me respect.
On my commute home I hoped to hear his voice once more, but unfortunately I stepped into one of the newer trains. This one did not have my beloved voice. Instead, it was a woman’s voice. She’s great, we’re gal pals, but she just doesn’t do it for me in the same way.
I’m so thankful that my mysterious lover has helped with my daily commute. I just wish my next stop was his bed.