He gently touched her shoulder to rouse her. She lifted her head to see where she was and who had awoken her. When she realized where she was she lifted her face to meet his gaze and a soft smile broke across her lips.
"It's the end."
"Thanks."
She rose to leave, and he made way for her. She stepped off the train and onto the platform and began to make her way to the stairs. He paused on the platform to watch her until he couldn't see her any longer. He sighed and turned to leave, sure he would never see that smile again.
...
One day, I really am going to write that subway story I keep promising myself about.
...
I rode the entire length of the SRT today for the first time in what might be years. It's funny the things you miss when you know they're gone, but never would have thought to appreciate while you had them.
The distance between Ellesmere and Lawrence stations is a landscape of the backs of industrial buildings and factories. On so many of those concrete walls are murals of graffiti. But not all of it is vandalous (made-up word!). A whole stretch of them are carefully crafted works of art. But save for one, I recognized only one of the murals today. All the rest had been changed and painted over. No more Disney dwarfs spelling out "MONORAIL." I miss them.
And then rounding the corner up to the end of the line, I caught a glimpse of the community centre that I used to attend drama activities at with my childhood friends, before getting loaded into the back of our old station wagon to get tossed and turned (our own doing--nothing to do with the momentum of the car) all the way home. But this time, probably 20 years after those days, I was nearly shocked to discover that they'd renamed the centre. Not that it negated the memories we had made there, but in a way, it had changed something.
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