T-Routes, Family Roots

I boarded the shuttle dispiritedly--not because of the umbrellas of passersby, which had jounced against my head as I leaned against the bricks of Johnston Gate, but because of the drizzle that threatened to accumulate into a downpour. "How long do you think this will last?" I asked my friend Brian. "For forty days and forty nights," he replied nonchalantly.

The first night was the only one I cared about, as I had planned to leave Cambridge to watch my sister, Jessica, play her last high school field hockey game. I had never seen her play before, and if I missed the contest against Revere, I might not have another chance.

Schedules at Harvard are packed thicker than a meatball sub at Malden's Lebanon Street Market. "I've got too much work" could easily replace "Veritas" as the University motto. With extracurricular, job-related and academic commitments, it's tough to find spare time.

But when my mom told me that last week's game was Jessica's last, I resolved to make the trek to Malden. The rains had dampened my determination, but after some fruitless phone calls home, I decided to step outside and see if it was still drizzling. The calm skies that greeted me brought a smile to my face as I began my walk down Garden Street.

I took the Red Line to Downtown Crossing, then switched to the Orange Line and got off at Malden Center. Emerging, I noticed the crisp green grass of Macdonald Stadium, and the players chasing the ball on the field. I endured the tortuously-slow line on the staircase and finally exited the T station.

The bleachers were dotted with a few scattered crowds, including my parents, who waved me over and pointed out Jessica, who was wearing number two. She was just chatting with a few friends on the sideline, but I felt proud to see her.

Near the end of the first half, the coach put Jessica in. Also near the end of the first half, the Golden Tornadoes scored, making it 1-0.

The game was crisp, the atmosphere even better, Nothing beats night games, regardless of how many people show up. For me, there's something pure and honest in standing under the lights and watching your team play (okay, I had gone to Malden Catholic, not Malden High, but that's a minor detail). I talked to people I hadn't seen in years while enduring both the chill New England weather and the noise of the subway (the station wasn't that far away). I hadn't felt an intimacy like this in awhile. Sometimes Harvard can feel as cold as the biting autumn skies.

In the second half, my sister's team held onto its lead, and the Tornadoes ended their season victorious. They had won just three other games, but this rainy night belonged to them.

I was happy for Malden, happy to see Jessica, and happy that I was there. I had had to postpone an extracurricular commitment to go, but I wouldn't have done it any other way.

Although many of us don't live a T-ride away, we can still make a phone call or two to our families or friends from home each week. Doing so reminds us that there is a world outside Harvard, and that people we love are growing and maturing, just like us.

We ran into Jessica en route to some Chinese food at Tiki Island on Route One. "Elena was crying," my sister said of the team's captain. "She was like, `I can't believe it's over!"' Neither could I. But I was glad that I had ventured beyond Harvard to see it. Some memories outlive transitions.