Yankee Doodle with Trolley

“Yankee Doodle went to town riding on a pony” is ringing in my ears. The cheers of Americans sound keenly at the Esplanade train terminal. We go home when the party just starts. Once the train arrives at Esplanade, we get into a quiet train. There is merely a couple, a guy, my mom, and me. At Harvard, nobody gets on the train. Before the door is closed, a man gets on the train. Feeling bored, I am scanning my surroundings. I count how many stops are left. Then, focusing on a new passenger. He is homeless with his trolley. Some bags, shoes, clothes, and a long stick fill his trolley.

But it is not a long stick. It is a long gun.

The train stops at Porter. Others leave Mom, me, him, and his weapon. Last minute, he leaves the train. I inform Mom of what I have found. She isn’t bothered. Relief suddenly disappears when he goes back to the train. He sits under the emergency button with his gun parallel to our side. The train approaches the final stop slowly. He sings something while Mom talks about homelessness and schizophrenia. We are in the wrong place, talking about the wrong topic, and with the wrong person. The train suddenly stops. He keeps singing. Even louder, and touching his gun.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at Alewife. Feeling haunted, I make my mom walk faster without knowing that he is merely a homeless man with a toy gun.