I love Copley Square.
There was a summer, forever tinged with nostalgia, where a friend was taking a class near there, and the rest of us spent a few hours once a week rambling around the area waiting for her to be done.
We saw Great Big Sea out on the green in front of Trinity Church.
A short-lived work book group met in the courtyard of the Boston Public Library on a gorgeous summer day.
I played hooky from college classes one spring morning, hopped on the train and went into Boston. It was to Copley I went.
If we stay in town for our anniversary, chances are we go somewhere near Copley and the Pru.
Work is four Green Line stops away, near City Hall Plaza, surrounded by federal buildings. I was here in 2001, and went home last night feeling a dread similar to the one I remember from that terrible September morning.
I am sad, and angry, and much as I’d like to pretend otherwise, a little bit frightened.
I love this city.
My heart aches for the dead, the injured, those who lost loved ones, those who are afraid.
I am thankful for the first responders, for the runners who turned right back around and went to help, for the doctors and nurses and everyone who has been working tirelessly since yesterday afternoon.
For the people who gave blood, or offered places to stay for anyone stranded, for Boston residents who walked outside and passed out food, drink, and comfort; for restaurants and businesses that opened their doors and offered places to charge cell phones so people could contact their friends and families, places to simply gather and wait.
I think of those kindnesses, of those people embodying that Mr. Rogers quote that made the rounds over and over yesterday, and I am so goddamned proud.
I love you, Boston.