More Than a Reflection Morgan Jankowski

There are times when I gaze out of the windows of the South Shore Train and see nothing more than the softened edges of verdant forests and the blurred outlines of monotonous buildings. I watch as the clouds move, change shape, and reform yet again; I observe the rain as it gently collides with the glass pane, captivated by the tear-shaped drops racing across the window.

I spend most of my early afternoons and late nights on the train, either en route westbound to Millennium Station in Chicago or traveling the same railroad tracks eastbound to my home in South Bend, Indiana. In the heart of downtown Chicago, on the 19th floor of a high-rise along State Street, sits the School of Ballet Chicago. Here, I learn, rehearse, and refine the art form four days a week.

I sit on the worn leather seats, consumed by the silence of the train car and engaged in deep introspection due to the indefinable ambiance the South Shore windows possess. It is there, somewhere along the rusted rails between South Bend Airport and Millennium Station, that I suffer from a sense of utter isolation. Despite being surrounded by dozens of other passengers and having made unspoken friendships with these strangers who share nothing but a common destination, I...