A Memory of Rescue, from long ago

One of the very first times I took a train alone, I was a kid, taking summer ice skating lessons at the Wissahickon Skating Club. My mother dropped me off at the Bryn Mawr station and I climbed on board among the business suits wearing my furry sweater and my thick nude tights; my skates, wrapped in an old pink towel, were safe in my plastic blue bag. It wasn't yet 90 degrees, for it was still the morning hour, but by the time my connecting train broke down, it was hot, and the business su...