Streetcar Lady and Streetcar Uncle

Written by A.Q.

51 years old

Maine, ME

I was still living in Pittsburgh before I left the east coast for the west. I was twenty years old. I was taking the streetcar after a bus or two to go see some folks. I was living in Point Breeze at the time, so it was a bit of a journey to get to Dormont and Library.

It was a beautiful early summer day. I hadn’t been on this rail before and an older lady took a seat. She stared at me with her beautiful silver hair and fair skin and said, “Are you a Quinn? I can tell from your eyes you are one.”

I said, “Well yes I am.”

She said, “I knew all of those Quinn boys. I could tell.”

And that was it. But what was apparent to me was the immediacy of connection, the forthrightness, her inherent beauty, and of course the stamp of memory on her from the Quinn boys. I’ll never know how deep that stamp went but it was deep enough to look into my eyes and see something.

***

I was on that same streetcar one day, probably going to the same place to see my aunt. And my great uncle gets on the car. I recognized him, my grandfather’s brother, Carroll. And this is after the streetcar lady encounter. So I say to him, “Are you a Quinn?”

And he says, “Yes.”

And I reply, “Well I could tell from your eyes. I am your brother Paul’s granddaughter, Amy”.

He retorted, “A Quinn knows a Quinn and I love you”.

He departed the car and that was the last time I saw him.