Nov 9

In the Subway

He was waiting for her. He had been waiting for three hours and 7 minutes. She was late today, she usually rode the 5:30 train home from work. Perhaps she stayed home sick today; perhaps she had a late meeting. He longed to see her. He scuffed his feet and looked down at his shoes, faded and dingy even against the gray cement floor. He looked up immediately. He did not want to miss her. The 8:30 train was late and the platform was unusually crowded with impatient travelers. His eyes scanned all the way around the dirt soaked wall behind him, through the buzzing mob, down into the black abyss that seemed to stretch on forever, across to the other side of the tracks, and back to the wall. She was nowhere. He envied her. He envied them all. They were going places; they were living. He just was. A rock beside the road.

A little boy ran past him. His mother would soon call out his name, threatening with a hint of panic. His name was Julian. Julian and his mother and his two sisters rode the 8:30 train on the second Thursday of every month. Julian's sisters' names were Alex and Marie. Alex had blonde hair, big brown eyes and freckles. Marie was two inches taller, but an otherwise identical copy of her sister. Last month they were early and rode the 7:00 train. Three months before they had been an hour late. He had a memory like a steel trap. He knew all the regulars by name and train. About some he knew more; their family members, their jobs. There were the ones who liked to talk. He never missed out on an opportunity to listen in on a conversation. He hated the ones who talked.

She was his favorite and she never talked. She walked or stood alone. Always looking down at her feet. He had never even heard anyone speak her name. About her he could imagine any life he wanted and so he projected his life onto her. Through her, he lived. She was beautiful, with long black hair that fell in ringlets down to the small of her back. She was slender and graceful. He imagined she had a voice that could melt the heart of the stone cold wall behind him. Like the children running around on the platform, she too had freckles, but hers were as vast and numerous as the people who passed through the station each day. He longed to search her body for constellations and play connect-the-dots on her porcelain skin. She was a gypsy queen, an exotic dancer, a nurse, a lover, a friend.

Once again he searched. Dirty wall. Mob of impatience. Black abyss. And there she was. Standing directly across the tracks. The tardy train was finally approaching. Its whistle sounded and its light illuminated her with a supernatural glow. She looked up. She looked straight at him. Or rather, straight through him. His heart began to pound and he stumbled back into the wall, his legs no longer able to support his weight. He stared on as the train chugged out its good-bye and carried them all away. He alone was left on the platform, his heart rate slowly returning to normal. Her eyes were emerald green.