Subway

The walk from work through the West Village was an interesting form of foreplay. The women of all ages walking in the spring warmth, flower petals falling about them blown by a breeze. Nearly all in yoga pants, with backsides in various stages of tone, firmness and size. I realized on these walks that my favorite part was seeing how the back of their thighs moved and swayed, while looking through the gap.

I headed down the stairs, hair blown back by the continuous blast of air that flowed up from the tunnel. I could feel the anticipation building, as I thought of the possible encounter on the light rail. She's a blonde... well, not really. I thought she would look as spectacular if she let her hair be its natural color. But she chose blonde and I respected it.

There's no guarantee that she'll be there, she didn't always ride the rail home. But, when she did, my ride home lit up. I felt like this time, I should say something. I was thinking about the first time I saw her, while the Journal Square rumbled into the station. It's not my train. I had time to reminisce.

She was one of the women I'd seen on the commute that I considered very attractive: intense look in her eyes, fair smooth skin, fit and well-dressed. But, unlike the other women I noticed and watched, this one didn't flinch. She didn't stare back or push back on me. She just ignored me.

Until, she didn't. I used to stand by the doors during the trip back, but I one day decided to take a seat in the joining section of the rail, where the seats face each other. I had seen her sit there before. I sat on the opposite end and would glance over at her. Noting her fine features, her severe, black winter outfit. She noticed me looking but like most, simply ignored my existence.

But the following week, after I'd given up seeing her, I sat in what I'd made my seat, but she sat in front of me. She glanced at me, then at her phone. No smile, no frown, no real eye contact. But, something was different. Somehow, I felt that she was acknowledging that I noticed her. Was she daring me to say something?

I didn't dare. I'd been burned before by these people with the bugs in their ears listening to something more important on their phones. So I said nothing. As I got off the train, I felt as if I'd annoyed her.

The next time, she was talking on her phone and sat somewhere else. I watched, listening to her voice. It was strong, firm, but musical, American Northeast. I wanted to hear it again, I wanted to hear her words directed at me. I didn't think I was into games of dominance and submission, but I thought I would love being ordered around by her.

I also thought it was over, my afternoon fixation would have to find a new subject. I sighed, the Hoboken pulling into the station, I entered the car and stood, a little sadder. I opened my phone and started reading a book from the Elric Saga that I had missed, since it was published much after my college years were done. I thought about Michael Moorcock and how cool it would be to be a writer.

But there she was, sitting in front of me again in a beautiful pink dress that really set off her beauty, like a nice ring shows off a diamond and lets it sparkle. Everything about her was brilliant at that moment. I had to tell her. But how do I break past the audio wall?

A sign. I rummaged through my backpack, pulled out pen and paper. I knew my rustling had at least drawn her peripheral notice, if not her attention. Using a journal, I wrote on a sheet, in large bold letters, "That is a wonderful looking dress!"

I didn't dare say more, I didn't wanted to cause a scene or some violent backlash. You never know on these public transportations. I had every reason to not show that note. I took a deep breath, looked her square in the eyes and did it. I waited.

At first she only glanced at it, as one did when pretending not to looked at something, but then she stopped and looked, then darted her eyes at mine. A frown and furrowed brow.

I tried not to whither under her gaze, putting some backbone into holding my eyes on her, a slight, lopsided purse to my lips that said I wanted to be friendly, but I really didn't know how you felt about this. I was guessing she read minds because she smirked.

But that let me smile, too. I've been told it's disarming, if not grandfatherly. For a brief moment I wondered at how she saw me, a grizzle bearded dark dwarf leering at her? It didn't matter. She took her earbuds out and took her bag off the seat beside her and into her lap. An invitation?

I took it, abandoned my own pack and sat beside her and said hi. It was awkward, I felt I was being tested. I couldn't read her steely mask of fearless power, like she's daring the world to try something. Then the light rail gave me the moment.

It shuddered and came to an abrupt stop that caught her by surprise. She was pushed against me by momentum, and her mask of fearlessness slipped enough for me to see the real fear in her eyes. In that instant, I knew it was a front.

I apologized, but offered her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it does that sometimes... not sure why." She thanked me, a slightly relieved smile on her face. Then she looked at me. Really looked.

She must have been pleased, or at least more at ease. I guess I passed some test because she said hi and giggled a little bit before complaining about the rail. She was about to say something else, when a loud irritating squelch from the PA system sent a thrill through me, even as it assaulted our ears.

There was an issue at the street intersection ahead and we'd be held here for a short delay. We heard emergency vehicles with sirens in the distance. She looked worried, but I watched as she glanced out the window, annoyance rebuilding her defenses. I looked her in the eyes and shrugged. "So, my name's Jason, what's yours?" with my hand extended.

If you've never been on public transportation or in a huge city, you probably didn't know how weird this felt. I felt as if I was breaching every protocol that no one ever stated or posted, but was religiously followed. But I figured I'd already broken one rule by drawing attention to myself, I had to at least prove I wasn't a nut-job. I could tell she still had her doubts on that count. The wait felt interminable, but I'm sure it was only a breath.

"Hi, I'm... Sandy." The pause told me her name was probably as fake as mine. We were both pretending we weren't us. The ring on my finger told her I probably shouldn't even be having this conversation. The rings on hers tell me she's probably expensive to get gifts for. My experience with women was limited and, in my past, I was never attracted to women with flashy jewelry. But this woman was different. Not sure what it was, but she didn't fit that stereo-type that my head normally avoided.

"Sandy? Really? I hope you've not just moved here from Australia..." Yes, the reference aged me, but happily, she liked that retro movie. She laughed and I had won the gates, my first attempt at the ramparts was successful. I hadn't really thought this siege through yet, however, so I had to figure out what my strategy would be as I staggered forward.

Another announcement blared and squawked and informed us that we should be going in about 15 minutes, sorry for the delay, yadda yadda. Again she was annoyed, but I had to admit, I was delighted. I guess it showed, because she turned a quizzical eye on me and asked, "What? Don't have somewhere to go?"

"I'm there, right now." I said tentatively, almost afraid that the whole train would hear my heart pounding. She was taken aback. She didn't expect it. But, she liked it, the smirk on her face returned to confirm that.

"So, you want to be in the middle of the railyard beneath an overpass with nowhere to go?" she asked, mockingly. But it was softer, and she leaned closer. Her eyes sparkled as she waited for me to respond, challenging me to speak plainer. Would I dare?

"I'm sitting next to the most beautiful woman on this commute.. which is saying something because there must be a thousand people that I see every day going to and coming from work. But I haven't been able to stop admiring you." I said it all in a single breath, somewhat rushed. I regretted it, as a blush filled her face and she seemed upset again.

"So why did it take you so long to have the balls to say something?" It was my turn to be taken aback. I was probably too dark to blush properly, not as obviously as she did, but my cheeks and forehead were definitely hot. I hadn't allowed myself to entertain the idea that my feelings were actually reciprocated in some way.

I shrugged and offered a lop-sided grin, "I'm an old guy with a scragily beard-- why would I think a lady like you would want me to interrupt her phone time." When she furrowed her eyebrows, I explained, "People seem to get really upset on these trains if you try to talk to them when they have their earbuds in.

"So then you better have something worth saying, no?" She retorted. By then she was turned slightly towards me, arm resting on her bag in her lap. Then, unexpectedly she reached out and started to play with the edge of my beard. "It is a bit scraggly... don't know how to take care of this...?" I must have had a stupid look on my face, as I kind of melted at that brief contact.

"No... not really... I.." I stuttered a little until I recover a bit of my voice. "Actually, never wanted to look like the kind of guy that cares about how trimmed his beard looks...But, its also not an easy beard. It scraggles by nature." I delivered this last with my lop-sided grin again, really hoping it is as charming to her as I think it is. "Your hands smell very nice." I barely managed to say, my gut tightening in preparation for the worst.

Instead, she locked her eyes on mine, her hand still on my beard, caressing it now. Somewhere in my brain, a voice said, 'So this is what smoldering eyes look like.' I turned slightly, so that our knees now pressed against each other and the heat between us began to throb. "You keep that up, and I'm going to have to kiss you right here and now." And I held my breath, wondering if this new foray would have success.

Instead of letting go, or continuing and seeing my bluff, she surprised me by pulling on my beard instead, smiling, eyes glinting."You'll do nothing I don't tell you to. Got it? Just cuz your cute doesn't mean you're not a stranger on a train" She looked at me challengingly, weighing my reaction. I was still being tested.

"Fair enough, but you have to know that no one touches me that way and I don't think I'd be able to think or act very rationally from now on... Are you headed home, when we get off the train?" I asked, trying to find something to talk about, think about.

Her hand finally left my beard alone, as she brought it back to her face in an expression of thought. "Whether I do or not, doesn't matter to you... why did you want to know?" She was still challenging me, her tone a goad.

"Well.. I umm... Wanted to see if you wanted to go somewhere else where we could sit more comfortably and talk...?" I said and then felt kind of stupid. Why don't we just talk now?

Again, she read minds, "What's stopping you from talking now? Kind of suspicious, don't you think?" But then she tilted her head and followed with another question, "Why do you always look at me? I mean, I noticed you looked at other women too... but you kept coming back to me... What were you thinking?"

I thought for a second, trying to gauge her thoughts, but sure that I was failing. "Well, to be honest, I really didn't think much of anything. At least not at first. Mostly, I looked and enjoyed the beauty of what I saw... like watching a sunset over the water, or a tree that's in flower. It's the awe of delight." She frowned some, her lips tightened. But I continued my thoughts, before she could respond, "But, I then started wondering what you were thinking, what you were feeling. Did you like the commute, did you like where you worked, where you lived? I wondered if you had a family... But most of all, I wondered if you'd seen me." I shrugged again, "I long to be noticed."

Then we just sat there a moment longer, looking at each other. I was trying to settle down, get my nerves in order, but she seemed to be weighing me. I did my best to appear like me, an old guy that'll make you laugh. I thought about the fact that I've been called "Santa Claus" on more than one occasion as a nickname, "teddy bear", etc. I figure I had a good chance I wasn't seen as threatening... but then, I was probably not seen as sexy either.

I decided that I was better off just talking. What could happen? "Anyway, I thought this was the color that best suited you. Something about it makes your skin look warm and flush. When you wear green it seems to be too severe, or cold." She liked this appraisal for some reason. And she started asking me other questions about what she was wearing. We spent the next 5 minutes on the outfits I'd seen her in and which ones she liked best.

Then the train started to move again. My disappointment must have been obvious because she laughed. "Hey, we don't have to stop talking just cuz the train was running again." She then asked if I was some kind of photographer or something. It was my turn to laugh.

"No, not really. I probably would have been, but my brother was already doing it exceptionally well. I guess, as a kid, I didn't want to compete. But, I have a good eye. Look," I said pulling out my phone and opening it up to my photos. I showed her some of the shots I'd taken of the skyline and trees and so on. I didn't really think much of it when I handed her the phone so she could look at the pictures. She scanned through things, then asked about the people in them, my wife and kid and so on.

There was an awkward silence as she looked, paused over a few of the family photos, but then she closed the screen and handed the phone back. There was a shielded look in her eyes, but when she spoke, it was a thoughtful observation. "You have a good eye for what looks 'right.' And there's a kind of sparkle in the pictures, like they mean something to you..." she stated, then looked out the window past me.

"Why are you talking to me?" She finally asked, turning to look at me again. Again the challenge in her tone, though softer this time.

"Because I can't help myself. My need to look at you, admire you, makes me feel like I am taking something from you. I need to offer something in return. And that only committed me to exchange even more." I couldn't really explain it well. "I mean... You took the time and the risk to let me talk to you, I didn't want that to be for nothing." I looked at her, a mixture of apprehension and pleading in my eyes.

Her gaze back at me was cautious again, weighing my words, trying to see the trap. We didn't say anything, but the next stop came, the rail came to a jarring stop while people moved passed us on their way to the exits. It broke the tension that held us still. I felt like I could breathe again, only realizing just then that I'd been holding my breath. Her eyes darted around, a bit of disorientation in her look, until she returned to me and her eyes settled. She relaxed slightly.

"I have to go to the Shop Rite. If you are not in a hurry to go home, we could keep talking," I offered this absurd suggestion to a perfect stranger out of a sense of desperation. The voice chimed in again, this time with a memory of Elvis singing, "Its now or never...."

She must have heard it to-- remember, she's a mind reader-- because she smirked and shrugged. "Sure, I have to get some things... I don't normally go to this shop-rite, but...I'll be safe with you...right?" She looked at me, again, with eyes that seemed to intent on finding out what was behind my seemingly vulnerable and inoffensive persona.

"I think so, and," the lop-sided grin making an appearance again, "its what women have called me in the past: 'safe.' I guess it's my thing." I shrugged and got to my feet. It was about time for the rail to come to our stop. I shouldered my bag, then offered her my hand. She looked at it as if I was some alien initiating a repulsive ritual. But, something in what she saw in me changed her mind. She took my hand.

I helped her to her feet, then let her go as I led the way off the train. Once we were passed the crowds and walked along the walkway to the street, I resumed our conversation. We talked lightly about our jobs, what we've done. She was surprised at my age, despite the fact that I look my age. "Yeah, but that's just your beard... have you thought of shaving it off? You'd probably look ten years younger at least."

"Would that make me only ten years older than you, then, instead of 20?" I replied, which made her laugh. "I don't mind looking like an old man. Nothing wrong with it really, except of course that I am very attracted to a woman who is 30 years younger than me..."

She laughed again, "Stop lying, I know I don't look 24. I don't think I looked 24 when I was 24! But, thanks.." she said this last part with a softer voice. She meant it, sincerely appreciating that I should think of her as someone both young and attractive. "I already am starting to get some gray..." she confided, worriedly.

"Well, I wouldn't worry about that, it just means another stage of your life. And each stage has its good and bad. None are all good and none are all bad. I think, if you let yourself, you'll find that you can enjoy each stage, despite the hang-ups." I went on, sharing things I'd learned about aging from my grandmother and other elderly people. I shared with her the beauty of growing old. Something about my words seemed to soothe her; I could see the set of her shoulders relax and a slight smile stay on her lips.

The time in the grocery store went by quickly, in a bit of a haze as we talk and talked, making each other laugh. In the back of my mind I knew we were both pretending to be someone else, to put aside our real-lives and be this other persona we had decided to present to each other. It was like a masquerade dance, where we were completely ourselves, as far as our personalities were concerned, but we didn't address our history. While we were at the dance, we were just the dancers.

I guess that's why, when we were done with the shopping, she asked if I'd help her carry her stuff to her house. She knew I didn't want to go home. She knew she couldn't join me there. The trip there was filled with a bit of her past, as much as she was willing to tell, as much as was necessary to know of her to understand why she was on the train and walking with a strange man who somehow had managed to make her feel safe.

We were still somewhat awkwardly interacting when our adventure met its first check: one of the elevators to the cliff-top where we all live was down, again. There was a line of maybe a hundred people waiting for the one elevator car that was operational.

She looked at me and shrugged, "More time talking right?" She was still a bit nervous and unsure of how things would play out. But I was sure of one thing-- I wasn't going to wait through this line. It would eat up any time I have available to spend with this woman. "No, come with me..." I offered my hand again, it was my turn to dare her.

She looked at me, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked at me then glanced at my hand. The thrilling shock that went through me at the touch of her fingertips nearly made me flinch. I saw this reflected in her eyes, just before she gripped my hand. Surrender.

As I led her past the line, I explained, "We're taking the stairs, you be breathless at the end, but you'll feel greatly accomplished in the end."

She stopped me then, giggling, "You're serious?... I... we could just wait our turn..?" But there was a sparkle in her eye that told me she wanted to dare it, she didn't want to wuss out. So I gave her my lopsided grin again and pulled her after me.