Unexpected Encounters
A Short Story
The mind begins to wander, as it often does when left alone. I’m sitting on a bench in New York City and life is passing me by. People are going about their daily lives as they usually do and as for me? I’m stationary, watching them hustle about. It’s a simple activity that fills most of my afternoons.
It’s nearly ten am — might as well go home, there’s nothing else to do today. Rising from my seat, I make for the subway. I’m growing more and more tired of this city. I would escape to another if I were given the chance. San Francisco is nice, Paris is nicer, frankly, anywhere but this overrated money press that was once known as the Big Apple. However, that costs money and I have very little to spare for such an expenditure.
Forty-Second Street, my starting point this morning. Taking care not to slip on the wet steps, I leave the gloomy autumn day behind me and descend into the labyrinthine passageways of the New York Subway system. There are always far too many people down here, all clamoring about to the tune of turnstiles and the rhythm of the trains below. Slowly and like a corralled a lamb to the slaughter, I make it down to the platform.
I almost didn’t see her, but there she was. Standing before me, across the platform, stood one of my former companions. She looks exactly as I remember her nearly a whole year ago. Her unmistakable short red hair and cabbie hat paired with a leather jacket was her signature look. I always thought the jacket was a fitting symbol of her life experiences as it was well worn and cracking at the seams.
“Laci” I croaked.
She turns to face me, with her hazel eyes locking on as I approach.
“David?” That Slavic accent is just as strong as I remember.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as though taking the subway was in some way unusual for the average New Yorker.
“I’m in town with my fiancé and his family. We’re getting married this November.”
“Oh . . . Well congratulations.” Yes, congratulations to the fool.
“I would have invited you to the wedding if I knew you were here. When your letters stopped I assumed you had moved away or something.”
She’s trying to spare me some embarrassment. I only stopped writing because her answers grew dull. She was also a horrible writer, which made the letters even more tiresome to read and reply to.
“Ugh, no I’ve been busy working. You know how life is here.”
Although it’s only been a few seconds, this conversation needs to end; I hate small talk. Desperate for an escape, I pretend to remember something.
“Oh shit! I just remembered I have to pick up some drafts from my editor before six.”
“Oh, then by all means go, I don’t want to keep you.”
The irony of that statement — I bet she meant that to be underhanded. She wasn’t particularly articulate, but she always had a habit of seeding her sentences with double meanings.
After a quick good-bye wave, I jog off as if my legs have springs in them and hastily ascend the stairs to the other platform. God, what an embarrassing encounter. I would have liked to have gone on believing that she was in the same rut when I last saw her. But now, I’m cursed knowing she’s engaged and thus miles ahead of me in the game of life. It may not be necessary, but I’m going to take a longer route home just to be sure I don’t cross paths with her again.
Boarding the A train, I’m reminded of all the time I’ve wasted pursuing women. It’s a wasted exercise to burn calories thinking about relationships. I’ve never cared much for the opposite sex, or even sex for that matter. Realistically the only reason I can think of for such activities is simply to raise children. Plus there’s the seemingly unavoidable romanticism that comes with them, an activity that’s as foreign to me as politics in Zazzau.
The sound of screaming train brakes brings me back to the present as the train rolls to a stop in the next station. I glance up to the door and I’m instantly petrified by the sight before me. The doors of the subway car are all that separate me from her. Our eyes meet, I glance away trying to hide the obvious blush and dilated pupils I no doubt have.
Her outfit is very peculiar. A sweater not even Bill Cosby would be caught dead in coupled with a tribal necklace that would look right at home in the pages of National Geographic. Followed by a pair of bell-bottom jeans and brown loafers. Without a doubt it’s an odd ensemble for the 20th century . . . yet a strangely alluring one.
I had already picked out my usual “subway position” when I got on. Close to the door, yet far away so I’m not an obstruction. This position is also well away from the seats so that my exposure to the usual subway folk is as limited as can be. It’s perfect because it limits my interaction with people. She boards and decides to stand next to me, dammit.
The buzzer sounds and the doors hiss and glide to a close. As the train begins to creep into the tunnel ahead, she leans in a little closer to me. Her eyes fixated on the map to the left of the door. Delicately she moves the dangling strands of blond hair away from her face and around her ear as to get a better view and in doing so she reveals more of her rosy complexion. I instinctively look down at my shoes and the welcoming comfort of the speckled gray floor.
She sneezes.
“Bless you.” I remark reflexively.
“Thank you.” Her voice is as soft as her sweater which is brushing up against me as the train lurches in the tunnel.
“This is the A train right?” How does she not know this is the A; it’s literally displayed on the side of the train.
“Yeah you’re on the A, where are you going?”
“North two stops, there’s this bistro I’ve been meaning to check out.”
“Really? What’s it called?”
“‘Marks’ or ‘Alfred’s’ or something like that. It’s a little deli, but I’m told the meat selection is to die for.”
“Huh, I’ll have to check it out.”
She seems normal enough, however I don’t know why I’m being so conversational. Usually I’m more reserved and quiet, but something about her is familiar, almost like I’m meeting a long lost friend. It’s not a sexual feeling I’m certain of that, but it feels as though there’s a magnetic pull drawing me in. I wonder if she feels it as well.
“Would you like to join me?” Her words seem rushed.
“Huh? To the bistro?”
“Yeah, you seem normal enough and I obviously don’t know the city that well. Besides, it’s close to the station so you can escape pretty easily if I’m boring.” She’s being coy, but I genuinely find this option worthwhile.
“Uhm . . . OK. I mean if I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all, oh! The next stop is us.”
More screaming brakes and the white station lights signal us that the train is arriving at our station. The doors hiss open and the garbled noise of the conductor announces our destination. Time to disembark. As my feet cross the threshold of the train and land on the platform I couldn’t help but feel my spirits rise, this was going to be a good day.
