It was the worst day of your life. You’d been canned. Furthermore, you just signed a new lease for an apartment in the UES, which you couldn’t afford. While you carried your box of things down the hallway, you thought of how stupid it was to tell all your friends you were sure you were getting a promotion. God. The embarrassment, the dread, the debt. Although you probably shouldn’t have spent the money, you opted for a cab home instead of taking the train. The box of doom that you held on your lap would’ve been too much, surrounded by a bunch of strangers. Weeks passed, and not even a nibble. Then, something. An interview in Chelsea. A crosstown bus and a train. Your nerves were fried as you hopped onto the A. After making your way in, you saw her. Headphones on. Your subway dream girl.
You thought to yourself, trying your best not to stare. “Probably something I don’t know. Most likely a band I’m not fucking cool enough to know.” Followed by “You could know, though.” She wasn’t overly moving her body to whatever it was. “She’s not looking for attention. She doesn’t need to.” You move a few feet over, but you’re still a flash mob, an opera singer, and a homeless man away from your subway dream girl. “She could be listening to a podcast. I bet she cares so much about the world.” Your fantasizing is brutally interrupted when an elederly italian woman winks at you and says, “Talk to her.” But how could you? The damage of losing your job had taken all of your confidence with it. The idea was terrifying. “I can talk to her, right?” You ask yourself.
You’ll talk to her then. That’s it. The next day comes. Nothing. Then again and again. A week passes. Still have hope. Accordingly, you’re taking a train to a job you haven’t been hired for yet. When that sinks in, you decide to call it quits. Then, “Stand clear of the closing doors, please.” She walks right in. Headphones off. Finally, divine intervention. Her arm brushes against yours, and every skin cell on your body becomes aware of her presence as well as another body part out of your control. You smell her hair. Apples. Green ones. There is a god. You still can’t believe you’re seeing her again when you hear “Sorry about that.” Looking up, you see a big smile with perfectly full lips.” She’s talking to you. She’s talking to you. She. Is. Talking. To. You.
You smile back. “No worries.” One week, and that’s all you could muster up. She says bye as she gets off at the next stop. The next day, she’s there again. Headphones on. She sees you and pulls them down to say “hello.” “Dear God. This is my chance. She’s so pretty. I can’t…seem…to speak.” Then, finally, aloud, “What are you listening to?” She pulls them from around her neck, reaches out, and says, “Want to listen?” Interested in reading similar stories? Check out last week’s entry, Romance in Manhattan. Sometimes your wildest desires are the ones waiting for you. Nonetheless, the choice is yours. Sometimes a new world is just a call away.
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