“This is a Church Avenue bound G Train. Stand clear of the closing doors please,” yells the conductor over the intercom. It’s that old guy again. You know, the one with the mustache and beer gut and thick glasses form 1987. He puts in his headphones and sits down as the train makes its initial lurch forward southward. As it picks up speed, Welcome to Night Vale starts and Cecil begins to speak in his smooth, melodic, and Carlos-loving voice. Adjust the hat, sit back, and relax. It’s going to be a long twenty minutes.
“This is Nassau!” Someone walks by him and sits down in the next seat, not even inches away as their shoulders touch. He looks up and casually “looks around the train” to see who he’s now becoming so physically acquainted with. She had long, light brown hair that cascaded down over her shoulders. The stark contrast between the soft wooden color and her bright sky blue jacket made her pop all the more it seemed. From blue back to brown she wore brown pants, a little too loose, and knee high boots that almost looked homemade. Her face was pretty, not stunning, but cute with kind eyes and a sharper nose. Oh man, he wishes he could acknowledge her.
She looks at him. His eyes dart away not wanting to seem “creepy.” Scanning the crowd for something, anything that could distract him, but even the grumpy old black man with his inexplicable four rolling trashcans can not keep his mind off the sky blue and brunette girl. His mind is racing; every scenario is playing out at a thousand miles a minute.
“Why is she still on the train? No one ever stays on as long as I do. Well that’s not true but generally they don’t and it’s weird now because I’m actually focused on someone. I wonder if she’s thinking about me too? Damn, she’s cute. Do I say something? Ha! This is New York! Only tourists talk to strangers on the subway. Well maybe she’ll get off at this stop. Maybe she’s following me or going to the same place? Wouldn’t that be weird? Oh hey, here’s my stop.”
“This is Fulton, next stop is Hoyt-Schermerhorn. Stand clear of the closing doors please.”
He begins to walk out the doors and down the platform, sighing as he realizes yet again destiny, which he doesn’t even believe in, has denied him this chance encounter for love. The train whizzes pasts blowing his jacket forward and short beard rustle. The lights are in the tunnel; the lights are gone. Someone steps next to him. It’s her with her brown knee-high boots and matching headphones in. “Gosh, we both have iPhones, we’re so compatible,” he thinks.
But suddenly something in his mind changes. “Wait, why’d she get off here? That’s weird. I got off here. People I acknowledge shouldn’t coincidently have the same stop in a line of limited stops where this is one of the more popular. That’s absurd! She’s walking strangely behind me to the left. Do I know her? I feel like she’s following me. Why would she be following me? Is she part of the CIA, following me, watching me? Is she going to recruit me to become a Jason Bourne type spy?”
She continues to follow him to the turnstile; clearly she is following him now because clearly she could have exited at the other end of the block. Clearly her moving to the South exit is just a clever ploy to keep an eye on him. It’s all starting to make sense as they walk up the stairs together and out into the crisp Fort Greene air.
He makes a left. She makes a left. He walks down the block. She walks down the block. He keeps going. She turns to the left and down another street.
“Oh… should I say something? Should I be insulted that she’s so terrible at following me? Obviously I’m not going that direction! What? Am I not good enough to be a Jason Bourne spy turned lover? I see how it is.”
He pauses and exhales as she, hair still cascading with a slight bounces, walks away, “I may need to stop reading into things a bit too much. This will probably sound creepier written out than in my head where it’s almost funny. See ya, Pretty Girl.”