Wednesday, October 17, 2007

At times. . .

. . .this City truly has a pulse. Buildings. Lampposts. Beaches and hobos. All these structures tend to interject life into any given moment.

Last night, she and I shared a train home.

I'd noticed her at the beginning of the quarter. We'd had the occasion to talk, once. We saw eachother on the platform and entered the same car. We stood talking as the train rode north. Conversation with someone you're interested in can only be equalled to speaking a foreign language. Some days you're on fire. Other days, you're struggling to pronounce the days of the week. Luckily, this night wasn't the latter. No pauses seemed pregnant. No inquiry, forced.

In fact, there was collateral laughter. Stander-bys chuckled and added commentary to our dialouge. Coming from a circle of friends who clamor for the spotlight, the validation of outsiders through laughter is far more redeeming than any list a College Dean or County Attorney has placed me on. (I still can't set foot in Maricopa Co.)

We arrived at the Addison stop and she stepped off. The doors closed. She turned around to wave. I stood there, amazed by how well that went. From a sleeping mass, I heard a voice. "She liked you." Finding nothing of this peculiar, I undid my tie and sat across from the shape. "Really? Do you think so?"

The shape sat up revealing a scrawny black man. Locks of matted hair stood erect and sores broke through his lips. His age was lost to drug use, as were his two front teeth. Those left were rotting through to the nerve.

He looked at me, confounded. "She most defintely liked you." He threw his entire body into it.

"I don't know, buddy. I think she was just being nice."

He shook his head at what I said. "Nah." He aimed his finger at my chest, "She liked you."

There was a silence. I didn't want to refute what was nothing more than an optomistic observation. He continued on, "You gonna call her?"

"No, I wanted to ask for her number, but. . . I don't know. I don't want to look too eager?"

"That's smart. That's smart. You playing smart. Here's what you gotta do. You gotta take her out. Get the credit card. Rent a car. Get some champagne. Maybe even a bottle of Moet?"

"What if I got some Alize?"

He held out his fist. I pressed mine against.

He shifted the conversation.

"I went to Kennedy-King for a couple years. I was going into nursing." He opened his mouth and pointed at the prominently missing teeth. "Shit happened."

Several stops later, I stepped onto the platform and into the night air. The train created a breeze as it shot past. There, in the aftermath of two chance meetings, I held one thought.

"I should see if she's on Facebook."

1 comment:

Oliver Babbles said...

I think the bum liked you, too. But I don't think he's on facebook.