An Average Train Ride

I barely squeezed myself into the midst of the sweaty crowd as the automatic doors were grinding to a close. I was close enough to each person around me that I could smell each of their odors and feel different parts of each of their bodies. There was absolutely no notion of personal space. The contents of the bogey in the form of warm bodies responded inertially when the train jolting to life. As I tried to steady myself somehow, it was like the corner of my eye did its own private little doubletake. I swerved around trying to look at what had caught the corner of my eye, meeting the eyes of dozens of the innumerable faces in the crowd, searching for the complete painting which the brushstroke belonged to.

I gave up and turned back to staring at my feet, trying to ignore the jostling people around me. A stop later, I turned my head up and found my eyes locked into blue ones. I quickly tried to look as though I was just scanning the crowd, but I knew that my eyes had held the others' gaze for a moment too long. Carefully and cautiously I raised my head again after a little while, and I saw her again, this time not paying any heed to me. She was quite a ways down the car. Her brown pants matched the color of her hair perfectly, and her faded light pink top melted into her skin. She was standing there, listening to her iPod gazing out the window. Her head started to turn in my direction, and I immediately became fascinated by my left index fingernail. I wasn't quite sure when it was safe to look up again, so I studied my fingernail for probably the longest time I've ever studied a fingernail. When I couldn't bear it anymore I glanced up, and breathed normally when I saw that her eyes were pointed elsewhere. I kept looking in random places for seconds at a time, only allowing myself a glance or two a minute in her direction, not wanting to appear inappropriate.

More people got off as the stops went by, and there were fewer and fewer faces to look at. Our eyes met one other time and I couldn't help smiling as I awkwardly turned away from her gaze. The corner of my eye (that bastard) caught the hint of a smile in her face as well, but I told myself that it was just wishful thinking. The next stop, enough people got off that there was place to sit down. She started walking toward me, I could tell because I could see her feet although I was staring at the floor. Would she sit near where I was standing? I wondered. Every step toward me was like another speck of hope on the horizon. She stopped a couple of rows away and sat down. There was an empty seat near me, but maybe she didn't want to be too forward, or maybe she thought that I wanted to sit there, I mused. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. A couple of stops later, she got up from her seat. I froze. The only other empty seat was next to me. She walked toward me. There were only inches between us now, but she didn't sit down. Instead, she turned to face me, smiled, stepped off the train and went on with her day.