I sat down opposite her. I saw the way her fringe caught in her eyelashes and fanned across her face. Her eyes, glimpses caught between strands of hair pushed away from her face, were beautiful. They were emphasised by dark eyeliner and mascara, like a sapphire floating in a bowl of milk surrounded by an ocean of black ink. I lost myself in them. I must have been staring quite evidently. She glanced across at me, taking me in at a flash from top to bottom, and then returned her eyes to her newspaper. I bashfully looked at my feet.
Quickly I sought a book from my bag. A copy of Borges in original Spanish, or a translation of Chekhov? Was she a languages girl or more of a lit chick? I looked at her again, this time seeking out details that would describe her to me. Even as I approached this detached and scientific task I found my eyes rushing headlong to her face and her lovely light brown cascade of hair. I forced myself to examine the details. No ring. No necklace. Either she had no passion for jewellery or, God willing, she had no one to give it to her. She wore a flower patterned knee length plaid skirt with slip-on sandals. Her calves angled firmly in to her ankles in a perfectly delicate way. For a top she wore a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
Lit Chick.
I opened Chekhov and began reading Misfortune, a story about a woman won over from her husband by the passionate ardour of a would-be suitor. “How vile I am!” exclaimed the lady on finding herself unable to resist. I looked up suddenly at the girl and caught her looking directly at me. We locked eyes for a moment; she had not averted her gaze instantaneously as many may have done. We both looked back down at our reading. My heart was thumping. Did she look at me from curiosity or something more? I found in considering the question I had reverted to staring at her once again. Snapping out of my reverie I tore myself away from abandoned admiration of her eyes and concluded that she had no doubt been looking at me to assess exactly how dangerous a potential stalker I might be. Perhaps.
Our train was travelling through dense urban landscape and stopped regularly. As the stops went by I realised nothing could come of this. The bottom line was that I was too chicken to make a move in a city where no one dared speak to an unknown companion. Nonetheless, I challenged myself. I inwardly did solemnly declare that should she alight at the same stop as me, then I would seek her out and invite her to join me for a coffee. My stop came closer, just three, two, one, to go. She was still there. My stop came and I stood. I looked down at her and she saw that I was about to go. She turned to look at me and beamed a radiant and full smile at me. She had felt the same as me! She too had been caught in admiration, however slight, and had been prevented from pursing it by that same abstract fear of the anonymous face of the city. Now that she knew I was departing, and she would lose me forever to the depths of the city, now she was safe to at least hint at her true feelings.
I took a step towards the door, grinning back at her like a maniac and practically tripping over the others in the carriage. I paused. Now I was starting to look the fool. This was my stop, that much was obvious to anyone, but it seemed such a waste to leave now that the imaginary traffic light above her head was green. My delay lost me my chance to leave and the doors closed behind me. She regarded me quizzically, no doubt mildly alarmed to find me still there when she had betrayed herself in promise of safety. I sat down on the free seat by her side. Adrenalin flowed so fully through my arteries that I feared I might be unable to produce a single coherent word. I opened my mouth to speak and the sound of my voice seemed to come from somewhere else, “Hi.” I said. She smiled at me cautiously. “If you get off at the next stop,” I said, “then I’ll buy you a coffee.” She turned her face half away from me; her side profile showed a half raised eyebrow and lips that stayed close together but revealed a smile of temptation. “Alright,” she said, “you’re on!”
