N.E. Corridor

I've been running late all day and, just to prove a point, the universe is sending trains out slightly ahead on schedule, so I've been sitting at the station for 25 minutes after watching my train pull away. My cousin'll have other birthdays; if I make it in time for the after dinner brandy I'll be satisfied. The early fall breeze fondles the hem of my sun dress. The sun is old and getting ready to tuck itself under the horizon.

The next train finally pulls up and I grab my purse, my gift bags, my dress bag, and the high heel shoes I can't bear to where just yet and I head for the door. Hands full and off balance on a moving train, the door to the next, slightly less packed car, simply refuse to open for me and I nearly concede to stand in between cars when you hit the button with the palm of your hand. You nod for me to go ahead. "Thank you," I squeak and you smile, kindly and in a low tone you answer, "You're welcome." It's your smile that made me notice your eyes and suddenly I'm feeling sheepish and a little embarrassed. Gingerly, you place your hand on the small of my back to help balance me through the doorway. I take a seat; you take one just in front of me and I can see you in the space between the seats settling yourself in. Every so often, I swear your eyes flutter backwards to me, but I'm sure it's only wishful thinking. After securing my belongings safely in the window seat beside me - organizing things a little better for the upcoming trek down 34th Street - I take a deep breath and glance out the window, but the central Jersey scenery cannot keep my attention for long.

Tapping your feet along to whatever sound reaches your eardrums from the tiny white bud in his ear, you licks the tips of your fingers and turns the page. It's a big book. Maybe Econ 101? Maybe Western Civ? Maybe just something...dare I say...for fun? I wish I knew. What are you reading? What are you listening to? Who are you? I'm falling in love with the back of your head. Won't you give me a little clue? A blinking BlackBerry steals your attention away from the black and white pages, but you soon returns your gaze back onto the text. A girlfriend? I'll tell myself it was your mother. The sailing train jerks our car slightly, sending our heads wobbling like Bobble Head dolls in unison, but the voyeur in me won't be dissuaded by the train's ungraceful motion.

A full head of dark hair stretches down your neck until it meets the collar of your shirt, just a black button-up work shirt with the sleeves rolled up half-way to the elbow. Can you feel my eyes on the back of your neck?

Do you know what I would do to you if you only said "Okay, let's go" with that bass voice of yours?

No, let's not go there. It's fruitless. I'm only saying we'd both get something we wanted.

The sun sank as the train pulled into the station and our ride together is nearing an end. With my purse and various goodie bags draped over one arm, my shoes stowed away in one of them, and my dress held up by my other hand, I carefully step into the isle. You stand, waiting for me to pass by you and you step out behind me, into the doorway, and out onto the platform. "Goodbye" I think to you. As I descend the staircase up into the station, there's a tug on my arm and a pair of lips at my ear.

"Okay," it breathes, "let's go."


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You know it's fiction: the trains are on time or early.










"So let my hands stray past that boundaries of your back to get you breathing and get this started..." Brand New Logan To Government Center