Her Two Cents
The overwhelming majority of messages posted to the Brooklyn MC involve the subway and often feature people reading books, newspapers, or listening to music (pretty standard behaviors for the train, right?) But here’s a story about two people reading the same book – and what can happen when words leap off the page and into the space between them. I dare to hope this is a reasonably true tale and not one of fiction!
Missed Missed Connection
Missed Connections in Brooklyn
Ride with a Book by William Wu
The train was empty except for me. You got on with two musicians and a homeless man. He started his speech, but knowing such a small audience was unlikely to be generous, he gave up after “hot meal.”
You and I shared a smile over the futility.
The train continued to the next stop and I caught your eye multiple times. You caught mine too. I pulled out a book so as not to continue staring. I admit, I thought you were attractive. I had no idea what you thought of me.
You pulled out your book, too. It was the same book, but we were on different chapters. You read faster than I. I read slowly. It was always my handicap in college, but I absorbed every word. I reread the page I was on multiple times. Partly because I was thinking of what was on your page, but partly because the musician next to me was listening to rap really loudly on his iPod.
How does he think?
A couple more stops down the line, you acknowledged the coincidence in our reading material. You held up your book, and pointed. You pointed at my book, too, but that part was excessive. I got it initially. You didn’t have to do that.
I smiled and made a thumbs up. What am I even doing?
You laughed and we simultaneously realized how silly it was that we had headphones in.
“HOYT-SCHEMERHORN. STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS PLEASE.”
In that moment, we realized that our time wasn’t long. Any stop could be the last stop.
After rereading the last sentence of the second paragraph on the same page I’d been on for seven minutes, I looked up to see you looking at me. It wasn’t a coincidence. You closed your book and moved across the train a little clumsily and took the seat to my left as I closed mine. I was charmed already. The train was far from empty, now, but the seat to my left had always belonged to you.
Everyone who got on knew it.
And suddenly, you spoke. Real words.
“How are you liking the book?”
Predictable, yes, but I didn’t need anything groundbreaking. Just something.
We talked until the train reached its last stop. We got off, hand in hand, knowing most everything about each other and quietly acknowledging that only this could happen here. We crossed the platform to the downtown side. We got on and rode back to familiar territory.
We spent the next three hours laughing over coffee and a shared piece of cheesecake at our favorite place that happened to be the same place. You laughed at my sweet tooth, and I laughed at how much milk and sugar you dumped in your coffee.
In that moment, it was hard to imagine anything without you.
We spent the next three days together. I called in sick from work and you did the same. You’re across from me as I write this. I’ve finished my oatmeal cookie and you’re still nursing your glass of milk with coffee. You looked up to see what I was laughing at, but you didn’t know I was laughing at you.
I’m glad you’re here, so thanks for fucking saying something and not just writing it on the internet in a place I clearly never look. You know?
