You Are Waiting For a Train
Take trains. Subway cars. Claustrophobic metal tubes shuttling under big cities. A pixied redhead preceeded me onto a car yesterday, both of us grinning and apologizing as we negotiated the entrance together. She took her orange plastic seat. Eventually, I found mine. Light alternated with murk in lurching bursts of forward motion.
MTM and I were headed for a rendezvous of sorts. A favorite table. A person we grew to like over servings of lush salads, cushiony baguettes and soft-boiled eggs. Logan laughed at the stars in my eyes after she made a table for John Turturro. She was a professional, always remembering us, whether we came in once a quarter or once a year.
This time, we stayed away too long.
The redhead on the train accepted the greeting of an engaging Italian, bantering about the place they used to work. Our place. Our Logan. Eavesdropping on a train is a required hazard of the mode of travel. We couldn’t help it when we heard her name. Only, the redhead told her friend Logan was gone. We weren’t going to see her this trip.
We probably won’t see her again.
Life is a series of random opportunities. To say thank you. To be friendly. To tell someone what they mean to us. To leave that extra something behind. We make the disjointed story in a simple act. Like making the right choice whilst waiting for a train.