It was a Saturday night, the 16th day of the year. I rode the L train to Metropolitan to transfer to the G train toward Church Street. I was dressed up, wearing a hip-hugging black skirt and a delicate, black collared top, with tights and party shoes. I carried a wine bottle in my purse (it was sticking out, slightly) and flowers in my hands. I stood with my back against the wall, starring out and across. You, a man, opposite of the train station, also starred out and across: at me. You wore an army-green jacket and khaki pants, and I'm not sure what kind of shoes. Your legs were knotted over each other in the way readers cross their legs when they're deep in thought.
We locked eyes once. Then again, and again. It was loud at the subway station, but suddenly, I didn't hear anything but my own thoughts. I continued to lock eyes with you, a stranger. I considered to myself - twice - not getting on my train when it arrived, but I was running late. I pictured the G train passing by, and me still standing there. And you, still looking at me. And then, what next? I didn't get that far; something in me resisted. My train arrived before yours and the doors slid open and I slid on. And that was that. Just a couple of inconsequential minutes shared between a couple of strangers in New York City.
If I didn't write this story down, I would have forgotten all about you by the time I reached my stop, Carroll Street. I don't know about you, but I play this game with men (women, maybe, for you) throughout my day often: walking down the street, at my neighborhood coffee shop, in line at the grocery store. Many times, something will happen. They will stop me and ask for my number and we will go out, and then I will decide that I'd rather spend time alone with my thoughts and my books, and that will be that.
But you fascinated me more than the others. So now I'm here, writing to you, because surely, you must be looking for me, too: the girl from the G train at Metropolitan Avenue in the red and blue peacoat over your party dress. You were standing there looking at me, with flowers in your hand. We locked eyes and I wish you didn't get on your train. I was hoping you'd still be there waiting after the doors closed and the subway cars whizzed past. If you're reading this, I'd love to meet you. Please write me.