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The 358 line
I saw you riding in the back of the 358, northbound all by yourself. I stumbled as I got in, and walked down the corridor of solitaries, each frowning, preserving their space.
But the back of the bus -- the bull pen, the lounge, the rowdy room usually full of young, shouting men and women, rollicking their way uptown -- the back of the bus was empty, except for you. May I join you? You had stretched your legs across from the back bench to the side bench; you had a spider tattoo on your left leg, just a few inches below your knee. Nice spider.
You smiled at me as I sat down on the starboard bench; yes, the bench with your legs, and the spider tattoo. You were beautiful. (You are beautiful). I scrambled in my bag for a book, and pretended to read, peeking over the book; I looked ahead in the bus so I could see your reflection in the glass panels next to me. Long days are nice, eh? I checked the streets we crossed, despite being forty blocks from my destination; I read billboards and casually glanced out the window at car dealerships and hubcap franchises, scrounging any excuse for a scrap of gazing in your direction. Man, is this bus slow today!
I helped you open your window, after you struggled for a minute; I defeated the window with wiggling, rather than force. I have no strength to offer; it's brains and a smart mouth, or nothing. And yet I was mute. I joked, feebly, about outsmarting hardware as I sat down again, and yet you seemed friendly, even so. I returned to my book.
And twice -- maybe three or four times before I got off at 100th Street -- I caught you looking back. And then you were watching me, from your private lounge in the back of the bus, as it pulled away. I smiled.
Hey, I don't say to the air.
But the back of the bus -- the bull pen, the lounge, the rowdy room usually full of young, shouting men and women, rollicking their way uptown -- the back of the bus was empty, except for you. May I join you? You had stretched your legs across from the back bench to the side bench; you had a spider tattoo on your left leg, just a few inches below your knee. Nice spider.
You smiled at me as I sat down on the starboard bench; yes, the bench with your legs, and the spider tattoo. You were beautiful. (You are beautiful). I scrambled in my bag for a book, and pretended to read, peeking over the book; I looked ahead in the bus so I could see your reflection in the glass panels next to me. Long days are nice, eh? I checked the streets we crossed, despite being forty blocks from my destination; I read billboards and casually glanced out the window at car dealerships and hubcap franchises, scrounging any excuse for a scrap of gazing in your direction. Man, is this bus slow today!
I helped you open your window, after you struggled for a minute; I defeated the window with wiggling, rather than force. I have no strength to offer; it's brains and a smart mouth, or nothing. And yet I was mute. I joked, feebly, about outsmarting hardware as I sat down again, and yet you seemed friendly, even so. I returned to my book.
And twice -- maybe three or four times before I got off at 100th Street -- I caught you looking back. And then you were watching me, from your private lounge in the back of the bus, as it pulled away. I smiled.
Hey, I don't say to the air.
What's your name?
Where are you going?
Where are you coming from?
Come here often?
Here's my card.
...Were you smiling at me?
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how many times can i write and erase wish that had been me? i'm gonna be brave and click send fast before i erase it again
:)
yes, you are brave
It would have been nice if it were you. Instead, she'll just be mystery-girl, probably forever - I only ride that bus about once a month.
... mystery is so much more exciting, don't you think?
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Maybe she was Dr. Lynn Werner from Speech and Hearing? She has a spider tattoo. Was she a 5'4" short-dark-haired woman in her 50s?
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... some part of me really wants to find out that somebody reading this knows who she is. But I think that's very unlikely, and perhaps this is better as a ships-passing-in-the-early-afternoon moment.
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*strangers in the [early-afternoon], exchanging glances*
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It's beautiful! WOW!
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I trust my friends-list here more than I ever trusted Bernie.
... gah. [yiddish] What a schmuck he was! [/yiddish] .
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Everytime I read it , it makes me teary and happy all at once.
I think this post is more you then it ever was.
I love you. I think you should write posts like these about all your crushes 1