I’m talking to you Miss 3 train 72nd street stop downtown bound sitting on the north side of the car between man in grey suit and woman with big arms.
If I were the man you were supposed to fall in love with, I’d be talking to you right now instead of writing this. I would have said, “Are you kidding?” and you’d have said, “Why do I feel like I know you?” and I’d have said, “You do know me,” and you’d have said, “From where?” and I’d have said, “You don’t really know me. I just meant that I feel like I know you,” and you’d have said, “Sit,” and I’d have said, “Yes.”
Your seltzer water exploded drenching those two insignificant fucks but at that point you didn’t have me. Yes, it happens but this wasn’t Romeo & Juliet, Casablanca, or the MTV video where These Arms of Mine plays as I walk over take the bottle from your hand and keeping eye contact pour it slowly into my mouth.
You earned me. Don’t fuck with me on this. I know it was real. The currency of form shifted in the physics of the subway car and as everyone else faded into black and white, you stayed vibrant light-blue. The puppet (of your daily existence), collapsed and all that was left, was you.
You were poised. I believed you were genuinely sorry you spilled soda. That straphanger checking out the map behind you tried to help saying, “At least it wasn’t coke,” but fat arms and grey suit weren’t having it. You opened a gusher. If you were a man there might have been a fist-fight. And that woman (regardless of how optimistic you are) hated you. Are you aware you applied the same tactic (cutesy charm) to the man as you did to the woman?
That’s a major question mark.
You went from serious to earnest to pretending it didn’t happen, but they kept on wiping themselves (hey, it would’ve got to anyone), they kept wiping off the water, so much so, that another subway passenger leaned over and offered napkins and you lost patience.
Your thoughts were my thoughts, “It’s water, people. I’ve apologized. Really? This is the sort of grudge you want to hold? I ruined your fucking week with this one?”
You lost patience. You apologized five times, the man took it (to satisfy you so he could go back to drying himself), but she didnt. She didn’t say a word.
Finally, you stopped. You looked straight ahead. You breathed and then you laughed. You couldn’t give a fuck about either of these two people or where they were going or that wherever it was, they were going to be wet when they got there, and because everyone cared so much, made it only more funny. For that, you got me.