It happened like this:
I recently started wearing headphones to accompany me on my commute. And by recently I mean once, when I remembered that it was a great idea to think ahead and grab the device that would allow me to do this. Because you see I am one of the last 5 people in America that has not yet purchased that wonderful, convenient music player called the ipod. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I still have one of those circular players fondly referred to as a "discman," a title which implies a little man has decided how great it would be to enrich his owner's commute by playing music into their ears. The little man, however, isn't technologically advanced enough to put his talent into a small enough package. And the package requires a few more items to operate. Batteries, which seem to leak power as easily as an airmattress supporting a 300 pound whale, and compact discs. Which aren't so compact when you begin carrying them from place to place. Needless to say, remembering to bring my ancient discman along with me for the morning ride was not always an easy or conducive task.
Regardless, here I was with my discman wonderfully secreted away in my satchel so that only the headphones peaked out. I jumped onto the subway train immersed in the music of Bob Dylan, whom I recently had become infatuated with. And by recently this time I actually do mean recently. I had begun to play a cover of his "Don't Think Twice It's Allright," on the ukulele and within the span of the last three days had listened to the 3 disc set I owned of his music repeatedly until the two AA batteries had drained out of my little man. In all fairness I suppose by repeatedly I mean twice, since a 300 pound whale does press into vinyl very abruptly.
But here I was, jumping onto the subway immersed in the bittersweet, scratchy tunes of Dylan when immediately I caught the eyes of a gentleman at the other end of the train. White cords peaked out under his oversized hat and wound their way into his pocket. He was listening to music too! In the second that followed I wasn't sure if our eyes had actually met or something more subtle had occurred. In fact, he had been glancing in my direction and the idea of his interest fueled my interest and suddenly an entire love affair had built itself up in one glance. Rich chemistry flowed from one end of the train to the other as an entire world developed between our music inspired hearts. Clearly, the rest of the members on the train could feel this bond that we both shared. But as we rode on in suspended passion, the other train members began to disappear from my mind and my vision. It was as if music man and I were the only two people on the train. Out of the corner of my eye, since I felt so close to him it wasn't necessary to look directly at him, I saw my gentleman stand up and begin to walk towards me. For one glorious moment he looked at me again and then after the Bing! sounded of opening doors, stepped off the train. The doors shut and the train once again chugged forward, moving closer towards my destination. In that moment, as we moved forward in opposite directions, our unspoken marriage had ended in divorce. A clean, mutual break that fortunately did not come laden with dirty battles over custody or the stealing of each other's belongings. My lover had chosen the 34th Street stop. And I, on the other hand was enroute to Brooklyn.
But you know what they say. "If someone you love hurts you cry a river, build a bridge, and get over it." Never be sad for what is over, just be glad that it was once yours. I didn't build a bridge that night. But I did cross over one in order to get to Brooklyn. And as I looked out over the water I fell in love. With the reflection, the lights of the city, and the rust on the bridge's support beams. A love affair had begun. I was beginning to think the city and I were the only ones on the train...
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