Last summer I got on the Bloor Line at High Park Station with my bike. As the doors opened a cute red-head, in her early twenties, looked at me with what appeared to be a look of longing. Being 48 and grey (but hey, it's possible my bicycle hid my gut) I figured at least one of us misunderstands something. I'm not really interested in a young lady in her twenties anyway. People in their twenties are cool and all, but it's an entirely different culture for me now. There'd be a lot of re-inventing the wheel. Besides; imagine meeting your lover's parents and they're your age!
So I ignored her and looked for a place to sit.
Because of issues of floor space for my bike, I sat near her and her boyfriend (?) at the back of the subway car. She was dressed in black, with a hat and other art-school girl accessories. Pale, powdered skin, bright red lipstick. He was shorter than me, with glasses and a wiry little beard. He was wearing a black derby and a black t-shirt with some death metal band's imagery on it. His arms were thin and wiry like his beard.
She stared straight ahead while he read intently from his paperback. They ignored each other almost all the way to Yonge Station. I wondered if she hated him, or he hated her, or if they both hated each other, who did it first? Or, maybe, again, I'd just imagined that look she gave me. That they're both totally cool just sharing each other's silent company.
Almost at Yonge, he mumbled something to her. She said "Hmmm?" He mumbled (muttered?) something again and she answered "Yeah."
They got out before me as I waited with my bike for everyone else to exit the train. I got on the escalator to the northbound platform and stood on the right-hand side. On the stairs to my right, a nice-looking, clean cut, shortish young man gave a goofy grin to someone in front of me on the escalator. Then I saw him turn his head, still smiling, as he watched that person continue riding past on the escalator.
You guessed it. It was her. Looking down on him like a beautiful princess passing her secret beloved in a passageway.
As I watched her and her little boyfriend (?) heading towards the Yonge platform, I wondered what their story was. Does he ignore her and she can't stand him? Does she constantly flirt and he can't stand her? Does she purposely get guys' juices going and then they both go home and celebrate by fucking like weasels? Are they just a couple of weirdos in their own worlds, doing their own things?
So I ignored her and looked for a place to sit.
Because of issues of floor space for my bike, I sat near her and her boyfriend (?) at the back of the subway car. She was dressed in black, with a hat and other art-school girl accessories. Pale, powdered skin, bright red lipstick. He was shorter than me, with glasses and a wiry little beard. He was wearing a black derby and a black t-shirt with some death metal band's imagery on it. His arms were thin and wiry like his beard.
She stared straight ahead while he read intently from his paperback. They ignored each other almost all the way to Yonge Station. I wondered if she hated him, or he hated her, or if they both hated each other, who did it first? Or, maybe, again, I'd just imagined that look she gave me. That they're both totally cool just sharing each other's silent company.
Almost at Yonge, he mumbled something to her. She said "Hmmm?" He mumbled (muttered?) something again and she answered "Yeah."
They got out before me as I waited with my bike for everyone else to exit the train. I got on the escalator to the northbound platform and stood on the right-hand side. On the stairs to my right, a nice-looking, clean cut, shortish young man gave a goofy grin to someone in front of me on the escalator. Then I saw him turn his head, still smiling, as he watched that person continue riding past on the escalator.
You guessed it. It was her. Looking down on him like a beautiful princess passing her secret beloved in a passageway.
As I watched her and her little boyfriend (?) heading towards the Yonge platform, I wondered what their story was. Does he ignore her and she can't stand him? Does she constantly flirt and he can't stand her? Does she purposely get guys' juices going and then they both go home and celebrate by fucking like weasels? Are they just a couple of weirdos in their own worlds, doing their own things?
1 comment:
Well she did seem to awaken something in you, Thwap. It's always rejuvenating to imagine someone lovely has taken to us. Be grateful. The older you get the more infrequent will become those moments.
Post a Comment