Happy Valentines Day. Happy Day for thinking about love and doing things that remind those in your life that you love them.
In honor of that, I am sharing a short story that I wrote a few years ago about finding love.
The train doors closed just in front of the tall, leggy blonde with the wavy hair spilling out from the blue tam. She adjusted the leather satchel that had slipped down her shoulder and stamped her four-inch butterscoth-leather heels on the platform and grimaced. Then as if hypnotized, she pulled her mouth upwards into a smile that travelled from her lips to her eyes in fractions of a second.
She tossed back her hair, hair that spilled over her shoulders, and she noticed him through the corner of her eyes. She turned her eyes slightly to get a better look at him and her eyes glazed over at the sight of his dreadlocks that escaped their harness to frame his narrow faced and added a casual air to his professional attire.
He wore a dark suit and leather "Wall-Street" shoes that shone the way her father always said they should when a man pays attention to his appearance. He stood stock still with a leather attache in one hand, an opened, creased newspaper in the other, his eyes totally focused on her.
It was impossible to pretend she didn't notice as their eyes met, but she looked away demurely anyway and pretended she didn't feel the heat creeping up the back of her neck and all across her slender body.
She fished in her satchel for something else to focus on and she pulled out the tiny book of Auden poetry that she carried everywhere. She flicked the pages idly until she found her favorite, although she could recite it easily if you woke her in the middle of the night.
She read quietly to herself, "Looking up at the stars, I know quite well, That for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least..."
He recited,"...we have to dread from man or beast."
She shivered. The voice wasn't hers. She turned around to face him. He knew her poem? He knew her poem! He didn't just know her poem, he could recite her poem! Well, it wasn't her poem but she had appropriated it. She felt like it was hers - except that it seemed to be his too.
She looked at him again. He had come over to stand closer to her on the subway platform. Close enough that she could breathe in his smell, close enough that his essence introduced itself to her nostrils. Her senses smiled welcomingly as though they remarked, "Pleased to make your acquaintance." Their auras intermingled. She allowed herself to look at him.
She glanced at his eyes. He was still looking at her. She smiled now, happy that she had missed the train.
She had always said, "It's not my train if I'm not on it." So that hadn't been her train, perhaps, because she was supposed to be right there on the subway platform.