Five, Two

At ten thirty or so I'm on the train, heading back to Brooklyn after dinner with Richard. The lighted display lists stops we won't be making; it claims this is a 2 train but it's actually a 5.

For much of the ride there's seven of us in the car. One older black man in one corner, and a matching one in the opposite corner. Both are sleeping. Almost directly across from me a young, attractive-ish couple sit very close to one another. They're well dressed and I guess from their posture that they've been drinking. Probably at a nice dinner. The man keeps leaning in to the woman, to kiss her, but she keeps him at bay, her eyes always darting to me when he does this.

I try not to look at them and my attention turns to the remaining two people in the car, another couple, I presume, at the other end of the train. I have headphones on and not sure I'd be able to hear what they're saying even if I didn't, but they appear to be fighting. He seems to be yelling at her and she looks predictably upset. He catches me looking and I look away. A minute later, she moves away from him and comes to sit closer to me. I wonder. But I'll never know.

The couples are opposing forces, and I sit between them, the fulcrum. Everything is in balance. I think back over the night that I've had, and the past month, and think that it must all be happening as it's supposed to.

We all get off at Bowling Green to wait for the 4 train, and disperse into different cars once it arrives. The moment passes, as they all do, eventually.

Track 3

I'm waiting for the train to New York at 30th Street Station. I've found a dry place to sit and the wind comes hard at my back.

The last time I stood at this platform I was rushing to get back to you after a photoshoot, anxious. Three days later, the meaning of "us" suddenly changed, and three days after that, it changed for good. The second change brought about, I guess, by those same photos I'd taken here in Philadelphia, just hours before I found myself here at track 3, hurrying back to you.

I watch trains come and go, heading to various outposts of suburban Philadelphia. My train will come eventually, but not now.

The previous time I waited at this place it was to say goodbye to you, after your first and only visit here, and my first visit to you from San Francisco, where I'd been living. We had spent two magical weeks together, and it was so hard to say goodbye. Here, where I stand now. Less than an hour earlier, you had told me you loved me for the first time, hugging in the living room of the house where I now live.

I'm waiting for the train to New York but it's not to see you. A Chinese man is eating chicken wings next to me, tossing the remains to other birds, and I'm trying not to cry. Trying.

I don't like what I've become.

It will get better. I know. I just have to wait.