23rd and 6th

That's where it happened, on the southwest corner, just after dark.
Will he? Won't he? Should I? All these thoughts. It seemed like forever but couldn't have been more than 2 or 3 seconds, really, just played out slow-motion in my head. Then he moved in. Slight hesitation, but not awkward. Like the same thoughts were going through his head.

I felt a relief and a comfort and an excitement — a giddiness, almost — that I hadn't felt since I can’t remember when. (And that, amazingly, I still feel a year later.) I could tell there was intention. But not freakish intention (even combined with the mini Oreos). There was a truth. A seriousness underneath that said, "I've got no time to fuck around."

I felt myself smiling in the PATH station, until that ground-shaking rumble and hot subterranean wind brought me back. I turned and squinted to keep the swirling soot from blinding me. Then I was on the train, smiling again, past 14th Street, 9th Street, Christopher. My head was swimming, just a little, the thoughts in my head slightly foggy. I thought it was the wine — just a tipsy straphanger trying to get home after another first date.

I remembered how he looked when he walked in the door; again, the intention in his face, in his step. I remembered the iPod, the gray in his beard. I remembered walking to the train station, lost in surprisingly comfortable conversation down 21st Street, and realizing that he’d gone a block out of his way — an avenue, in fact! — to walk me to my stop.

These things stayed with me, stuck in my head and danced around, all the way to Pavonia and into Grove. Glimpses of promise; flashes of possibility. I felt my cheeks getting tired and realized it was from smiling. I wondered if anyone took notice of the light-headed woman weaving through the tunnel, smiling for no reason. No need to be a target. I stopped smiling.

And I wondered what was different. Why was I thinking of anything more than getting home, changing into sweats, and walking the dog? When did this thin line between angry cynicism and idiotic idealism become wide enough to tread on without falling over? Did it happen in the last 2 hours? What was different about this time?

And then I realized, it didn’t matter what was different, or why. What mattered was that it was different. It was him. And I was smiling again.