Wait
By Pogles Would
- 523 reads
The best part of any subway journey is the other travellers. I love to watch the different ways they pass the time. They read business papers, text books, comic books, newspapers in many different languages, magazines, Chekhov stories, Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, and authors I’ve never heard of. Pristine volumes, well-thumbed copies and e-readers. I find e-readers frustrating as I can’t always see what users were reading and the condition of a book sometimes gives a clue about the reader’s lifestyle and priorities. I envy a woman I see reading the last chapter of We Need to Talk About Kevin who will soon discover the staggering ending.
Others occupy themselves with electronic devices. Laptops, DVD players, games and puzzles on mobile phones, texting, listening to music with a tinny ‘ti-tsi tsi, ti-tsi tsi, ti-tsi tsi’ audible depending on how high the volume is. I always try to name the tune.
Some people perform intricate tasks during the jerkiest of rides. Applying make-up. Writing birthday cards and letters. Embroidery.
Some manage to stay upright, perfectly balanced without holding onto anything. Late at night I watch as exhausted people half-nap where they stand without falling over.
Sometimes, if the train brakes sharply or stops for no reason, I look around and wonder if I’m going to die with these people. I’ve read that, in disaster and accident situations, the goodness and kindness in people emerges naturally. This comforts me.
***
He’s stood so close behind me that I can feel his soft breath whispering on the nape of my neck. His body brushes against mine with the rocking and swaying of the train. As we rattle through the dark corridor below the city I steal glances at his reflection in the subway car’s window. He’s a beautiful, floppy-fringed boy. A full, almost girlish, bottom lip that I long to lick and suck into my own, gently nibbling it, somewhere between pleasure and pain.
He’s listening to music through small headphones. I strain my ears to identify it but I can’t make it out. The train lurches, he stumbles ever so slightly and murmurs a deep, attractively accented apology.
My stolen glances become bolder, longer gazes. And then our eyes lock as I realise he is doing the same. I feel myself flush at being found out. I look away quickly.
***
Her dark hair is swept up on her head, like a ballerina’s. I can smell her shampoo. As I breathe out I see the little hairs on the back of her creamy neck ruffle slightly. She’s wearing a demure white blouse with a round collar and small, pearly buttons done up right to the top. But it’s slightly see-through and I can see her white lacy bra underneath. I imagine easing the straps from her shoulders, kissing the soft skin they have been sitting on. I feel small thrills of excitement as the movement of the train occasionally makes her sway backwards and against me.
She’s reading a book. I try to see what it is. Then I see she is looking at my reflection in the window. I catch and hold her eyes. Then looking down, I see a pink wash spilling over her cheek as she looks away.
Hardly thinking about what I’m doing, I bend and lightly press my lips against the warmth of her neck.
***
For a moment I think I’ve imagined it, a brief, gentle sensation. I look at the window reflection, see him looking intently at me, and I know it was real.
***
She doesn't slap me or shove me away in shock or disgust. My stop is coming up but I’ll stay on the train to see where she gets off.
***
My station is next. I’ll stay on the train if he does.
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Comments
Really liked this. At first
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Awesome work- a downright
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