Perfect Strangers
We sit across from one another every night just when the city's lights are starting to illuminate the skyline. By the time the train rolls out of the station he is snoring softly. I slurp an orange soda and watch him sitting there oblivious to the fan stirring up dust, blowing dead bugs into the environment. It's so hot the pigment on my skin is starting to turn a deep blotchy red. The motion of the ride makes my head thrash slightly from side to side. I squeeze my eyes shut envisioning this stranger rolling up the sleeves of his merino wool sweater, dipping his hands up to his wrists in a bowl of ice and water. His long thick fingers selecting a cool wedge that he uses to slide back and forth between my inner thighs, his hands mingling with the icy-hot wetness of skin against skin. We are connected in the moment. I brush at my eyes with the back of my hand and am quickly pulled from indulging in anonymous sexual stimulation by a woman wearing an atrocious pair of red platform shoes. "Son of a bitch!" she yells out while kicking the connecting car doors open. She's fighting with a muscular, tall, younger man who follows her through the doorways of the adjoining cars. The echo of her hysterical shrieks awaken the sexy stranger. He stands, staggers his way towards me and asks for a cigarette. I tell him I don't smoke. We both smile looking into each other's eyes. The discovery is almost serendipitous. He tells me he freelances for an office downtown doing the legwork for some pharmaceutical research company. I'm reluctant to say anything personal about myself keeping my thoughts and feelings safely locked in an impenetrable vault where dreams and visions carry the weight of my soul. A look of instant dissatisfaction displays on his face as the train pulls into the next station. It's his stop. He tells me he'll see me soon not knowing I will deliberately change my route from work just to avoid the encounter.
Now rain falls on the memory of him and every so often, deep in the night, I stir and I'm back to our initial meeting where our future begins at that moment, our lives already defined by fifteen minutes worth of normalcy.
