By Saffy Winton
His leg is touching mine.
I’m sure it’s because the gray swarm of rundown rush hour adults clog the subway car, and he’s forced closer to me by the lady who doesn’t realize that keeping her shopping bag on the seat next to her is rude and a waste of precious space.
But I’m also sure it’s because when he drifted into this car, he knew that he had to be near me. I’m sure that he’s just as aware as I am of how intimate our knees are right now. That he can feel each molecule of fabric in our jeans compress. That he can feel the heat from my leg pour over his and it’s the only thing keeping him warm in this chilly underground tunnel.
I’ve never met him before, and, aside from the calculated sideways glances I sneak, I can only see his face reflected in the window across from us. But I’ve seen enough. I am in love.
I’m glad you wore these clean jeans instead of the tattered, paint-covered pants that I know you have. I think when you woke up this morning, you knew you’d be meeting your soulmate and wanted to look your best.
You have a crescent moon cut on your nose, which means you were clawing at your face in your sleep. You were probably having a nightmare. I bet you’re afraid of something silly like spiders or taxes.
Don’t worry, I’ll handle our finances when we get married.
The left side of your hair runs wild like uncut grass. It’s probably because you didn’t get much sleep because of the nightmares. You’ve been having them ever since you broke up with your girlfriend.
I bet her name was something evil like Mackenzie. I’ve never met a nice Mackenzie. But if she hadn’t fallen in love with your ex-best friend, you would be at her family beach house right now and not next to your one true love.
I know you’re mourning the loss of the beach house more than the loss of her. I bet you’re the kind of guy who buries his feet in the sand and lets the tide creep up his ankles. You like the way the salt water tickles your skin and then sheepishly retreats. You like to flirt with the waves.
The lady with the shopping bag gets off at Canal Street, but you don’t expand into the space she left behind. Your leg still touches mine. This is intentional, I’m sure of it.
A trickle of people fill in the empty spaces in the car, which is strange because they appear empty themselves, completely and entirely absorbed into their own universe. Unaware.
The girl next to you has headphones on and is playing Candy Crush on her phone. The child next to her is also playing Candy Crush. A man in a suit next to them pretends to be doing something important, but we all know he’s playing Candy Crush.
But you are not. It’s almost as if you knew that you had to stay conscious on the subway just for this day, this moment, this leg touch. You had to be alive. Aware.
You could be looking at the green tint of my finger and wondering what used to be there. You could be trying to figure out my ring size for when you propose. You could be just as in love as I am, just as wildly and hopelessly infatuated. Or you could be playing Candy Crush in your head.
I missed my stop. I wonder what you’re doing so deep in Brooklyn. Maybe you missed your stop, too, because you couldn’t bear to tear your leg away from mine.
Or maybe you think you’ll get off at the same stop as me so we can go out for coffee, a movie, and then a wedding. Or maybe you just live deep in Brooklyn. Winthrop Street.
The conductor announces the stop in a voice comparable to thousands of bees complaining about the monotony of their lives. I bet you’re the kind of person who believes bees can have existential crises. I bet you believe in love at first sight. And then you get up, and we lock eyes for a second.
I’m sure it’s because I am sitting right next to the exit and you are looking towards the doors until they open. But I’m also sure it’s because you need to see me, to know me, to remember me.
I do not know you, but I do know this. I am in love with you. I am stuck deep in Brooklyn with a cold leg and the crushing realization that I will never see you again. But I am in love with you.
I put on my headphones, open Candy Crush, and ride the now empty subway car to the end of the line.
Saffy Winton is a student at Hopewell Valley Central High School.
