Wednesday, 8:30 p.m.
A 20-something man carries a baby -- not an infant and not yet in that annoying stage of asking too many questions or running into traffic. She is content in his arms in a crotcheted white sweater. I know babies and white clothing don't seem like a logical mix, but someday, I will dress my baby in white to remind people of angelic things and sugar, so when my baby throws up mashed peas it will be precious.
The heels of the man's business shoes click as he walks fast. I wonder if he’s nervous. He has a baby by himself. Why do I think that’s unusual? Maybe I’m sexist. He puts the toddler down and, holding on to one of her tiny hands, lets her waddle unsteadily around the waiting platform. She picks up things she finds, examining each one for a second before dropping it again. A little scientist. He lets her. He doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t either. Of course, I’m not sure if she even knows words yet.
There’s something undeniably attractive about an already attractive man with a baby.
Rainbow suspenders. A short, bald fat man with a tan pants and a red shirt and rainbow suspenders that crisscross on his back. I can overhear the woman walking next to him say, "Maybe it's the rainbow suspenders." I wonder if he asked, "Why do you love me?"
A young girl sits and waits by herself, hugging her arms close to her body for a minute, then letting them fall, folding her hands and slipping them in between her knees. She has a high ponytail and a backpack and out of the latter, she pulls a little white case, folds her hands back around it and places her hands back between her knees. There must be something important inside. Her last $5 bill. A rosary. Her new birth control.
A man straight out of 1994 is dressed in tight red plaid pants with metal embellishments covering them, a wallet chain, a bandanna and argyle shoes. He sits next to a woman with fake-black hair that is starting to turn back to the color nature intended, and they talk with their heads close to one another. They have secrets, but they are the good kind, because they intermittently smile.
The train comes and a man with white dress shoes gets off. He has a small camera and he takes three pictures of the empty chairs where people wait, and one picture of the ticket machine. Then he walks away.
There is an old man on a bike. He looks weathered, but determined. He parks his bike, walks five feet away from it and kneels down. I think he might pray, but he’s only tying his shoe. I don’t know why he couldn’t do that near his bike. He takes out a comb and combs his hair. Ah, he’s going on a date. Obviously. His slacks and sweater match. He is trying. He picks his nose. I’m watching you sir. Don’t turn around or you’ll be embarrassed.
The man with the baby gets closer. Yes, it is confirmed. He is devastatingly handsome. He has on a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. But that baby didn’t pop out of him, so there must be a woman in his life. Even if they’re not together, they are for sure entangled.
The old man going on a date takes his cell phone out and checks it intently. I hope he or she isn’t canceling on him. He got dressed up. He puts his hand on his hip defiantly. This doesn’t look good. He makes a call.
The train arrives. The adorable man with a baby gets on. Well, goodbye then.
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