It’s about 6:30, so still very much light. So I’m still very much visible to those waiting for the train below me. Which means an average of a half dozen worried glances are coming my way as I sit on a ledge cross-legged.
It’s Cinco de Mayo, and I wonder if it’s the cause of the empty waiting platform. Is everyone drinking tequila but me? I have a glass of Chardonnay but am now wishing I'd stopped and bought tequila and limes. But perhaps then I would have felt sad to celebrate alone. Chardonnay is a single girl's drink.
Two girls buy tickets. They’re wearing flats and skinny jeans and low-cut tops so they must be going somewhere that is not the library.
Two handsome businessmen get off at this stop. One is gay. I can tell by the walk. It's a quick step, feet close together so hips sway like I do when I walk past a man I want to look at me.
A man pushes a wheelchair with an elderly man in it who has some sort of head brace contraption on that involves pins and looks painful. There is a hospital a few stops down. I imagine they are going there. Though I hope I am wrong. Perhaps they are going out for margaritas instead. There is no reason not to celebrate, even when one is in a wheelchair and a head brace with pins in it.
A white convertible drives past with two middle-age men in it. One is balding. “No,” he told his friends, “This is not a mid-life crisis car. I just want to feel the wind in what hair I have left. And also, my life is leaving me for her personal trainer.”
The man pushing the man in the wheelchair spots me and surprises me with an exuberant wave. I wave back. I am glad someone is not doubting my abilities to sit on a ledge without hurdling off. I am a grown woman for godssake.
I should go to the gym. As soon as I finish this glass of wine.
A man dressed in a blue sweatshirt and a blue cap and blue jeans walks slowly from one end of the platform to another. It is nearly 80 degrees sir. A sweatshirt is an ambitious choice for the evening.
He sits down to wait for the train. There is no one else to write about now, so I imagine this man's story. He is headed to volunteer with the blind. He will take them to the park and describe what the children look like playing. When the sun begins to set, he will say, “And now God rests his eyes.”
