by Dave Nash

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I saw you waiting at the front of the platform, I inched up closer. I hung behind the other commuters who allowed me anonymity. I strained for a better look.

I saw you on a good day, a lucid moment from my ennui; yesterday I would have put my head in my phone and waited for the train to pull in.

I glanced back towards the city; I could see headlights coming down the tracks.

I began walking towards you with resolution. You in your cream unstructured linen blazer and brown jetsetter stretch suit pants.

I used to dress like that until I started investing in classics that last for ten years like this navy Brooks Brothers suit.

The train took its time. I couldn’t hear the electric hiss on the tracks that ran fifty feet in front of it.

I had a friend who started out like us, but he got involved in the wrong thing.

I think about him when the train comes in fast. He threw himself in front of the A train at 181st, must have made one last score up there.

I knew you were visiting someone. You had wine for the occasion, maybe a fifth for the ride. I used to roll like that.

I have a good sense of timing and crowds after all these years riding trains.

You wanted me to school you on navy suits and acceptable suburbs. You needed me to dispel your illusions and your false perceptions, the root of your angst and anger.

I noticed how much time you spent grooming your facial hair. That was never my thing but I admired it.

The hot sooty air of the lead car passed me.

My friend would have to wait for another day for me to join him.

I needed to reach you before you sat down next to someone else. I needed to find myself in dissecting your thoughts. I advanced with purpose. I would find mine through you.

The conductor stepped out of the first door. Some pushy guy got in my way, then there was a frumpy gal. I passed by you in the aisle seat. Someone had the window seat.

What was there to say except, “Those pants match your beard. It’s a nice touch.”  Next time I’ll stand closer to the front and we’ll talk.

© Dave Nash

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Dave Nash (he/him) listens to jazz sampled by hip-hop hits while he types. Dave is the Non-Fiction Editor at Five South Magazine and he typed words that can be found in places like Jake, Atlantic Northeast, Midwestern Heat, Roi Faineant Press, and Boats Against the Current. You can follow him @davenashlit1. 

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