20-minute Metro Crush (May 16/17 Edition)
I didn’t see her get on the train because of the inebriated college kids bouncing around, taking swigs of Bailey’s being offered by the Hispanic guy they almost got into a fight with.
Between the posturing and half-hearted restraint, I caught a glimpse of her. She was half a train car away, cozy in the corner made by the back of her seat and the side of the train. Just her head poked up above the seat in front of her, but it was enough to catch my attention.
Her hair was fabulous.
It was a rich brown with solid body and caught the normally unflattering Metro light just right to make it shine. Even from as far away as I was, I could sense the texture and flow of it. As she tossed her head or ran her hand through it, it behaved and went exactly where she wanted it to go.
But near-living hair wasn’t what made me fall for her. It was the face that hair framed.
When I first saw her, she had just made a call on her cell phone. Who she was talking to, I can only guess. Perhaps a friend she hadn’t seen in a while, maybe someone she had just parted ways with… the “who” of the conversation doesn’t matter. In the space of just a few minutes, I watched a number of emotions and attitudes come clearly across her face. It was almost cartoonish the way her brow would knit or her eyes would sparkle with a smile in response to whatever was being said. The angles and curves of her features spelled out exactly what was going on with her, as clearly as a performer on a stage.
I could watch that exquisite, expressive face for hours.
Of course, she lost her signal at one point or another, leaving her deep brown eyes (as lively, if not more so, as her hair) showing more than a glimmer of disappointment.
I tried not to stare too much. Thankfully, with the still drunk (and drinking) college kids between her and I, it wasn’t that difficult.
Then, two stops before the end of the line, we were the only two people in that train car.
Needless to say, my mind began racing a bit.
Should I walk back that half-car length and tell her just how amazing she looks? Would that be just too much? Even if that’s all I before returning to my end of the car? Maybe I could comment about the craziness that had been going on earlier… she was at least as close to it as I was, if not more so?
How the heck does a guy approach a woman on an empty metro train and not seem creepy?
The end of the line came and she and I were still silently on the train. I turned to get up, fully breaking even the peripheral gaze I had been barely maintaining. As I spun back to a more “natural” position, I didn’t see her. A second or two later, it became clear that she had moved… closer to where I was.
It was at that point I saw the dress. A simple, strapless, multi-hued blue dress. Not exceptionally fancy, but exceptionally flattering on her fit and trip form. That lively brown hair cascaded down along her slightly slanted pale shoulders–dark hair and dark eyes highlighting the structure of her upper body quite well.
On its own, neither the dress nor the body would likely seem all that spectacular. But some combination of circumstances and je ne sais quoi made her a goddess on that train, in that instant.
As the train pulled into the station, she stood with a poise and purpose that made me weak in the knees.
Determined to test fate at least a little, I slowed my normal pace considerably as I left the train, climbed the escalator and made my way to the station exit.
I could hear the footsteps of a dozen different people behind me, but I could still pick hers out. She was nearby and gaining on me. I hoped, for an instant, that I would feel a tap on my shoulder and she would speak to me. Even if it were a vaguely accusatory “I saw you leering at me on the train, stop it” it would be an opening for conversation.
On the escalator out of the station, we took different paths. I kept my slower than normal pace and watched as she passed me on the parallel path.
Now I was in an even more awkward position. Now I was following her. On purpose? No. We were both heading to the parking garage. (If she had turned to go to the cab stand, would I have called out and offered her a ride? The thought crossed my mind.)
There really wasn’t much that I wanted to do more right then than talk to her. Find out who she was, where she had been, who she had been on the phone with. Or, at least, tell her she was a creature of pure beauty that night.
One of the things on the list above breaking the silence, though, was not being hit with pepper spray. Another was to not be punctured by a car key. She held her keys in her hand, perhaps ready to swing them if I got too close, perhaps just ready to open the door to her car when she got to it.
I veered right and sped up, passing her as she again dialed her cell phone, a hint of worry showing on her face, and continued on to my borrowed vehicle.
Now I was musing about another question: Is there a good way, when you’re a guy, to approach a woman in an empty parking stucture? Or does doing so basically scream “Danger!”?
