[img]1325|left|Alex Campbell ||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — So I’m done with my haircut, and I notice it’s just about time for H to be heading home from work. I text him and coordinate a plan to take the train home together. He’ll be coming in from uptown, stop at my stop, I’ll just jump on and we’ll ride together the rest of the way.
Well, it doesn’t quite work out that way. I see packed trains, one after the other. The station is much more crowded than usual. What’s going on? After a little while, there’s one train that’s less packed. I don’t get on it, though, because I’m waiting for the train my beloved is on.
A young man sits next to me and strikes up a conversation. “I like your tattoos.” He asks me if I go to school around here. “I used to,” I answer coyly. He tells me that he’s in his second year at the local music school. His instrument is his voice. I am very impressed. He must be 19 or 20. What would he do if he knew he was chatting it up with a 44-year-old? I’m too flattered to ruin the moment. I tell him that I’m a nanny, but I used to be a teacher (I leave out the part that says I’ve taught for 25 years, longer than he’s been alive). We chat for a bit, then he stops. Did he notice my wedding ring? Or the laugh lines around my eyes? No time to ponder; his train arrives, and he hops on.
H texts me and says he’s on the next train coming. Great; time to enact our plan. The train arrives…and it’s packed. Jammed. No room at the inn. He waves to me, and I blow him kisses and mouth that I’ll see him at home. There’s no way he’s getting off that train or I’m getting on. Oh, well, so much for a romantic ride home.
I wait for another train. Again, they’re stuffed full of people. This time, I notice the tell-tale signs of Red Sox fans; they’re all wearing red tee shirts. I gesture to a woman on the train, asking stupidly if there’s a game. She nods her head yes. I mouth a bad word. She laughs. I wait for the next train.
Finally, after an hour of being stuck underground waiting for a train that doesn’t resemble a can of sardines, I give up and head back upstairs. I figure I’ll grab dinner at Starbucks (have you ever tried their panini?), and head home after that. I get out into the open air again and look up at the sky. Dark grey. Uh oh. I duck into Starbucks just as the heavens open up, and there’s a major thunderstorm. I settle in with my panini, tea, and cake, and wait for it to stop. It doesn’t. I text H and ask him to pick me up from Starbucks with the car, as soon as he’s finished running an errand. He says he won’t be able to for an hour or two. No matter, I’m stuck here anyway.
Almost all the seats are taken, except for one facing the street in front of the window. I ask a student who is working two cell phones if anyone is sitting in the empty seat. She says, “I don’t think so…” Please, girl, you know no one is sitting there. She begins to text furiously on her phone.
I enjoy my meal and people-watching. No one is outside, save for a lone man with an enormous umbrella. He walks down the street without a care, because he is well protected. I look at my phone, anticipating H’s text. My battery is down to 8%. Uh oh. The clueless woman next to me leaves, and a studious-looking woman takes her place. I take a chance and ask her if she has a phone charger. She says that, actually, she does! Great. I borrow it and plug it into the wall. More people-watching. Wait, there’s the man with the umbrella again. Did he just walk around the block? Weird.
A nice looking man comes to our window and gestures for phone charger woman to come outside, as if he was meant to meet her. She looks away, and I realize she doesn’t know him. He tries again, and she looks down at her phone. I cast a sideways glance at her, and we both make a face. Creep.
Phone charger woman makes a phone call: “Hi, it’s Alex.” I wait for her to finish her conversation so I can squeal, “My name is Alex, too! Is it Alexandra?” “Yes.” I can’t help myself. I blurt out, “When’s your birthday?” “October.” I sigh. Oh well. “I’m April.” I shut my mouth so she doesn’t think I’m a creep, too. I give her back her charger, and wait for my text. It has stopped raining. We leave Starbucks at the same time, wishing each other a good evening.
H picks me up in the car, and we finally get our ride home together. With a little drama thrown in for good measure.
Ms. Vaillancourt may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
