Transfer in Queens

So there I am, walking through the subway station where I transfer, carrying 500 bags that I seem to always have strapped to me. It's a busy time of night, a bit later than rush hour, but still early enough that people are commuting from work. And suddenly, there he is, my 10th grade crush, coming towards me. At first I'm not sure and (honestly) don't feel like stopping to talk even if it is, but then we pass each other and he calls out: "Jenny?!"

The naming is a sure sign of the past.

He looks older, more like his father. He is insanely tall. "Were you always this tall?" I ask him randomly, a few minutes into the conversation. He confides that he grew a foot in college. I am suddenly very aware of how I look in comparison with who I was in 10th grade. I am self-conscious, but try to keep the conversation interesting. He does too.

It's amazing to me how much men grow into their fathers. Almost without exception. Suddenly their necks get a bit wider and their faces fuller and their shoulders broader and their waists fill out. Tall, lanky boys never seem to turn into tall, lanky men. They are, instead, suddenly powerful before you.

Eleven years after our Driver's Ed class together, we run into each other on the subway in the largest city in America. This is what I love about New York- the endless possibility of confronting your past, present and future at every turn.


Suffragettes said...

Hi darling. It's been a while since we last spoke. I love reading your notes, there something very poetical in your way of speakink or writing english. Very "imagée" but also very musical. Well, I'm a fan !

Linda said...

that was a really beautiful description.. i'm glad i stumbled onto your blog