Torontica - A Subway Friend

This isn't properly my story to tell. It was related to me a friend of mine, years after it had happened. It is his story, but I will try to do it justice in the telling.

We were at a bar on College Street - one of the fashionable cookie-cutter martini lounges that have transformed Little Italy into the scenester's scene over the past decade. A few drinks had been consumed, tongues were loosened, and there was just enough volume to ensure that our conversation wouldn't be overheard.

We were (perhaps predictably) finding ourselves enjoying the sights around us. Many pretty women dressed in heels, short dresses and tasteful make-up adorned the chairs, but one seemed to have caught my friend's eye. I repeatedly caught his attention wandering to her face while we sipped harsh, expensive drinks and traded thoughts.

When I asked why he kept looking at that particular woman, he shook his head and apologized. After a bit of prodding, he hesitantly told me his story.

It turned out that she (again, perhaps predictably) reminded him of someone from a few years gone by. He had been working downtown at the time, at a 9 to 5 desk job. He rode the same train and streetcar to work every day, to and from work...day after day, month after month. He was not alone in his routine, as any urban commuter will tell you.

Over time, familiar faces began standing out from the crowd. An older man with poor sartorial habits. A TTC streetcar driver perpetually wearing sunglasses. Loud chatting couples. People who smelled strange. And a woman.

He began noticing her at his subway stop almost immediately. She was consistently well dressed and groomed, but not overly so. He said that he always guessed she worked as a creative in a well-paying agency, as she always seemed to be put together carefully, but not to impress. She was in her late 20s, and of medium height and build. Long, black, thick hair that was presented in a multitude of clean, ordered styles. He couldn't tell what her background was, but the safe money was on a mixed heritage...she had creamy skin and a slight tilt to her eyes - which were what caught his attention in the first place.

And so it went. He would see her in the subway on the morning, admire discreetly, and then go about his day. He didn't think much of it, assuming that most people had someone similar in their commuting routine. He was content to appreciate from afar. Besides, he said, it gave him an excuse to try to look decent in the morning.

He was aware, one morning, that he was also being inspected with approval. He was flattered, but again, was more intent on getting to work than engaging in an awkward subway conversation with a stranger to take any action. Days and weeks passed. Their eyes would speak quietly to each other, tactfully respecting the silent boundary between them.

One morning, though, he ran late for work. It was a date of some importance for his career (an annual review was taking place). He threw himself together and dashed to the subway in a bit of a panic, oblivious to his surroundings.

A few stops down the line on an extremely crowded car, his thoughts began to organize amidst the chaos of faces and limbs pressed into motion - and a sensation dawned on him. Something very soft was pressing against his torso. He blinked, and looked down. And (of course) there she was.

He registered a low-cut black silk blouse, before his eyes jumped out of the firm, pleasant cleavage pushing against his ribs and into his reflection in the subway's window. He caught her eye in the reflection, and saw that she was smiling slightly before she dropped her gaze and rubbed against him slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Caught off guard and unsure of what to do, he looked at her again, this time turning his head to look at her directly. She remained quiet, smiling like the Mona Lisa, her eyes fixed on the floor. His eyes were drawn into her shirt again before he flicked his gaze back out of the car.

A few stops later, she was gone.

He was flushed the whole day, just thinking of what had happened - until he found the note tucked into his jacket pocket. It read:

I'm moving to San Francisco tomorrow, but I wanted you to know that I'll miss seeing you in the morning.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed the view.

He never saw her again, he told me, but every once in awhile a girl would jolt him into that memory. She still kept him company, in his dreams.