Auto-Sear

04.07.25

<rant>A writer should be courageous; this sounds like something somebody once said. There are times though when a writer should wear their intentions on their sleeve and my intention here is: to not accidentally offend. I am writing about an “odd” couple with, I hope, the appropriate level of delicacy and gender awareness and when I use the word odd it’s only to say that these two people were vastly dissimilar in appearance, and not that I believe any arrangement of human beings in love (or, in protolove, in this case) is any stranger than another. The heart wants what it wants, all love is beautiful. </end.rant>

On the 7 train, gray and rainy day. Sitting reading a book, back to the platform-side. Two walk on and sit next to one another, already in conversation. They go to school together, it’s possible to glean. On the right: a pint-size Asian girl, androgynous though in Coke-bottle glasses, hairdo a two-tone dye job in a sort of near mullet; it is the haircut of an Australian boy. She’s wearing a striped Kohl’s-style button-up, primary colors, and a pair of khakis with (if I’m lying, I’m dying) the trademark Pointdexter ink splotch from a broken pen in the front right pocket. On the left: black girl; she’s 6’6″ if she’s an inch, a giant dual-cresting head of curly hair that resembles kinda a potted plant, bullhorn septum piercing and hoops in both ears big as ship helms. She’s wearing all black, save a gold belt- big interlocking gold circles across, and big black shit-kicking boots.

It is not polite to eavesdrop, but I pick up:

“How many classes are you taking?” -the small one

“Too many.”

A shared laugh. (Not by me. I do not share in the laugh. They share the laugh.)

“Are you getting off at this stop?” -the small one [@ Court Square]

“I’m not.”

You can almost feel the nerves radiating off her when she follows up:

“Maybe I should get your number?”

“Oh yeah.”

Buried the lede, this is the Thing To Love: the tall one takes the short one’s cell phone and as she’s putting in her number, the short one is staring at her. On her face, it’s possible to read: hope, lust, incredulity, butterflies, happiness; each as subtle as a brushstroke.

The little one is handed back her phone, and she levitates off the train.