chapter three: horseshoes and handgrenades

...the story continues: 

Horseshoes and Handgrenades
I woke up, muscles sore from having recently doubled my workout, eyes bleary from a three-scotch-and-soda consolation prize for not seeing the woman with the hypnotic eyes on Caltrain 379 last night. As I walked down 4th and crossed Howard and passed the carousel and underused Yerba Buena Gardens, I decided that if she was on the train again today I would actually talk with her, and get her name, and see if she wanted to go out for a drink.

I got on the train and took my usual seat, and by the time the doors had closed at 4th and Townsend my stomach had butterflies and I kept willing the window seat in front of me to stay empty. The train jerked out of the station and the seat remained free.

Caltrain has been conducting a survey over the past week or so, same one both directions, with the usual suspects of questions: where did you get on, how did you get there, where are you getting off, how are you proceeding from there, what type of ticket do you have, how long have you been riding Caltrain for, did some marketing thing that Caltrain did last August convince you to ride more frequently. Part of me would like to believe the surveys are to figure out how to better provide service to those of us stuck on a train an hour each way each day. That part is beaten up regularly by the part of me that knows that the surveys will be used to cut back on trains and stops. Trying to stick up for the part of me that was being beaten up, I took the survey again after telling the woman that I'd taken it the week before, and she explained that they wanted passengers to fill it out in both directions. Screwy, and I'd love to know how that skews the numbers. However, it did distract me for a fraction of a moment.

By the time we approached 22nd the butterflies had evolved into giant Tongan fruit bats, and I looked out the window to see the guy with the short hair, off-the-rack suit, and sneakers dawdling down the stairs as he always did, slowly validating his ticket, taking his sweet time as the train waited for him. I turned my head and saw the woman from the day before come up the stairs to the second level of the car, ringlets of hair playing over her eyes, grey corduroy jacket and light green skirt, a tease of skin just before a different pair of black mid-calf boots. Her eyes met mine and we both smiled. The window seat across from me was still empty, but she opted for the seat directly across the aisle and facing me. She sat and gave me a look that I have an afternoon set aside for, and proceeded to reach in her handbag. She says that she almost didn't make the train this morning, pulls out an iPod, smiles again, and pulls her laptop out of her work bag. Maybe she has to catch up on some work I thought, until she grimaced and put it away, looking at me as if I knew why. My guesses were "dead battery" and "clever ruse to talk with me". While I'm not sure if I was right on my first guess, I knew full well I was dead wrong on the second, as she pulled out the new Wired, put in her earbuds, and started reading.

All of three minutes had passed since we left 22nd and I didn't know what I should do. The train delaying off-the-rack suit and sneakers guy took the window seat, and the survey woman came round again to get the passengers who had just boarded. The woman with the green skirt takes one, as does the guy who's sitting where she should be, and I page through the rest of the paper, not reading a word of it.

When we arrived at Hillsdale my crossword was a mess of black ink and crossouts, and I wondered what day in school I'd missed where they taught how to have social skills. I couldn't exactly force a conversation, and I certainly couldn't just give her the business card I'd subtly extracted from the wallet in my left back pocket to my right back pocket and suggest we go out sometime. But I sure as hell couldn't just let this lie.

As we left Palo Alto my time was running out. My second-to-last ditch chance to talk with her would be when my favorite conductor came through to check tickets: she'd take her earbuds out, and then I could at least talk with her a little, how was work yesterday and your name is and that kind of thing. The one day he doesn't do it, and it's today. The best laid plans of mice and men, and I was definitely a mouse.

My last ditch chance to talk with her was a failure from the moment the train delayer got on at 22nd took his survey. I thought I could wait until we got to Mountain View, and as everyone was getting up and me talking wouldn't pierce the dead silence on the train, I could then say, "by the way, I'm Luke," and suggest going out for a drink sometime. But having glanced at his survey, his destination was San Jose, so he'd be sitting right there the entire time. "Fuck it," I thought, "he doesn't know you, and you don't give a shit anyway." And then she'd be stuck on the train with him for the next 13 minutes, and might feel as awkward as I was not wanting to saying anything in front of this guy. Again, I wondered what day of school I missed.

"Now arriving Mountain View, Mountain View station", and I rose as the train stopped, and she looked up and took an earbud out. I said "I hope you have a nice day - see you tomorrow morning?" She grinned and said so long as she made the train.