A Whim of Desire

There I was, en route on the 26, people watching out of the corner of my eye. I am also meandering the pages of my book, as if to announce my psychological space from fellow commuters. My furtive glances let people know my ambivalent message: Yes, I am noticing you. No, I am not available for significant interaction. Please agree to this necessary truce as we step into the microcosm of public transit.

I am reading Pedagogy of the Oppressed, another book to stir all my passions of social justice. I am reading about revolutions, when I notice two green shoes amble down the aisle.

At this point, my book becomes very intriguing, my gaze even more intent on the page, my peripheral vision suddenly quite acute.

Mr. Green Shoes sits down and takes out his Seattle Times. My furtive glances travel from shoes to retro orange sweater to newsies cap a top his head. I catch a quick profile, before returning to the revolution.

He notices me noticing him. I pretend not to notice. I notice him noticing me. He pretends not to notice. This is a classic bus crush. We go through Wallingford and Fremont and Belltown that way, coyly saying hello. Mr. Green Shoes is immersed in the paper and I am enraptured in my learning, all the while catching quick, intermittent profiles. At one point, Mr. Green Shoes banters with the Grandmother next to him on the bus, endearing her with his boyish charm just loud enough for me to hear. I am a psychology student; I know who he is really flirting with.

We discover we have the same stop. I get up first and make a motion for Mr. Green Shoes that he can go before me. We linger a slight moment, not sure what to do with our departure. To speak or not to speak? Mr. Green Shoes breaks the silence. "After you Madame,” he says with a flair of chivalry. "Thank you," I answer, ready to run out the door now that we have risked verbal expression. This is getting far too serious for me. Dashing off the bus, feet on pavement, I quickly turn in the opposite direction and hear Mr. Green Shoes blurt out, "Have a good day," as one final attempt. I turn around for a brisk moment to express the same notion, before clearly being on my way in the opposite direction. Good by, Mr. Green Shoes, I say to myself. Our short affair is over. But, after a quick ten strides, my curiosity gets the best of me and I pivot to catch another glimpse. He has also dashed off, only to find his curiosity peaking at the precise moment. So we stand there, 40 feet apart, staring at one another. Pretending not to, though our game of pretend is rather hopeless at this point. My senses kick in and I turn around for good. But at the next light, I can’t help it. I turn around to catch one more glimpse at the orange speck in the distance, but lo and behold, Mr. Green Shoes is experiencing the same anxiety of separation. We had both walked our respective blocks still unresolved. So here we are, staring at each other, a hundred feet apart. What do to? Walk towards each other? Be on our merry way? The moment lingers, rather sweetly and awkwardly, as two strangers stare at each other down 3rd Avenue.

So, what did I do Reader? I soaked in the morning sunshine, smiled at life, and slipped around the corner. The charming Mr. Green Shoes was a lovely encounter, but sometimes I like the encounters best that have no denouement.