During my morning commute I see the same caucasian male, late 30’s, dark hair, full beard who wears a black leather jacket in Winter. He looks like a Bill. I see Bill every morning, Monday through Friday. I’ve never seen Bill before I swipe my MetroCard; I first spot him on the subway platform. We board the train at Broadway and usually ride in the same car. We get off at 49th. We exit the same stairwell. We walk a block in the same direction before finally losing each other. In two years, although we’ve brushed shoulders once or twice, we’ve never said a word to one another. Never. We’ve never even made eye contact. But there he is and I know he knows I’m there, too.
Yesterday, I went to Origins and used my 15% Tex in the City discount. I told Jill I wanted something to jazz up my dull skin. Of course, I know if I drank water and ate healthy I wouldn’t need herbs crushed in a jar to make my skin look better. Instead I choose to inhale my meals that consist of things like last night’s dinner of an entire canister of Pringles Salt & Vinegar crisps and 16 ounces of Nestle’s Nesquick Chocolate Milk. Since I can’t stop eating like a poor college kid or starving artist, I’ll pay the price Origins or any other store wants to charge to help me feel as though I’m at least trying to do something to preserve my body since I never go to the doctor and don’t brush my teeth before bedtime.
So $100 later and I’m happy with my purchases but feeling frustrated. I’m alone in the City and don’t have my cell phone and just…I don’t know. So I say, “Screw it,” and head back home. After waiting too long on the platform, and letting an “R” go on without me hoping an “N” or “W” wouldn’t be just as long, a “W” finally pulls up heading from downtown towards home. I step up to the doors, they slide open and there he is: Bill.
He stopped in his tracks a moment and his eyes grew wide and my mouth fell open. He got off and I got on and still we didn’t say a word. I love New York.