The B Train
The first time he saw her, she was rushing off the subway car in the early morning. A flash of a blue dress and white high-heeled boots strode past him as he stood on the platform waiting for the express. Her blond hair flowed out behind her, and she was gone before he even knew it.
The first time he touched her was that afternoon on the B train, when everything went dark and stopped with a sudden lurch. She had been standing behind him, but the force of the sudden stop threw her onto his back. Her hand flew out to grab the pole in front of him, but instead just grabbed his wrist. Her hand was soft and just the slightest bit cold. Her pale fingers stretched around his tanned wrist, the unpolished nails gripping into his wrist.
The first time he heard her was a quickly muttered, “Sorry,” as she stood up. Her voice was quiet and melodic, the low tones of the single word like music to his ears.
The first time he smelled her was as he muttered, “Its okay,” in reply to her apology. As he took a deep breath, he could smell her perfume. Fresh and citrus-ey, her scent reminded him of his family’s drives through the orange groves an hour from their home in Florida. They would roll down the windows and drive around for as long as they could, stopping to pick an orange when they were sure no one was around to stop them.
The first time they went out was that evening. As they stood in the dark of the halted subway car, he introduced himself.
“I’m John.”
“Vanessa,” she replied. The next few minutes were spent in quiet small talk. She was an associate editor at a teen magazine. Originally from a small town in Virginia, she had moved to the city after graduating from high school. Four years at NYU had cemented her love of America’s biggest metropolis, and she had never looked back. He was in marketing, a twenty-five year old native of Florida who had gone to school on Long Island and moved to Manhattan three years ago.
The lights in the car flickered on and off, and each time they flickered on the train lurched forward, only to stop again a moment later. Vanessa had moved so that she stood beside John, her hand below his on the pole. The small talk continued, covering families (he had just come home from visiting for Christmas, she hadn’t seen hers in a year and a half) and hometowns (both miniscule), how different New York was from home (and how much they preferred the city) and the latest gossip from Page Six (absolute drivel, they agreed, as they traded scandals back and forth at lightening speed).
Through the dim light of the broken down subway car, John could only barely make out Vanessa’s delicate features. She was gorgeous, even more so up close than as a blur rushing off the train. And she was obviously intelligent, he could tell as they conversed. He knew that it wouldn’t be a good idea to try to make anything of this click on a broken down subway car. Women always started to talk to him on the subway. The dates were always miserable. It was as though the subway brought out the best in each and every one of these women, but no matter what they were much less interesting once they were sitting in a dimly lit restaurant picking at a salad.
It had been his New Year’s resolution that he would stop asking out women he met on the subway. He would meet women in a normal way, he decided, through his friends or something. Anything but these women who appeared to be so fascinating and perfect in the dark of a subway car. But he felt such a connection with Vanessa! This stunning woman was already testing his resolution in only the second week of the year.
When, after an hour of lurching in the dark, the train finally started to move again, John began to fidget. Nervously, he glanced at his black wristwatch, then back to Vanessa, then back to his watch again. Where had they been before the train had stopped, anyway? How far was he from home? He started glancing out of the windows at every stop, counting down how long he would have to stand here testing his resolve.
“What,” she asked with a smirk, “Got a hot date tonight?” He locked eyes with her for a half a second and looked away. This was not good conversation territory.
“Wh- what?” he stammered, “No, no date.”
“Now that’s surprising,” she replied, “I would’ve guessed a guy like you would have enough female interest to circle a city block.”
“No,” he replied, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot, “Not really, no.”
“I wonder why not?” she teased, a twinkle in her blue eyes, “Let me guess… Any physical deformities that I can’t see? Webbed toes, an extra finger maybe?” He shook his head no, and she continued, “Then maybe your apartment? You have four cats, or you haven’t picked up the pizza boxes in six months. Or you live with your mother!”
“I’m allergic to cats,” he retorted, “It’s more likely to be Chinese take-out containers than pizza boxes, but I’m pretty clean. And my mother is in Florida!” John was ready to smack himself. Witty repartee was not needed now, when he wanted to not ask her out. Going along with her flirting would just make a dinner invitation expected. He glanced at his watch again, trying to avoid eye contact. As much as he wanted to ask her for dinner, he wouldn't. He was going to keep this resolution.
“Well then, I guess I won’t have to time to figure out this mystery,” Vanessa said with an over exaggerated sigh, “I get off at the next station.” John sighed in relief. Now he could finally relax. Except… Did he really want to let her go? Maybe she’d finally be an interesting woman from the subway. Maybe she didn’t pick at a salad on dates, maybe she actually ordered food. Besides, he attempted to rationalize, who actually keeps New Year’s resolutions?
“Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?”
“Oh, I can’t,” she replied, “My girlfriend said that she has something special planned tonight. But we should do lunch sometime!” She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a business card as John repeated those words through his head again and again. “Here, you can call my cell sometime. It was nice meeting you, John!” she said, placing the business card in his free hand and kissing his cheek as the train pulled into the station and lurched to a stop.
John stared in shock as Vanessa walked off the train, blond ponytail bouncing with every step of her white boots. That was the last time he ever saw her.
But he couldn’t escape her smell. The scent of citruses lingered around him for the rest of the night, even after he had taken a shower. Everywhere he went, he would smell it, and it was worst when he went home to Florida for Thanksgiving.
Eventually, the scent disappeared, but John resolved to invest in a decent pair of headphones for his iPod. At the very least, he could become one of those people who ignore everyone else on the subway. Maybe it would keep him from falling for every pretty girl on the B train.
Guess I'm not 
