TRAIN GAME

Even in a job where the times and dates are notorious for changing at the last minute, it had been a particularly unpredictable week. My schedule had changed from day to night at least 3 times and when I awoke from my unplanned (and as it turns out untimely) nap on the Orange Line, I was a bit confused. I wasn’t sure if I was on my way to work or on my way back… Although I love my job, its times like these that make me question the wisdom of ever joining the work force.

Glancing down at my watch revealed that it was 2:30 pm, and that I had a thermos of coffee at my side… I must be on the way to work. The train conductor’s voice boldly announced the next stop, “Orange Line to Vienna, next stop McPherson Square.”

I wasn’t exactly sure where that stop was, but I knew it was well past my usual stop on Capitol Hill… In fact, it was possible that I had missed my stop, taken the Orange Line all the way to the end, and was now back on my way towards the Hill again.

I quickly scanned the train in search of a map to confirm this suspicion.

It was there that I saw her, in the seat that blocks the view of the map… why do they put a seat in front of the map?

What first caught my attention, besides that fact that she was blocking my view of the map, was her hair. Braids, with a hint of pink highlights in them… Then I noticed the piercing, eyebrow and lip… and the vibrantly colored butterfly tattoos that started at her left wrist and made their way up her forearm.

Her skin was bronze, her eyes green, and despite her eccentricities she was breathtakingly beautiful… Scratch that… I should say that her eccentricities were part of her beauty… or maybe what I mean is, she would have been beautiful with even the most conservative of appearances, but her eccentricities seemed to only add to her beauty… Perhaps her parents or some uptight protector of “family values” would disagree with that assessment, but this story is told from my eyes.

Perhaps even more striking than her obvious beauty was her relaxed state of being… There aren’t a whole lot of people on the Orange Line at 2:30 in the afternoon, but the people who are on the train, are busy.

They’re just leaving work and in a hurry to beat rush hour traffic; they’re headed to another part of town for a meeting; they’re tourists trying to cram in as many sights as they can into one humid DC afternoon; or they’re like me, late for work.

This train girl didn’t seem to fit any categories. She wasn’t glancing at her watch. She wasn't even wearing a watch… She wasn’t yapping into her cell phone… She wasn’t sitting on the edge of her seat listening intently for the call of the next stop…. She appeared to just be enjoying the ride.

There was a well used duffel bag resting on her feet. Patches sewn into the fabric of the bag gave me a deeper look at who she might be… Che was there in striking red and black, making his famous glare at whoever might pass by; There were several patches of bands I didn’t really know but now had a sudden deep desire to hear… There was a patch of the sun and moon... There was also a large patch was the Brazilian flag… Was she from Brazil? Maybe her parents were? Or maybe she has once visited there on vacation?

I quickly tried to fill in the gaps based on assumptions, half-truths, and wild guesses.

I named her Paola, and I decided she was on break from her liberal and no doubt very rigorous studies at some University in Rio. The rebelious daughter of a doctor.

Her summer travels had already taken her to the usual stops in Europe. Now maybe she was bumping around the US, her instinct serving as both compass and tour guide… Maybe she would stay in DC another week, or maybe the wind would blow her in the direction of Miami to check out South Beach.

She didn’t know where her whims might take her anymore than I did. She was as free as a person could be. There were no limitations such as time, money, or emotional attachments. Or especially work commitments. I doubt seriously that Paola has ever been so overowrked that she couldn't remember where she was going.

It didn’t matter to me if ANY of my story was correct. She could have actually been the anchorless and beautiful adventurer I saw her to as, or maybe not…

As I continued to imagine what my dream girl might be like, the conductor continued to call off stops… My earlier assumption had been correct; I had missed my stop so terribly that we were now on the way back towards it again.

I thought about trying to start up a conversation with her... Paola… Our eyes had met a couple of times and she flashed a warm and possibly inviting (?) smile.

But really, what good could come of that? Even with the best case scenario: I start up a conversation, and somehow within the couple of minutes that lay between now and my stop, she falls as inexplicably in love with me as I was with her.

I would then have to make the choice between missing my stop (again) or staying longer to talk with her… and why?

So I could find out she was really just some girl who was on her way to her job at the mall… That her name wasn’t Paola, it was Mindy and she wasn’t really even Brazilian… she was just a girl with a great tan and a boyfriend who loves the Brazilian National Team so much that he sewed the flag on this old duffel bag that she was now using to tote around their dirty laundry… Maybe that’s where she was headed, the laundry mat! Wouldn’t that be a fine way to ruin the image I had?

No, I would NOT ruin the anonymity of my Train Game by actually talking to this girl! No matter how beautiful she was, I would never, under NO circumstances let her go and ruin the perfect statue I had sculpted with something as silly and pointless as the truth.

After all, there would be others. That’s the beauty of the Train Game; the doors slide open up and new waves of people come in. You pick someone out and make them as daring and provocative as you want… They can be dangerous, or perhaps generous. They can be tragically flawed, or they can be perfect, like Paola.

The only thing they can’t be is… them.