one.
I sat idly in the chair, the usual chatter happening all around me. I held a book in one hand, and a coffee in the other. The train ride was nearly 20 minutes long, and every day I brought along a book and coffee. The same routine, read a page, drink, bump, read a page, drink, over and over again. It was a dry schedule: no real excitement.
I sat in the same seat - or nearly the same seat - every morning, and again in the evening. There was no change in my routine whatsoever.
Until one day, there was a new guy on the train. He always sat near me, a book in hands. He had short brown hair, slightly curly, and was very tall and slim. He had an interesting fashion sense, wearing floral button downs and torn skinny jeans. His shoes were a whole other topic, shiny and expensive looking. He was intriguing.
Days passed, and I never said a word to him. He always seemed buried in his book, like no one around him bothered him. He always got off two stops before me, near the Daily Planet.
I never saw him talk, and I was assuming because he had no one to talk to. He never flinched when someone yelled too loudly, or when the train came to a screeching halt. It was odd - almost everybody reacted to the noises. It became a daily ritual for me, watching him on the train. I would watch him read, and occasionally he would look up, and I would see his eyes. They were a wonderful green. I don't think he minded my staring.
A few more days passed, and we still hadn't talked. I began growing impatient, I thought he would try to say something to me. Maybe he was shy? I don't know, I wasn't good with identifying people's behaviors or mannerisms. Either way, I was going to talk to that man. It was on the top of my bucket list.
Days eventually turned to months, and I had grown obsessed with him. I could map out his entire morning routine, and I learned some things about him. He lived on Broad Street, near a small diner. I wasn't a stalker, but I had missed my stop one evening and saw him get off. I also learned one important thing: he was deaf.
This information took me by surprise, but only made me more interested in knowing him. I had seen him talk, only small phrases, which made sense. He said "Sorry" and "Excuse Me." It was like a milestone for our relationship, our pathetic one-sided relationship.
It had been four months since I first saw him, and my parents were beginning to wonder if I'd ever buy a car. I continued to ride the train to and from work, exactly like clockwork. It was amazing.
I had grown very fond of this young man, his enticing green eyes and his sensible fashion. I wanted desperately to talk to him, but I didn't know sign language and I didn't know if he knew how to read lips.
I'll figure it out sooner or later. Maybe.
