In another week, his wish came true. He was just stepping out of a deli carrying a while plastic bag with a gourmet sandwich he couldn’t really afford when she power-walked past him, long brown hair swishing behind her like a flag. He stopped, stunned as she disappeared into the sea of New York bodies moving along the sidewalk. He hesitated for the briefest (or longest) of moments and then started to run. His long legs stretching and breathing, despite their confinement in his cheap label jeans. The sandwich in its bag bouncing around noisily, the laptop case slung around his shoulders getting heavier and heavier. Still, he ran. Repeat encounters like this didn’t happen in New York. There must be a reason. Some destiny he was fulfilling by chasing after this girl. He didn’t think about what he was going to say. He just had to catch her.
He dodged through the oncoming foot traffic, throat too dry to ask people to get out of his way. So he panted and waved his arms and turned his wiry frame to the side to slip through the cracks in the crowd. All the while, locking his sights on the girl that wasn’t going to get away this time.
Finally, he found her standing at the corner, waiting to cross as soon as the light turned. This was his chance. This was the moment.
He approached her carefully, trying to temper his breathing so he didn’t sound like a crazy person. Mouth and lips dry, he willed the saliva to come so he could speak. He circled around her until her soft profile filled his view. She turned to him instantly and smiled.
“Hi,” she said. He stared at her, mind still processing the sound of her voice while also taking in her warm, open smile. She was looking at him in a way that made him confused and dumb. She was looking into him, through him, up into his brain, down through his organs. She could see him, he was sure of it. And he was seeing her. And it felt like home.
He stared, unable to speak. What could he possibly say at this moment? It felt so much bigger than his little life. A monumental connection in a city of disconnect. A life disconnected. He had nothing to say.
Her smile widened as she stood there, feet on the ground, looking right at him. She reached out with her hand. “You have a hole in your jacket,” she said as she stuck her finger into the hole and brushed against his hot skin. Her fingertip was soft and smooth and cool as silk. He closed his eyes, drinking in the feeling. She was here. Touching him. He was complete.
He heard a ding. The light had changed. He opened his eyes and she was still smiling at him. “Bye,” she said, and hopped off the curb and crossed the street. He watched her go, too tired to move, too overwhelmed to call after her, too…everything.
She was a girl on the go, that was for sure. And he stayed just where he was. Stuck in New York, in his life, unable to go. He lived in reality. But he’d glimpsed the other side. And it was beautiful.
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