Train 1525 by Sarah McNamara
On the 6 am train to Grand Central, a man with tortoiseshell glasses leaned toward the woman sitting across from him. They stared into each other’s eyes while the other passengers slept, slack-jawed, or stared vacantly into their phones.
The couple revealed, without words, everything I could imagine them wanting to say. His pupils dilated; her freckled cheeks turned the color of fresh beets. It was as if they had just discovered they were in love.
The other passengers disappeared. I could only see the two of them, rendering volumes, like the chapters of the book I read last summer—the one I never wanted to end for how it pulled me in and away from reality.
They matched each whispered movement as though they were starlings in a murmuration, sweeping through the blushing sky, as the sun dips below the horizon. They danced a forgotten waltz that can only be conjured when the seasons and stars align.
With every second that passed, I felt they were reenacting one of my neglected memories—when Pax leaned toward me and held my gaze. If only I could repeat that moment! I would lean in, without hesitation, and kiss him.
But that is my regret, not theirs. These enchanted minutes will likely become a well-looked-after memory—where she never forgets the look in his eyes and he never forgets the blush in her cheeks. And years from now, regardless of how they end up, they will see a couple dancing the same forgotten waltz, and be reminded how it feels to be adored.
Sarah resides in Connecticut. Her work has been featured on Ink In Thirds Online and is forthcoming in Ink In Thirds Magazine and 101 Words.
sarahrosemcnamara.blogspot.com
Photo by Matthew Feeney on Unsplash
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I love this piece. It’s poignant and beautiful. It also evoked for me old feelings of new love and my own regret at not having taken chances that, in retrospect, seem easy enough to have taken.
I look forward to more.