Katharyn took out Rilke’s Letters To A Young Poet and read it while the L train stood stationary during one of its delays. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a tall blonde peering over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of what she read. He possessed the kind of good looks admired in the 1950s: hair combed neatly to the side, a clean shaven face and chiseled features. Katharyn’s cheeks began burning when she realized he had turned his attention from her book to her face. She tried to keep reading but her brain no longer recognized the groups of letters on the page as meaningful words. She stuffed the book into her purse.
“So, what are you going to be late for?” It took Katharyn a few seconds to realize the blonde man spoke to her. She looked up at him and laughed, sharing solidarity in the trials and tribulations of riding the unreliable L train.
“I’ll be late for class,” she replied. “And you?”
“Work. Where do you go to school?”
“NYU.”
“What’s your major? I went to NYU too.”
“I’m getting my master’s in music.”
“Oh, I thought you were an undergrad. Cool. I work in advertising.”
Katharyn started to grow uncomfortable with the old ennui of the small talk. She said, “That’s nice,” and looked down at her feet, hoping he would go away. He was cute, but it was nine am and she was sleepy and didn’t know what to say. By now the L had started moving, and her stop was only a few moments away.
“Do you live in Williamsburg?” he asked.
“Yup. I just moved to Greenpoint, off of Manhattan Ave. I love it, the neighborhood is very safe and quiet.”
The train arrived at her stop, and she indicated to the blonde man she had to get off. He smiled and said, “Great, this is my stop too!” They walked up the stairs and exited into Union Square in silence, too busy pushing through their fellow commuters to continue chatting.
When they broke free from the crowd, the blonde man extended his hand and said, “My name is Peter,” and she said, “Katharyn.” They shook hands and stared at each other. Katharyn said, “Well, it was nice meeting you,” and started to walk away as Peter said, “Wait, can I have your number?” Katharyn gave it to him, and started babbling. “This week is really bad for me, and I’m going away this weekend, so yeah…just um…” Peter laughed, “I live here, so no rush. Don’t worry. I’ll give you a call.”
