“Do you read Anne Rice?” he asked.
In the morning on the subway before coffee I hardly know my name let alone what the random person next to me is talking about.
“I’m sorry?”
“Anne Rice,” he said again and my brain clicked open just enough to remember that Ms. Rice is the author of several gothic and religious themed books. I looked at the cover of the book I was currently reading to make sure I hadn’t entirely lost my mind. But White Noise by Don DeLillo is no Vampire Chronicles.
“No, I’ve never read her,” I said. “Why?”
“The black nail polish,” he said gesturing toward my hands. “All of those Goth readers seem to always have black nail polish.”
“Oh,” I said and for the first time noticed how green his eyes were and how striking his smile was. “Yeah, no, I just like the color.”
“That’s cool,” he said and smiled again and I wondered if all of the quiet people packed into the train could see me trying not to blush. “It’s like those Twilight readers too, right? Although I’ve never read it and probably never will.”
“I haven’t either, I’m sort of against them.”
“Me too. They’re ridiculous.”
Could it be!? Someone who has the same opinions on literature as I do? Sitting here smiling at me on this horrible Monday morning in a place where no one ever talks to anyone? All these years on the subway and finally some cute, interesting guy is talking to me? I looked back to my book and forgot momentarily how to read. Was I supposed to say something else?
“This place is so much different than LA,” I heard him say. I looked back over to him, his arm brushing against mine and suddenly I felt that same feeling I’ve become so accustomed to when it comes to men – disappointment.
“Oh, you live in LA?” I asked.
“Yeah just got in this morning at 4AM and I’m reeling.”
Of course (rule #1 on my list: don't fall for people who live in another state).
“Have you never been here before?”
“Nope, first time and I’m a little overwhelmed.”
“It’s an easy place to navigate, you'll be fine. And we’re having great weather this week if you have a lot of walking around to do…”
Weather? I hated myself.
“I have family in the Bronx I’m sort of scared to visit. They’re one of those crazy Italian families that I know once I get up there they won’t let me leave.”
AND he's Italian.
“How long are you here for?”
“Just seven days. Are you a native New Yorker?”
“No, but I’ve been here a while.”
“So then you are. To me you are.”
People talk all the time about fate and destiny, but I think when it comes to finding love it really just comes down to sheer dumb luck. Chance. The ability to be at the right place at the right time. And when it comes to timing in love, I’ve found that I've got the worst luck of all.
“Well this is my stop,” he said. “It was really great meeting you. I hope I run into you again.”
Before I could say anything, he flashed that smile and was gone. And I think we both knew enough about hope and chance and timing and luck to know that was never going to happen.
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