Back on the uptown 6 train,
Lorraine is sitting next to a tall black man with colorful patches of Africa
all over his denim shirt. They are beautiful and intricate. He is bobbing his
head along to the music plugged into his ears. He is serene and far away.
Africa.
On a journey and off to somewhere
else. She cannot hear the music at all but admires his resourcefulness:
successfully queuing up tunes which transport him elsewhere.
Across from her is a woman
balancing her French Bulldog on her lap with her right arm. Her other arm is
free and her hand is holding a novel. She is wearing a tan trench coat with a
small button of a superhero on the left lapel. Her stockings are pearly opaque
with small dots lined up horizontally. Shoes are brand new Doc Marten upgrades:
un-scuffed teal blue with less substantial soles. Her
hair is a sleek and perfect pageboy: symmetrical bangs falling right next to
her deep black eyelashes.
She turns the page without
disturbing the dog.
Lorraine knows that the dog is
brindle. His head is tilted back and his eyes are fluttering in REM sleep. His tongue is falling completely out of his
mouth. It is a tremendous pink tongue and the pair is like nothing Lorraine
has ever seen before.
Her African guy shifts in his seat
and a large Jamaican women gets on and sits on the opposite side of him. They
begin talking as if they know each other.
She has an app on her phone that entertains them both. It is then that Lorraine notices he is missing
several teeth. His eyes are fixed on his Jamaican lady friend. At 51st
he departs and tells her,
“Have a blessed day.”
Lorraine wishes he would say that
to her, too.
The Jamaican woman looks at her and
smiles very warmly.
The French Bull Dog mom turns the
page, again, and her baby licks his chops and sighs in his sleep.
The end of a fruitful day.
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