At Last

Tanisha

Posted on Thursday, 8 March 2001, at 8 : 09 p.m.

I felt like I was drowning in the vast sea of people, the crowd of faces, the masses that hurried about with their indispensable cell phones. Small fragments of conversations were bound to reach my ear as everyone around me seemed to be making some life-altering decision or the other while waiting for the metro to arrive. I stood in silence, listening to the occasional tidbits that happened my way, but mostly attempted to ignore all those low, urgent voices. I looked around the platform, really looked and wondered. Were any of them happy? That woman who was trying to divide her care and attention equally between the crying 2-year old, the shuffle of papers and the cup of coffee. That young woman who was listening to her Discman, completely oblivious to everything else including the man behind her, who in turn was much engaged in studying her figure. That well-groomed, if slightly frazzled-looking, man who was glancing at his watch every 5 seconds with the air of a $500 an hour lawyer who was, at that very moment, missing an important meeting. I returned my attention back to the empty tracks in front of me that were now vibrating ever so slightly, signaling the impending arrival of the next train, my train, the train I took every morning. And once again, I wondered what would happen if I jumped onto the tracks. It would be an unpleasant sight, I dare say, but after a moment of shock and perhaps disgust, everyone would turn their attentions back to their own concerns, their own problems, their own lives. If I were gone tomorrow, would anyone really notice or care?

The train was closer than ever, the loud whistle echoing in the tunnels. If I peered, I could see the lights and the sign that read: "Orange Line to New Carlton." This was my last chance; if I intended to jump, I would have to do it within the next few seconds. But as always, I didn't. At the last moment, when my mind was weighing the possibilities carefully, I decided not to jump and delayed the inevitable for yet another day. As the train came to a halt, I glanced sideways and saw, with a little surprise, that the Discman bearing young woman was now conversing with her admirer, a large grin gracing her face and his. As we huddled near the entrance to one of the cars of the metro train, I heard her lilting laugh. It was a heartwarming sound, that laugh; open, artless, and sincere. A long time had elapsed since I had laughed myself. A month. Few months? After pondering for a minute, I realized that I had not really indulged in that brand of mirth since Christmas, nearly 3 months ago, when Jane had accidentally been caught under the mistletoe with mom's obsequious friend, Bill Collins. The thought of Jane warmed my heart somewhat and I remembered the reason I did not jump onto the tracks that day or any other day. I saw them once a year, sometimes more, and each visit consoled me with the notion that some things in life, at least, remained constant: mom's nerves, dad's humor, Jane's smile, Mary's books, Kitty's clothes, Lydia's men. Door closing, the eternally neutral voice warned and I moved away from the door, holding on to one of the poles for stability. The train was in motion again and I sighed. The journey had begun.

I had never imagined it possible to be so lonely among so many people. So utterly lonely and depressed. It puzzled me terribly because I had never been unhappy in my entire life until I moved to Washington, DC. Not that I blamed my current state on the location; rather on a few choice incidents and then uncountable circumstances. I did not really know where the blame lay, although I was certain that George would carry a fair share of the burden. At any rate, it did not matter. The facts didn't change, wouldn't change. No matter where the blame lay, I would still feel as though I were in a long dark tunnel, inching slowly to the other side, looking for a ray of light, but finding myself in an interminable abyss of darkness. The dense darkness was enveloping me, choking me, suffocating me and I had no means of escape. The darkness was not what scared me the most, however, as much as my inability to overcome it. After walking in that tunnel for so long, my eyes should have become accustomed to the darkness, but they had not. I was still stumbling along in my blindness, stumbling at every step, wondering if my next step would also be my last. Death did not scare me; loneliness did. The idea of loneliness, the reality of loneliness, the cruelty of loneliness, the inevitability of loneliness. I, who had never been scared of anything in my entire life - save cockroaches - was scared of loneliness, scared of the darkness. And yet, I did not stop my journey down that tunnel, not yet anyway. The obdurate hint of optimism that revealed itself once in a while gently suggested that perhaps the light would assail the darkness yet and I could only live in hope and meanwhile, keep walking.

As the train stopped at the next station, more passengers entered the already crowded train and I was forced to move to the aisle and stand close to a man who was facing me. A rather tall man for my eyes were looking at the buttons of his rather expensive suit. I did not bother to look up at his face; yet I had the strange feeling that his eyes were on me. I was determined not to look up at him, though, for my proximity to his person made my position awkward and I did not wish to appear the gawking fool for there could really be no subtle way to look at him. He was wearing a conservative, royal blue tie, I discovered. I assumed that he was some K street lawyer, no doubt infinitely pleased with himself. I wondered why he rode the Metro into the city, however. Judging from his suit and tie, he could probably afford to drive to his lush office building. Maybe his chauffeur was on vacation, I surmised and for the first time that day, smiled. I was making so many assumptions based on the stranger's suit and tie alone; for all I knew, he could be a con artist who had stolen articles of clothing and was plotting to swindle me that very moment. As the growing crowd pushed me yet closer to him, I fancied I smelled his cologne, though I could not quite place the brand. It smelled sweet and tangy, like some strange concoction of exotic flowers and fragrant fruits. Some imported Italian designer cologne, no doubt. I didn't know why I was thus fixated on him, anyway, having not even seen his face yet. Maybe I was just that bored or maybe I was just that lonely. At any rate, the Metro ride didn't quite offer any more stimulating alternatives, unless I was tickled by that young college student snoring audibly, which I wasn't. Even as those thoughts crossed my mind, the train came to a screeching halt despite the fact that we were not at any station. The suddenness of the halt caused me to lose my footing and I began falling.

I noticed her the moment she stepped onto the train and my eyes or thoughts (on most occasions, both) remained fixed on her for every second hence. As the doors closed behind her, she held on to the pole for support, although I suspected that she hardly realized what she was about, her mind seemed engaged elsewhere. Her eyebrows were furrowed, a small frown gracing her otherwise smooth forehead. She did not look around, staring steadfastly at the vacant space in front of her. Was it my imagination or did I detect a glint of moisture in her luminous eyes? My surmise was confirmed when she hastily reached for her eyes and stopped any tears that might have threatened to spill down her cheeks. I had the good fortune of being placed away from her line of sight, a very fortuitous occurrence for it allowed me to look at her unabashedly. She was dressed in a simple pant suit and her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her complexion was flawless and her figure no less so and she would have been a vision of perfection had it not been for the troubling frown that graced her forehead still. Her remarkable face conveyed a great sense of intelligence and purpose, but I was most struck by the haunting expression of her beautiful dark eyes. I saw so much sadness, so much anguish, such sheer despair in those eyes, it amazed me. She hardly seemed aware of her surroundings, so lost in her own thoughts she was. Her head rested on the side of the train and her eyes remained fixed on that vacant space still. Once in a while, I saw her steal covert glances at the couple that was sitting in the seats on the first row. I detected a faint smile playing on her lips when she saw the young woman offer her companion the use of her Discman. But that faintest of smiles proved to be as transient as a ripple in the lake and before I knew it, the brooding expression returned again.

I decided that I wanted to see her smile, not a half-hearted, weak smile; a real, honest, happy smile. I wanted to hear her laugh. I was absolutely certain that she had a wonderful laugh. I don't know why I was that certain, but I was. She just did not seem like an unhappy sort of person, despite all appearances to the contrary. Under any other circumstances, I would have presumed her to be a cheerful, energetic woman, and yet, every crease on her forehead and every hidden tear in her eye seemed to pronounce my surmise wrong. But I knew I wasn't wrong, I couldn't be. I just knew it. I couldn't explain why I believed what I did. I did not know her and yet, I knew her. I wondered what her story was, what had caused her smile to disappear. An unsuccessful relationship, perhaps? Or some other family tragedy? I found myself wishing that the latter was the case. Why, indeed, I didn't know. I just couldn't imagine anyone breaking her heart; it was just not possible. There was just too much honest sweetness and vulnerability in her face. I wondered what dark thoughts were rummaging through her mind to cause her to frown thus. They must be very unpleasant thoughts, indeed, for the frown did not leave her face, except for that one occasion when she had smiled faintly. That smile had remained on her face but shortly, and yet, even in that fraction of a second, I could tell that she had a beautiful, disarming smile. A smile that would be rendered even more so if it reached her eyes. But I suspected there was little danger of that for she seemed determined not to smile and if my instincts served me well, I believed she was a stubborn woman, not easily swayed from her determined path. The air of stubbornness prevailed and only increased my interest in her. She was a conundrum. And I liked conundrums.

I realized that my continual staring would soon draw attention, so with much difficulty, I forced myself to look away. It was no easy task, and even when my eyes were regarding her no longer, my mind was still dwelling on her. I wondered if I would be provided the opportunity to speak with her. I would dearly love to hear her voice. Somehow she seemed different from any woman I had encountered before and I had encountered several. She seemed free from the coy artfulness of Caroline or the bitter coldness of Louisa. She did not have Georgie's innocence either; she was different from all of them. Different. Unique. I could tell that from afar. I was certain that she was the sort of woman who didn't mind driving in a convertible with the top down and who didn't frown upon eating lobster with bare hands. Once again I couldn't provide any logical reason for my surmise and yet I knew I was right. It was a feeling that I had, a strong, powerful feeling. I had never had that feeling before and in a way it scared me. I had spent the last 10 minutes accustoming myself to her every physical attribute and imagining the rest. For all I knew, she could be gone in the next stop. Vanished just like that. That possibility bothered me, that she could be gone without a trace. What was even more frightening, however, was the fact that I cared. I, the one who had been proclaimed to possess a core of ice. The unfeeling, unswerving, heartless man. I never felt or wanted to feel anything for anyone, let alone a mere stranger. And yet, she was no stranger. Crazy as that sounded, she was not a stranger anymore. I felt strangely connected to her. She was a lost soul and I was a lost soul and I knew that I wanted to be lost together. The vast deserts of my empty heart would not be quite as intimidating if I wandered them with another lost soul by my side, both searching for the elusive oasis. My thirst and quest for the oasis would never be completed alone, I knew, and I couldn't ask for a better companion in that journey. I smiled slightly at my own absurdity, aware that no such companionship would ever come my way. I was not that fortunate.

The train stopped at a station and the crowd of people who entered, forced her in my direction, so much so that within moments, she was standing inches away from me, her head nearly buried in my chest. I chuckled silently. Maybe I was fortunate after all. I could no longer see her face so I couldn't tell if she was frowning still. I hoped not, at least. She seemed tense however, and somewhat awkward. I wondered if it was because she was so close to me. On my part, I rejoiced in the proximity. As I had suspected, her hair was still damp and I could smell her fragrant shampoo; some herbal concoction or other, no doubt. I suppose I could have spoken, taken advantage of the situation, but I didn't. That recalcitrant shyness had been my curse from the beginning and the case was not much different. I was not accustomed to taking the initiative, either, for usually women pursued me, not the other way around. Not that I was going to pursue her exactly. I just wanted to know her. But the awkwardness of my position was unquestionable. Common pleasantries did not interest me, but my objects of interest could easily be misconstrued as imprudence or rashness or mere strangeness. I could not very well introduce myself and ask her why she was so sad. Even if I did, I imagined that one of two things would happen; either she would refuse to answer me entirely or she would make some caustic remark or the other, neither of which appealed to me. So I remained silent. As I made that decision, the train came to a sudden halt and I saw that she was taken by surprise for she lost her footing and began falling.

At last
My love has come along
My lonely days over
And life is like a song

He reached out and grabbed her before she could fall and instantly her eyes flew to look into his. She looked and he looked and they were lost and nothing mattered. His arms were around her waist and he seemed to have no intention of removing them. She did not seem to mind; she did not object. The world melted away and there was nothing left to do but stare. Eyes talked more than mouths ever could. Their eyes talked and they talked like best friends who had been cruelly separated. There was so much to tell after the separation; so many stories, so many escapades, so much mischief. Their eyes talked and fancied that they had never spoken like that before. Deep brown oceans inhabited their core and they shared the lapping of their waves, harmonizing their voices into one solitary song. Their eyes connected and they were strangers no more. The past and the present and the future congealed into that one moment; one moment, one look, one song. There would be no other song. This song could last forever, spanning time itself and neither would tire, but the end had to be imposed for her sanity and his, so she tore her eyes away from him, slowly, reluctantly.

At last
The skies above are blue
Well my heart was wrapped up in clover
The night I looked at you
I found a dream
That I could speak to
A dream that I could call my own
I found a thrill to press my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known well

"Thank you," she murmured softly, still looking away.

"You're quite welcome," he assured her.

"You can let go of me now," she told him, looking up briefly.

"I can?" he raised his eyebrows, but did not move his arms.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Alright, then." He did as she said and was granted his wish for she smiled a brilliant smile.

You smile
You smile
And then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
For you are mine at last
I found a dream that I could speak to
a dream that I could call my own
I found a thrill to press my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known

"Do you take this Metro often?" he asked.

"Every morning," she replied and then looked at him. "And you?"

"Me too," he said.

"Really?" she raised her eyebrows.

"You're surprised?"

"You just don't look like the type who rides the Metro," she stated simply.

"Is it the suit?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded.

"How do you know it's not stolen?" he grinned.

She felt like laughing. "I guess I don't."

"I'm afraid I've scared you," he said. "For the record, this is not stolen."

"What makes you think I'd be scared if it was?" she challenged him.

He chuckled. "Point taken. You'd prefer it if it was stolen?"

"It'd be much more interesting if it was," she admitted.

"What would?"

"Life," she replied.

Well, you smile
You smile
And then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
Yeah, yeah, yeah
For you are mine
At last
You are mine at last
At last
You're mine, baby *

"You sounded serious just then," he said.

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Maybe," he replied.

"I can be serious if I want to."

"No one's stopping you," he conceded.

"Exactly," she said. "No one's stopping me."

"Do you want to be stopped?" he asked.

"Do I?" She didn't know.

"Yes you do," he said.

She smiled yet again and he was blinded. "It's so much easier when someone else makes my decisions for me."

"Isn't it?" He couldn't stop smiling.

"Next stop, Metro Center," the speaker boomed.

As the train began to slow down, she said, "This is my stop." They were past formalities, formal adieus. Eyes had spoken so much that words were an afterthought. Words were superfluous. Words were trivial. Words didn't matter. What mattered was the feeling, the instinct, the belief in their song. "I'll see you around?" It was not much of a question; rather a decided statement.

"Yes you will." Not a hint of hesitation in his voice.

One last glance and she was swept away in the crowd exiting the train. Once she was on the platform, she walked a few steps, then stopped abruptly and turned around, looking through the window, looking at him. His eyes hadn't left her for a moment and there she stood, silent, motionless, looking. Words, names, numbers, they were unimportant. The song was important. The song was forever. The song was inevitable. And they knew their paths would cross again. Door closing. The train began to pull away slowly, but she did not move, looking at him till the last possible moment. And then he was gone. Gone. Out of sight. The train sped away for the next stop and she was left standing. She stared at the tracks as she had done less than a half hour ago. This time she did not think of jumping. This time she did not even think of the tracks at all. She only thought that it was a beautiful morning and spring was coming.

And that there was light again.

* At Last by Etta James

The End

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