We all have our commuter routines. Mine is to wake up at 9am, take a quick shower, be out of the house by 9:30, walk to the downtown "B" train at the 110th Street station, proceed to the second to last car and, delays not withstanding, I'm at work by 10am. The day I met TrainGirl was like the others, except it was punctuated by a terrific rainstorm.

I arrived at the platform somewhat flustered but relatively dry. As I stood on the platform shaking out my umbrella I noticed a pretty and stylish Asian woman with shoulder length black hair shivering and looking utterly soaked. When the train pulled into the station we both got on; me on the main bench, she on the little two-seater over by the conductor's booth. I watched her helplessly try to wring the water from her sweater and saw small pools of water collect by her running shoes. Somewhat sheepishly I said, "Excuse me," and handed her a wad of Hot & Crusty napkins. She thanked me profusely and blotted herself a little less than soaking. The whole ride, I kept looking over to her, trying to make some sort of eye contact, but she sat there resolutely blotting, always looking down. At Rockefeller Center, I got off but gave a little wave to her as I walked off the train. She returned the wave.

Over the course of the next two weeks I went about my routine, same as before, always hoping to see her black hair bobbing down the platform. I had made it up in my mind, if I did see her again, I would just go over and introduce myself. After much anticipation and rehearsal, I gave up the hope of seeing her again, thinking that chance encounter had just been a fluke.

One morning soon afterward, as I stood by my favorite steel support column--the one with the yellow emergency call box, engrossed in Palm Pilot chess--when she suddenly appeared to my left. I quickly looked up, smiled at her, stuck out my hand and said, "Hi, I'm Jay." She reciprocated the introduction and we began a sweet, but slightly awkward conversation. I found myself watching her lips when she spoke, taking notice of her tongue ring, the way the corners of mouth creased when she frowned or smiled. Right then I knew I had "The Crush." But not wanting to seem desperate I never asked for her phone number and instead just said, "Have a good day," smiled and got off the train.

The pattern of not seeing her for some time repeated itself. One week, two weeks, three weeks - I started to alter my routine. Maybe she was going in earlier? Maybe later? Why was I so attracted to her? Was I starting to stalk her?

One Monday almost a month after our introduction, as I walked to my favorite pillar, she appeared. My heart lept a little. We started our conversation:

Me: Hey

TrainGirl: Hey

Me: How are you?

TrainGirl: Cool, and you?

Me: Great, how was your weekend?

TrainGirl: Great, I just got back from seeing my BOYFRIEND. He lives in Pittsburgh...

There was something else about the boyfriend's school and how Pittsburgh is boring -what did I care? Boyfriend. Fuck, I hate that word.

At the end of the conversation I said, "Ok, why don't you give me your email address?" To my surprise she gladly complied. The next day I emailed her something topical to one of our conversations. Again, to my surprise, she quickly replied.

I was kind of confused, were TrainGirl and I back on track? Or just on the friendship line? She then let me know that it was her birthday, and did I want to go see "Love, Actually" with her. Hmmm, now I was second-guessing everything.

My plan was to take everything in stride and not have any expectations about our date. I was supposed to swing by her apartment around 7:30 pm, but she called me at 7 saying she was ready and could I come by now. I love a woman who knows what she wants. Her apartment was an L-shaped two bedroom, nicely decorated with Madonna's Lucky Star playing softly. TrainGirl wore an '80s type mini-skirt with black leg warmers, maroon Pumas and a soft-looking white sweater. It hurt just to look. We made small talk and proceeded to the same train station where we first met Our conversation flowed pretty well but the subject was narrow. She was holding something back.

When we arrived at the theater "Love, Actually," thankfully, was sold out. After some hesitation and line-holding up, we decided on "21 Grams." But it wouldn't start for another hour so we went to have dinner. Over her meal of jasmine rice, salmon and greens, she shared some of her more personal details: how she had tried to commit suicide three times, her former addiction to cocaine, her two-timing father. I liked how she trusted me. "The Crush" was becoming tectonic. We paid the bill and went to see a good but utterly depressing movie. Even more uncomfortable was the fact that we had to watch that shaky-handheld movie from the second row. Five minutes into it I was nauseous. But I just closed my eyes, held the pressure points on my wrists and concentrated on her perfume.

After the movie we walked home. It was a warm and humid night even thought it was mid-November. We talked about various things, occasionally stopping to adjust her slipping leg warmers. Finally by the Museum of Natural History I said, "Look, I feel kind of weird. I'm really interested in you but it doesn't seem like you're available."

TrainGirl was silent for a minute, then in slow deliberate words she dropped the hammer. "Well I'm involved with someone and it's still really new. He lives in another state and won't be done with school for a few years. He doesn't really like the city and I don't like Pittsburgh but I'm meeting his parents when I stay with him for Thanksgiving." She paused. "As for us -I...can't...do...two...things...at...once."

And that was that. No dice. I silently picked up my pride and she chatted to me innocently for the rest of the way home. At my corner she said she was ok to walk home by herself and I gave her a hug and cheek kiss goodnight.

Sigh, TrainGirl, sigh.

After coming home, I received some consolation from my cats and brushed my teeth. The phone rang, caller id told me it was TrainGirl. I picked up the phone:

Train Girl: Hey, I just wanted to say thanks and that I had a really good time with you. Are you watching porno?

Me: Uhhh, no, I am listening to my favorite radio program, it helps me to relax.

TrainGirl: Well it sounds awesome - so do you watch porno?

Me: Yes, I watch porno because I don't have a girlfriend.

TrainGirl: That's normal.

Me (sarcastically): Thanks. I know.

TrainGirl (not getting it): It's okay.

After that I resolved to let it go. It was clear she was interested in me but I wasn't about to let my crush get the better of me. Unrequited love is the lamest train in the station. Its destination? Inevitable heartbreak.

TrainGirl called me occasionally over the next two weeks. Mostly for her late night chats before sleep. I started imagining myself lying next to her, stroking her hair and drifting off. The next time she called I decided I would get it all off of my chest. I didn't have to wait long. On Sunday she called me, telling me about her Christmas tree and its decorations. We started talking about how we met.

TrainGirl: When we first met, I thought you called me Sweetie. I was like 'what does he think this is, the 1950s'?

Me: No, I said, "Excuse Me," not Sweetie.

TrainGirl: Oh. I have something to tell you. When I first met you I thought you were really cute. I was like I have a crush on Hot&Crusty.

Me: Who's Hot&Crusty?

TrainGirl: That's what I called you before I knew your name because those were the napkins you gave me.

Me: Nice compliment. Thanks. I really wanted to talk to you that first day but you were hard to approach and you didnt really give me any openings. Besides I thought you probably had a boyfriend.

TrainGirl: Actually, no, I had just met him but we weren't going out yet.

Me: So you mean I had a chance?

TrainGirl: Yes.

Me: Damn, that hurts. Damn. I guess it just wasn't meant to be then.

Wasnt mean't to be. That along with "Let's be friends" and "I have a boyfriend" were the three nails in the coffin of my crush on TrainGirl. I've since returned to my routine, always hoping that she'll come bopping down the platform in her Jimmy Choo fashion victim shoes. Wishing our train could be the Love Express rather than the Friendship Local. Waving my workman's lantern in the dark tunnel. Needing her contact like third rail.

James O'Brien is a 30-year-old artist/photographer, a NYC native and Harlem resident. When not visiting cats throughout the five boroughs he takes pictures of urban wildlife and collects discarded objects to use in his art. Visit www.andrewbon.com/jay.htm.