by Eugene Chan

“Passing stranger! you don’t know how longingly I look upon you… I’m to see to it that I don’t lose you” —Walt Whitman’s “To a Stranger”

Personal distance an indelicate balance negotiated on subway treks.

My inner child hasn’t hardwired staring at speckled, dirty car floors. Looking a split-second too long at someone however can lead to anything from a quiet frown to confrontational, “What are you looking at?!”

Astor Place stop, pre-rush afternoon, one-quarter full, uptown 6 train. Grab seat, scan car. Across the aisle a woman who could’ve sat for Vermeer in his Delft studio. 

My eyes move into a backpack, pulling out newly purchased CD. Fingers begin over-wrap wrestling, neck tilts straight. Her eyes gazing back, mouth curved up, heartily laughing at my ineptitude. In her lap is a New York guidebook.

Six rolls toward 33^rd St. Passengers out and in. Stainless steel doors pry open, snapping shut. My eyes focused on liner notes.

An elegant finger taps the jewel case, pointing to word "Praga" on cover of liner notes.

“I’m from there,” she said, startling me.

“Prague’s a great city,” I said.

Her lips form a slight smile. “I’ve only two days left in New York, so I’m trying to see as much as I can.”

My mind races slowly this New York minute. Chestnut-haired muse has broken conventions of subway personal space, leaving me breathless. Introduce yourself, ask for her e-mail address; try to be charming. “Next stop is 33^rd,” an automated voice intones.

“Enjoy the rest of your stay here,” I said, my voice in a tour guide timbre, hospitable but light years from suave.

"Thanks, good bye.”

Once in a blue, before 33^rd, the memory of her and Whitman’s “To a Stranger” pop into my head. If Whitman had witnessed my brief encounter with the Czech beauty, I imagine the voluble poet, who lived a credo of  "Carpe Diem," saying one thing.

“Idiot.”

 
Eugene Chan is a consultant who lives in Queens, NY.