Take a Chance on Connecting

by Cori Morenberg

It's easy to miss the best part of a day if you aren't willing to take a chance on connecting.

Riding home during rush hour on a crowded, stuffy A-train after a long workday at a new office cubicle type job a slim boy of twelve or thirteen squished into the slice of seat beside me. Nearly vibrating with excited energy he quickly set to removing a box from a shopping bag and extricating it from its skin-tight plastic wrapper.

I was reading a book but couldn't help being intrigued and curious about the wriggling goings on next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed him opening and shutting the box several times, and repeatedly, obsessively taking out a folded paper with writing and pictures on it, looking at it, then folding it back up and returning it to the box.

I finally interrupted him and asked, "What is that?" After a very short pause while he eased out of his private thoughts and into the reality of his physical surroundings and my inquiry he said, "It's a game. I just bought it. I can't wait to get home and start playing it."

"Ohhh," I replied. His eyes were vibrant and happy, his skin glowing like dark, polished wood, his long-fingered hands kept busy handling the game as we spoke. "Yeah," I continued. "I get like that too when I get something new." I could tell I’d peaked his interest.

"You play games?" he asked.

"No, for me it's normally clothes or a book that I'm excited about." Then another pause, this one longer than the first. I thought for sure I'd lost him, and felt disappointment begin to bleed into my conscience when he surprised me with much thought and earnestness, "Yeah, I get real edgy too when I get a new Harry Potter book." I was in love! I wanted our conversation to go on and on, but we were just pulling into 125th street and he got up. As he made his way to the doors, and before he stepped out, he turned to me with a smile and said "Bye," and walked away into the crowd. I melted under the power of his good manners and maturity and knew we'd connected, if only for a moment.

Working as I had been in the sterile, soulless corporate world for over a month, with only requisite and contrived conversation, our personal contact seemed somehow heightened and the most real and beautiful thing I'd experienced all day. I recognized the moment for what it was. Many people go to church or synagogue in search of it, but I found it sitting next to me in the young boy on the A-train. 

Cori Morenberg is a professional writer and potter. She lives in Northern Manhattan with her husband and dog, likes taking photographs and wishes she had more time for yoga. Her website is www.corimorenberg.com.