Supposedly peoples taste in music sometimes reflects the kind of person they are. Because you can’t hear this, I’ll just tell you, an old guy is playing the piano. Every now and then, the Jewish Community Center in Manhattan has these events, and when they do, I now try my best to go.

     I’ve never been one for classical music, I usually looked to rap music, or anything that would make my father angry. So clearly I never really cared much about anything, as long as I pissed off the right people, and didn’t get the attention people thought I wanted. Not a very productive lifestyle, and obviously going to go places.

After a series of events, to say the least, gave me a very different perspective on things.

     Like most cases, I think, there is always a girl. In my case, a very amazing girl I spotted on the 1train in New York. I had my beats headphones on, listening to 40oz by D12, and this group of 8 people comes into the train car. She was the only one who caught my eye.

     Her hair was reddish brown, mesmerizing really, she had a slight tan in her skin, and her eyes were an amazing green. She was dressed in winter clothing, it was December then, winter was kicking in. I couldn’t stop staring, she didn’t notice, as if I didn’t exist. She shuffled to stand up, and I realized that she was getting off at the next stop.

     I had been leaning with my backpack to the door, I could tell that some of the people with her were looking at me, but it didn’t matter, I didn’t care. We pulled into the 66th street station, I don’t remember when they got on, but it was probably 42nd street, Time Square. In the moments of her moving to get up, to her actually walking out of the train, to her was probably pretty quick, but for me, it felt like a lifetime.

     In the back of my head I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I would never see her again, I was so very optimistic. I moved to the side, letting her pass, leaving my life as quickly as she came into it. She walked out, and did something I never thought would happen, she turned and looked back at the train, the first time we made eye contact. Her eyes smiled for her, it also helped that she was smiling, making my head numb.

     The door shut, and it felt like time stopped, she was still starring at me, and of course me her. I exhaled on the door, and wrote with my finger, eybdoog. In retrospect, my phone number might’ve been a better choice, but considering the chances of bumping into her again, goodbye seemed the most appropriate.

     I was in the next train station before I knew it, 72nd street, and time to get off. It is a few blocks from my destination, but I enjoy the small walk. Having headphones on makes most of my walks quite peaceful; the music usually fades into the background, leaving me to reflect on the things I see, and the things that have happened, in silence.

     I have a picture of her engraved in my mind, every time I close my eyes I see her. It is sort of frustrating, knowing I will almost definitely never see her again. I get to 76th street, I have a small shift at the Jcc, and a good friend of mine needed someone to cover him for a bit.

Life guarding is never really too hard at a fitness place. But when there are only two guards for two pools, and one of them just saw the most beautiful girl, things tend to get a little one sided. We usually talk, across the pool deck, but I was too distracted. I let him take the small pool; this very nice lady is using it for physical therapy, very serious.

So I’m guarding the lap pool, watching the handful of people swimming laps at 8 at night, on a Saturday. All of them are regulars, no need to pay too much attention, my mind fixating on that girl’s eyes. Just too amazing. I wonder how old she is, she didn’t look older than me, but I’m horrible at guessing ages.

A whistle is blown, the guard working with me, Brett, a good friend, had already begun cleaning up the pool deck. I clearly was out of it, its 9:30 pm already, and time to close up. I climb down from my chair, “You okay?” asks Brett. I walk over to the bin of towels, “Yea, just something on my,” the towel bin is empty, “mind.”

Brett sat down at the desk, and began writing in the journal, closing procedure. “I brought that down while you were sitting up there in Zen mode,” he said and then laughed a bit.  He finished up, “I gotta go, I’ll cya later,” said Brett as he grabbed his bag and walked down into the locker room.

Being left alone on the pool deck, I experienced silence, something I usually look forward to when I have a closing shift. Not this time though, I took off my Jcc tank and my black shorts, slipping into my regular clothes before leaving. In the silence I thought about the girl, and hoped that this obsession wasn’t going to last very long.

The walk out of the building seemed longer than usual, the weather was cold out, not that I mind. In fact, I actually enjoy the cold weather; it always makes me feel alive. The walk to the station was quick, the wait for the train, nonexistent. The train car was empty; it was almost 10 pm, not a really packed train, especially southbound. I stood against the door, like I usually do; I’ve been sitting for a while, and standing feels best.

 The train pulls into the 66th street station, and I take a step to the side, to let a few people onto the train. The doors close, and I resume my usual leaning on the door with my back. The people who caught my eye were a couple hold fliers to an event at the Lincoln center. My brain does it automatically, I wonder if she was there, if that was where she was going.

I imagined looking down the cars, and seeing her looking back at me from another car. But I never looked, just stood there, waiting, and hoping that I might see her again. But I don’t do it, just think about doing it, what if I looked, and she wasn’t there looking back at me. That would hurt more than not looking, but again, I don’t, so I couldn’t know.

     I get off at Times Square, normally I would take the shuttle to grand central, but I want to walk. Its 10 pm, cold and bright, Times Square always is. But after a block, the lights die down; Bryant Park is as calming as ever. I’d stop and stay for a bit, but I wouldn’t want to miss my train back to moms.

     I walk into the entrance, and see that the train I need to take is on track 23. It leaves in 20 minutes, plenty of time. Out of all the times I’ve been to grand central, which has been a lot, its always busy, crowded. I let my body lead me, I know where I’m heading, I allow myself to absorb my surroundings.

     I wonder where these people are going, what they are doing. I’ve been told I’m an extremely curious person, I can’t really help it, and I just want to know. I walk into the central and as always stare at the ceiling it really is amazing.

     Being lost in thought, while looking up, in the middle of grand central, not really the best idea. Hands are put on my shoulders; “You, need to watch where you’re going,” said the voice of a girl. I turn around to see a girl not that much older than me, sort of curly black hair, tan skin, brown eyes, and a few inches shorter than me. “Jane, what are you doing here?” I ask.

     “Meeting a friend,” she says, “She just got off her train now, should be here any second.” She looks around eagerly, we are standing near the clock in the middle, shouldn’t be too hard for her friend to find us. “You going home to see mom?” she asks. She is still looking around; Jane never really was too concerned with family, at least not on the surface.

     “Yea I figured I might as well go while I have the time to.” I say, while joining her in looking around. After looking around, my eyes meet the clock; I have 15 minutes before the train leaves. Jane’s eyes light up; I turn to see her friend behind me, Brinn, her friend from high school. “Hey!” says Brinn, she gives Jane a hug, and turns to me and gives me a hug as well.

     It was surprising, so the hug was a little awkward. “What are you up to?” she asks me. She is a little shorter than Jane, and has straight brown hair. “I’m heading home for the night.” I tell her. She smiles, “Its good to visit every now and then right?” I try and return the smile, but mine is awkward, “Yes.” I say.

     “Well we gotta go,” says Jane, she gives me a hug “Cya soon” she says. Brinn says goodbye as well. They walk away, I look up at the clock, and I have 10 minutes until the train leaves. As I walk towards the tracks, I begin to think about how Jane strives for attention. She lives for it, and when she doesn’t have people’s attention, she clearly isn’t happy.

     I get to the corridor leading to the train tracks, track 23 on the right. She was and is quite an irritating sister. I walk towards the end of the track; the last trains are usually pretty empty. I like to think that if the train car is empty, or it’s at least close to empty, I’ll be able to let my mind loose.

     Fortunately, the second to last car is basically empty, a few people sitting together in the booth towards the front. I sit in the middle taking the window seat of the row with three seats. My bag gets the seat next to me, and I stare out of the window, looking at the train car on the opposite track.

     I take out my iPhone, 5 minutes until departure. I put my iPhone down on my bag, and move my beats headphone cord over to the side. Faint by Linkin Park, one of my favorites. I take out my comp book, and read over what I’ve written. I look through my bag for my pencil, and I hear a group of people walk into the train car.

     A group of four sits a few rows ahead of me, talking sort of loud, loud enough for me to notice with my beats on. I still haven’t found my pencil; it’s pretty irritating to say the least. Unfortunately I usually only have one pencil in my bag, and now I don’t think I have any. I slip the book back into my bag, and place my head on the window of the train.

     The doors close, and the train starts to move forward. Someone walks up from down the car, towards the front. If your heart can actually skip a beat, mine straight up stopped for a minute. Well obviously not, but it felt like a minute. There she was, walking towards the front of the car.

     She joins the group of sort of loud people in the front. She had been out of my mind for a good 30 maybe even 40 minutes. And there she is, again. Every part of me is yelling at me to get up and talk to her, to say something, anything. Her arrival sparked louder conversations; it began to annoy me.

     I put my phone into my pocket, and pull my backpack onto my shoulder; I stand up to walk back down the train car, to be in silence in the back of the car. As I shimmy my way to the isle, we make eye contact. I stutter, my face is definitely getting red, and I break eye contact first. I walk down the isle, with my head down, I scratch my head, and shake out my annoying thoughts.

     I can’t fight the urge to look back, I stop to look over my shoulder, and see her sitting there, looking right back at me. At that distance, I can’t exactly tell if there is eye contact, but I have a feeling we are making eye contact. Again, I break eye contact first, and sit down in the booth area in the back of the train car.

     I’m facing the front of the train, against the window, my bag in the seat across from me, with my iPhone on my lap. I look out the window and imagine her walking down the train car to sit down next to me. “Hi” says a soft voice. I look down at my iPhone, In Too Deep by Sum 41, no one says ‘Hi’ in this song. I scratch my head and turn to my right.

     There she is, her reddish brown hair, her green eyes looking at me, a smile on her slightly red face. I’m speechless, dumbstruck. ‘This is the Harlem station, 125th street.’ I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. She smiles, and I close my mouth, no need to seem like an idiot. I shift my body towards her, and slide off my beats.

     “Hello” I manage to say, my face definitely red, I immediately start to wish I had a pencil right about now. I would love to take my ADHD out on it, fidgeting would totally help right now. She is still smiling, her face still slightly red, “I’m glad it wasn’t goodbye,” she said. Her face reddened a bit more, she has her hands in her lap, her feet are crossed, and I can’t help but stare at her.

     “Me too,” I say, “I figured putting my number on the window would be too obnoxious.” She laughs a bit, “Yea, goodbye was much better.” Her voice is soft and kind, carefree. There was an awkward silence, it was at most a minute, but felt like a lifetime.

     “When I saw you get up, I couldn’t believe it, what are the chances?” she says. I start thinking about that, what are the chances? I dismissed the chances of bumping into her again the moment I saw her, and here we are, having a conversation the same night, a few hours later. I fight the urge to talk about the chances. “Glad I got up then,” I say with a slight smile.

     She smiles, I have no clue what she is thinking, in fact I don’t know what I’m thinking about either, too many thoughts flying in quick succession. “Me too,” she says, “What made you get up?” She’s looking at me with curious eyes, I fidget with my headphones cord, Makes No Difference by Sum 41 is on, I can here it beating from my headphones. “I like the silence, makes it easier to think.” I say, hoping she doesn’t think I’m too weird.

     She leans back against the seat, body still facing me, “Yea they can be pretty loud sometimes.” She says while looking down at her feet, almost as if she was embarrassed. “My friends from high school.” She says. My brain does it automatically, is she still in high school? What high school? How old is she? So many questions flying by in my head, and before I have the wherewithal to say something, I’m cut off before I even start to speak.

     The train conductor asks for tickets, I pull out mine from my pocket; I notice her spotting the ticket as I handed it to him. When the conductor asked for hers, she sort of looked surprised, “Oh, my friends have it” she says as she gets up, and walks with the conductor to the front of the car. She looks back, and smiles. A few more steps and there out of sight.

     I grab my bag, and remember I don’t have a pencil. I put it back, and slide my headphones back on, back to the real world. In Da Club by 50 Cent is on, one of my favorites. I stare out of the window, and realize we’ve passed a few stops already, probably just passed the botanical gardens. I’ve taking the metro north a lot.

     A few more stops till I get off, I let the outside of the train absorb me, its dark outside, but the lights make the night light up. There is a tap on my shoulder, and I turn to see her again. I’m sure my face is showing surprise, because in all honesty I didn’t think she would come back. I slide off my beats again, “Hello” I say. She smiles, and sits down, “Hi.”

     I rattle my head for something to say, a few moments ago, I had so much flying around in my head, now nothing. “Do you go to the city often?” she asks, with her curious eyes. I smile, “I, uh, live in the city, I’m heading to my moms for the night.” I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in her head. She looks at me quizzically, “You live in the city? How old are you?” she asks.

     “How old did you think?” I ask, wondering how I looked in her eyes. She stared me down, “21 at most.” I laugh inside, really? I thought. “And how old do you think I am now?” I ask. “Maybe 23?” she asks, smiling with her eyes. There an amazing green, I feel like I’m getting lost in them. I laugh, “huh, 23?” I ask. She smiles, which just blows me away. My face is reddening, but I don’t care.

     “Well I don’t know, you just said you live in the city, and you’re going to moms for the night.” She says as the train doors open. ‘This station is Fleetwood, next stop is Bronxville.’ A couple step in and walked towards the front of the car. “22.” I say, wondering what her response will be. She smiles, and makes eye contact again, green, green, green. “How old do you think I am?” she asks. I’m stumped; I have no clue, probably not older than me.

     I take my time to look at her; I can’t get enough of her. She has brownish red hair, green eyes, and her skin has a slight tan to it. She is wearing regular shoes, regular jeans, and a jacket with a scarf. She looked amazing, “Just turned 18 maybe? 19 tops.” I say, hoping I don’t offend her somehow. She smiled, bingo, I say to myself, well one of them anyways.

     I was starring into her eyes; her face slowly began to redden. I break eye contact, and bite my lip. She is still smiling, “Turning 19 soon” she says. “How soon?” I ask, very curious. She laughs “August” she says. I laugh as well, “Very soon” I say. She smiles, ‘This station is Crestwood, next stop is Scarsdale.’ She shifts a bit in her seat, that’s her stop.

     Her smile fades; her eyes look towards her feet. “I’m happy we got the chance to talk,” she says. I scratch my head, tilting my head a bit, I find myself looking at my backpack, “Me too.” My phone goes off, I unplug my headphones, and answer my phone, mom. “Hey mom, yea,” while I talk to my mom, she gets up, and I spot a pen in her pocket. The train is slowing down, and she is hesitating.

     I stand up as well, grabbing my bag, and zipping it open. She looks sort of surprised; we walk to the door, and stand next to each other. “Yea mom, I’ll see if its open,” I look over to see her smiling, I smile back. The doors open, and we both walk out.

     My mom is still on the phone, but I cover the mouthpiece, and ask, “Could I borrow your pen?” She looks at me, her face red, the winter cold doing its thing. Our breath clearly visible, she smiles and takes the pen from her pocket and hands it to me. I hold the phone to my shoulder, and grab my book from my bag. I flip to the back; write down my number, and my first name. I rip the page out, and hand it to her with her pen.

     “Yea mom,” I put my book back into my bag, zip it, and keep talking to my mom, “No mom, its not that cold” I say, while keeping eye contact with her. She reads the number, and my name and smiles. Her friends walk over, and I take that as my queue. I smile “Goodbye,” I say with a wink; I turn and walk down the platform towards the stairs. “Yea, I’ll see you soon,” I say.

     I slide my beats back on, plug it back into my iPhone, and press play. Pain by Jimmy Eat World is playing, great song. I walk up the stairs, past the Starbucks, and over to the cab station. I walk up to the first cab, and spot an old friend, “Can you take me home?” I ask.

     “Of course I can, hop in,” he says with a happy voice. I open the back door, get in and close the door behind me. “Thanks Haj.” I say. And off we go, to my mom’s house.

     The cab ride was quiet, just the way I like it. After a few minutes, we make a right, drive down the road a bit, and there we are, moms place. I pay my friend the cab fee, with a nice tip like usual. I open the door, the winter air blowing in, welcoming me home.

     The walk up the driveway was quick, I go to the only car in the driveway, and pull on the door handle; it’s locked. I walk back and towards the front of the house. The stone stairs making noise with each step I take. The light is on, making the front door look really bright; I pull open the screen door, and knock on the front door. I slide off my beats headphones, and fidget with my fingers.

     After a moment or two, the door is unlocked, and opened. My mother is there, a tired smile on her face, the porch light making her green eyes light up. We hug, a warm embrace, no hellos or HI’s necessary. “I fixed a bed for you in Susan’s room.” She says, with a tired voice, I kept her up by coming late.

     “I’m sorry I kept you up,” I say trying my best to sound sincere. She breaks the hug, and walks into the kitchen, “its okay, are you hungry? Did you eat dinner?” Typical mom, she is always worrying about me. “Yes mom, I ate before I went to the Jcc, I’m okay. Thanks.” I say, while closing the door behind me, and walking into the kitchen.

     “You should go to sleep” I say to her, the bags under her eyes tell me she hasn’t been sleeping well, she never did. “Okay,” she walks towards me, gives me a big hug, “I’m glad your home, Goodnight, I love you.” “I love you too,” I tell her, she lets go, and walks upstairs, “Goodnight,” I say as she disappears from view.

     I grab a glass from the cabinet, and pour myself some water. I walk to the stairs, and head up them, two sets of stairs, and the room I’m staying in is on the third floor. The air is cool; the heater is in the room next to this one. There are two rooms up here on the third floor, a finished attic. This room has a bed, a desk, TV, and a plug-in heater, not that I’ll use anything. What I like is the window looking out at the street, and a skylight in the ceiling, nothing like going to sleep while looking at the stars.

     On that thought, I put down the glass of water on the desk, put my bag down on the bed, and look through the desk, looking for a pencil. Awesome, I think to myself, I find a pencil with plenty of lead in it. One of those clear BIC pencils, with black grip, one of my favorite kinds of pencils. Wow I’m weird.

     I hop into bed, and take off my hoodie and toss it onto the chair next to the desk. I zip open my backpack and take out my comp book. I wrote down the events of today, and I had the urge to draw, something I don’t really do anymore. I drew her face; it was the only thing I saw when I looked at the blank page.

     I won’t say its good, how can it be, nothing would ever beat the real thing. I don’t have any colors so she is in shades of gray. No drawing, or any words for that matter, will ever do her justice. I close my book, get up and walk over to the desk; I leave the pen in the book and the book on the desk. I walk over and close the lights.

     As I walk to the bed, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and begin to fixate on the light of the night sky coming through the skylight. I lie down on the bed, under the skylight, pull up the blankets, and just stare off into the sky. The stars are bright; I get lost in the night sky, and slowly fade away.