mmc11 – the corridor
Life can be so routine that you imagine nothing will ever happen. Six o’clock, evening commute, people funneling out of the subway, alongside the health-food store, back to their apartments. Me, going roundie-mcblock with the dogs; you, emerging from the train. We exchanged glances as one does with a thousand strangers in this town. A mere detail in the unchanging monotony of too-slow life.
What stood out was your Aran sweater. It’s September, and no one’s wearing sweaters yet. I’ve always liked woolen sweaters on tall men, the way they sit upon a broad, flat chest. You were tall, slim but not lanky. You noticed my wolfhound, then me. We exchanged an almost-smile, the shy grimace of urban passings. Your sweater had already entranced me, making my mind pucker – like lemon, salt, and tequila to a mouth – at the bizarre sight of those leather elbow pads sewn into it.
Rounding the corner amidst hipsters and their phones, I imagined how it might feel to be across your knee. No role suggested itself, curiously, just the palpable urge to be held quite firmly by someone tall and fit, your woolen sleeve across my waist, a foretaste of rock-solidness. I imagined how your bear hug might feel. Does it show, how very hug-deprived I am? Last night I remembered the safety and satisfaction of sinking into bed with my husband. Rock-solidness now a dream, recalled by you and your sweater in the corridor of a nondescript evening commute.
Come write your own missed connection – real or fantasy, who will know? Post the link today (Wednesday) here or on Twitter (@caseydamnmorgan). What is Midweek Missed Connections?
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