I left work to meet up with a date for an hour, and the trip to Kendall Square was a breeze. Literally. It was chilly walking across the bridge, but that kind of chilly that makes you want to do a Mary Tyler Moore twirl and throw up your hat. Only it's a bridge, so the hat would fall in the river. And you're not Mary Tyler Moore, so you'll also fall in the river. So you don't make the twirl. You just turn the world on with your smile smile and walk along your merry way.
We had a nice hour of chatting and giggling and flirting. While I would have loved for us to have had more time alone and maybe some physical affection, this was so lovely. Romantic. Sweet. No PDAs, just those smiles and the occasional touch on the back of the hand or knee. A soft sweet hour stolen in the middle of a crazy month when we haven't seen each other for two weeks and probably won't see each other again for a few weeks. I walked them to their bike and watched them ride off. Then I walked down into the train station.
There was a train RIGHT THERE. I mean, it was waiting for me. So I hopped on and grabbed the railing by the door. How awesome was that? That never happens, but today, today has magic in the wind.
A man with a nice hat offered me his seat, but I thanked him and said no. I only had two stops, and I smiled at him before turning to watch the door. I bumped into his leg when the train came to a halt, and when I apologized he smiled and said it was no problem. I smiled and went back to my happy brain. He introduced himself, so I decided it would be nice to have a little chat on my way home. He told me his name, I told him mine, and we chatted about train schedules and when buses are on time, how long our commute is, you know, standard stranger train talk.
Then he asked me where I lived.
It's not an unusual question, but men on trains sometimes have a way of asking that you know what type of question will come next.
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"So, are you going home to your boyfriend?"
Well, hey, at least he didn't ask if I was going to my husband. Oh wait. No wedding ring. And it wouldn't occur to him that I might have a girlfriend or wife to cock block him.
"Yes," I lied.
The train doors slid open, and I left him back on the train to continue his commute.
There waa nothing to smile at in Harvard Square station. There were no smiles left. Just people walking and the new, brighter lights seem harsh instead of safer. I found my bus, and it was just about to leave. I managed to get a seat and sat down. Normally something that simple leaves me bouncing inside. But there was no Tigger in my soul.
Why couldn't I just have my happy day? Why couldn't I just smile and say hello and have a pleasant conversation? Why do I keep doing this to myself? Everyone warns me to stop talking to strangers on the train, to not smile and not be friendly, but I never listen.
And like I say every time, nothing in my world has changed. Just one more man who honestly thinks he's a nice guy. He offered his seat, he smiled and had a pleasant conversation with a happy woman on the train. She smiled. She must be interested if she smiled, so he got ready to take the conversation into something more. He won't even remember my face by the time he finishes dinner.
Me? I'll remember next time, and I won't smile and look a man in the eye. I'll chat with a woman, and we'll smile about the sunshine or discuss the new Gilmore Girls, and then we'll go on our merry ways, both happier. Until I forget again and accidentally talk to a man on the train again.
Maybe the next time I forget, the next time this happens, I'll tell him that I can smile and chat and that I can do it without having any interest in him romantically or sexually. But I doubt I will do it. I already know his canned response. I have heard his anger and listened to his accusations from polite rejections before: He was just making conversation. No harm was meant. It was a compliment that he was showing interested. And he hadn't been doing anything wrong. He didn't touch me or grab me. We'd just been chatting, and besides, he knows I was flirting. After all, I smiled. Why am I suddenly being such a bitch? After all, he's just throwing a bone to a fat dog. After all I should be polite and friendly to me because he decided that we should get to know each other better and he is entitled to my time because of he wants it.
I will not always be cheerful, but when I am, maybe next time I'll not let him ruin it for even those few minutes. if I ever say that, and if I get yelled at or get the condescending tone, I might one day tell him off instead of becoming hyper vigilent to make sure he doesn't follow me and corner me against a wall like others have done before him.
I will smile again at everyone and not just women, and maybe next time I'll feel safe enough to be honest and say I take care of myself and don't need a man at the end of the bus stop. Maybe I'll suddenly start dancing, I'll don some white lace fingerless gloves and start vogueing. I'll do the moonwalk and start singing 80s pop. I'll shimmy. I'll shake. I'll laugh. I'll quake. And the damned train will stare at me like I'm the crazy one for daring to smile at anypne I send well want to smile at.
I will be cheerful when I want to be, and the fucking assholes who think they're one of the good guys? They won't get a polite rejection, I will tell them to shove it. I no longer have to be cheerful all the time.
Ah well. I'm home now. I've had my rant. I've got on my new wool socks - pink with beige hearts that almost blend into the pink! My wine glasses arrived, so I've got a lovely chardonnay poured. My belly is full of bok choy, and my smile is back. I might just make it after all!*
*If this sentence makes no sense, you didn't watch the opening credits to Mary Tyler Moore so you didn't hear the lyrics. Hah!
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