So, it’s been awhile. A long while. A very long while. Vast ages of the earth have passed, civilizations have risen and fallen, lizardy creatures have risen from amoeba-filled puddles to reign over the land and subsequently be wiped out of existence, and during all that time, I have somehow failed to update my blog.
For my faithful readers, few and potentially mentally unstable though they may be, I offer my deepest apologies.
In any case, rather than getting too deeply into what I’ve been up to over the last few months (working, writing, writing, working, etc.), I’ll jump straight into the Very Important subject of this entry.
Today, dear readers, I would like to speak to you about a girl. And not just any girl, but The Girl, whose path happened to cross mine for one beautiful and fleeting train ride yesterday morning. What follows is a story of love and heartbreak, beauty and tragedy, lipstick and disappointing bumper stickers, in which the fondest desires of my fragile little heart were dashed to pieces by cruel, cruel fate.
Read on, friends, and ready yourselves for a tale of utmost woe.
So, due to a sad lack of either funds or time off, I was unable to fly home to Nowheresville, PA for the holidays this year, so I instead spent Christmas deep in the suburbs of Chicago with a friend and her family. As another thing I lack is any means of transport (car, bicycle, or faithful stallion), my journey to said friend’s house required the assistance of public transportation, specifically the Metra.
While riding said train, I encountered…her. She sat a few seats in front of me, facing in my direction, and the moment I laid eyes on her, I found myself thinking that she looked oddly familiar. Finally, I had it.
She was, in fact, the very spitting image of Thomas Brodie-Sangster.
Just imagine the above with a pixie haircut, a more delicate nose, slightly darker hair, and red lipstick, and that was her. She was stunning, and I found myself having a great deal of trouble keeping my eyes off her as our journey into the wilds of Illinois progressed.
Unfortunately, the young guy sitting in front of her caught me staring several times, and if his occasional “how YOU doin’?” eyebrow lift was any indication, he seemed to be under the mistaken impression that I was staring at him instead.
The truth of the matter was, of course, that I was gazing at the haunting vision of loveliness sitting just behind him, but his big silly head kept obstructing my view.
The perfect girl of perfectness spent the majority of the ride gazing thoughtfully out the window with her headphones on, and I spent most of the ride trying to pry my eyes away from her (and having very little success). Finally, we reached the last stop of the train – and, as luck would have it, she was also getting off at that very stop!
We exited the train together, and we ended up walking in the same direction towards the stairs that led down into the station proper. She reached them ahead of me and opened the door, I reached for the edge of the door myself and very carefully placed my hand near hers but not touching hers (so as not to be a creeper).
But, lo! Her fingers flitted backwards and brushed gently over mine, and I spent a starry-eyed moment envisioning our forthcoming whirlwind romance and inevitable engagement. An elegant ceremony, she in a white gown and I in a snazzy tux, then a home in the country, horses in a pasture out back, long walks through fields of flowers while the children played…!
I trailed dazedly behind her, down the steps, through the corridors of the station, and finally up into the daylight. I imagined she might be waiting for someone to pick her up as well, at which point we would fall into conversation and of course immediately realize how utterly perfect we were for each other. We sidled towards the same area near the parking lot, she began rummaging in her bag–
And then she pulled out a cigarette, took a long drag, and dashed off to meet two scruffy guys in camo shirts driving a pick-up truck.
And friends, I wept a little inside. To see my future wife sucking nicotine into her lovely lungs and climbing into a four-wheeled monstrosity with a gun rack and a “Romney 2012” bumper sticker was like a dagger to my poor heart, and it was at least seven long seconds before I recovered.
R.I.P., beautiful dream. I shall mourn you always.
And to Thomas Brodie-Sangster Girl, if you’re out there: Quit smoking, and I’m yours. Ours is a love too true and pure to be vanquished by cigarettes and Republicans. I’ll be waiting. <3