It was a morning for music, and I was soaring in my headphones. Dionne Warwick was screaming, "Accept me for who I am; accept me for the things that I do." It was frigid and bright out. I had my headphones turned up too loud, and her high notes hurt my ears, but I wanted to feel her.
Even the subway seemed beautiful. I felt comfortable with my hand on the rail, space around me. I put my hand on my hip and relaxed like I was standing in my own kitchen. I even closed my eyes, tilted my head back and smiled as the song reached its climax.
A few feet away someone was watching me. He had on a grey driver's cap and a green scarf and had a face like a rodent. Not a disturbing face, but a shrewd strange angularity like a rat. He was watching me keenly, actually seeing me. I often zero in on strangers in the subway, examine their demeanor and clothes and craft a life around them, and it was odd to find myself the subject for once. His gaze made me uncomfortable, so I avoided his eyes.
On my way out of the doors, a woman about my age tapped me on the shoulder. At first I thought I must know her from some place, because her demeanor was friendly, familiar, but I couldn't place her.
"That guy in the green scarf was writing a poem about you," she said, "I saw him."
How strange! I asked her to elaborate. It was a description, and he was at it for a while. "The blonde girl in the black and white scarf" were the words that tipped her off. I laughed and jostled her with my elbow as though we were good friends sharing a joke. Then I thanked her and jogged up the stairs, away from her.
Through the station at Grand Central I walked with a new purpose, as if there were a current of energy flowing through me. I moved swiftly and dodged through clusters of strangers gracefully, and felt that everyone around me could feel something too. I know, of course, that that's crazy. But I felt alert and switched on in a way that I haven't for a long time.
I thought about how I woke up feeling beautiful this morning, how I looked at my reflection with something like admiration while I dressed. Was that vanity or love or something else? I can't say. I don't often see myself favorably, though, and today I did. It wasn't the stranger who started the current; I believe he noticed it because it was already thrumming; or maybe I noticed him noticing because I had my eyes open. And anyway, it was a beautiful morning. Isn't that strange?
