Page 31 - NyghtVision Magazine Volume 3 #4

Day One But this time, I did not. Behind the shield of
my dark glasses, I brought my eyes to bear
upon her.

“She is looking at me,” I said to myself. She looked at me again, only to turn her face
away when she realized that behind the impen-
I said that as much in surprise as I did to pass etrable darkness of my eyes, I was looking at
the time between trains. “This is a Queens her.
bound Q Train,” said the automated voice as
JD and I stepped on to the platform at 42nd Her face flushed and reddened again. She low-
Street nearly 30 minutes earlier. Instinctively, ered her eyes. I did not move my eyes from her.
I looked up as all New Yorkers do as they exit I continued in conversation with JD, but I was
the subway, looking for the signs that would not about to let my eyes move away from her. I
direct us clear across the island to the A Train knew that once the train arrived, I would likely
we would take to190th Street where we would never see her again and I wanted to savor every
have dinner with my life-long friend Steve. moment of her beauty.

I had caught her twice before, out of the corner There are many “rules” in New York. All of
of my eye, but hadn’t given it much thought. them unwritten. Among the most important is
Beneath the long shadow of the stairs, she this one: “Never look at anyone. And if you do,
stood with her back away from me, waiting for do not get caught.” Of course, everyone looks.
the train. But, there is an art to not getting caught. It is
easily practiced. So, to get caught, well..... It is
She was perhaps five and a half feet tall – it inexcusable.
is hard to tell when a woman is wearing heels
– and in this case she was wearing ankle-high From the infinite darkness beyond a dank wind
black high heeled boots that hugged her ankles rose over the breath of the station. A train was
beautifully. Black stocking carefully followed coming.
the contours of her shapely legs until they dis-
appeared under the length of a black skirt that The wind pulled the hair away from her face,
rested carefully on her knees. Long hair, to the leaving her curls to dance silently over her
red edge of auburn fell in a cascade of curls shoulders and fall upon her chest. With her
upon her shoulders. A heavy woven sweat- face turned from me, it returned to its porce-
er nearly the color of her hair, concealed her lain whiteness.
torso, and yet, even the weight of the sweater
couldn't conceal the fullness of her breasts. A Screeching. Scratching. Shrieking. Steel
large, floppy, hand bag draped over her arm against steel. In the chaos of bodies moving to-
and carefully cradled in her hand a white “Dean wards the train, I could no longer see her. JD
and Delucca” pastry box. Her face, high cheek and I boarded the train – shoulder to shoul-
bones and deep blue eyes, pale and perfect- der with countless others. Quickly, I scanned
ly white skin, porcelain and without a mark, the gathered throng of humanity. She was no
blushed as I looked back at her. where to be seen. I reached up to take hold of
the railing that is suspended from the ceiling
She turned her eyes away. of the subway car. The doors were about to
close and the train would lurch unpredictably

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