Scott Baio Is 46...and Pregnant
I had a dream last night that I want to remember so I must type quickly, without regard for grammar, spelling, or syntax.
I had gotten on the N Judah with you at Van Ness station headed inbound, knowing that by the time we reached the Caltrain Station at 4th and King that I would never hear from you again for the rest of my life. You maneuvered your way through the crowded car and propped your carry-on suitcase against the sliding doors, on the side of the train that would remain shut for the remainder of the trip. There was nowhere else to sit, so you straightened out the back of your floral print dress before lowering yourself down onto the ribbed metal floor of the swaying N train. I joined you there and gently intertwined my fingers in yours. We sat in silence for two stops. Two full stops where I saw how pleased you were that it was going to end exactly like this. Two full stops where I entertained the idea that we really would just hold hands and sit quietly the whole way through, surrounded by strangers towering over us, while we hurtled through the last minutes of our shitty relationship. Two full stops where I entertained the idea that this would be a pretty story that I could speak fondly or coolly of when I found the real one. But that involved excising from the story on future retelling the desperation that was bubbling up inside of me. That involved acknowledging that you were a fake one and that there was even a future beyond you, which at that moment seemed inconceivable. Powell Station.
“So who's the guy who's picking you up when you get to Paris? Have you even met this guy in person before?" I could tell you were annoyed that I broke the silence, but you stayed civil. We were still operating within the rules, after all. Since we had never been a real couple, it had always been fair game to acknowledge the presence of other romantic interests. "Of course I've met him before, don't be silly." Despite myself, I pressed on in a sing-song voice. "You LIKE him don't you?" I dragged out the last syllable. Long enough so that I could effectively turn it from a burning question I wanted answered into a child-like playground accusation. You crinkled your nose in embarrassment and I felt my heart constrict. "He's SO gorgeous. And he's so confident. I feel like I already like him much more than he likes me. Ungood!!" Embarcadero Station."I can be confident too." We both knew that was the exact moment I violated the rules of our game. Natural light suddenly came streaming through the windows on both sides as we came out of the tunnel and I couldn't see my own expression, but based off of yours, I could imagine that mine was the most unattractive that it had ever been. You looked away and started fiddling with the lock on your suitcase. "But you aren't." Brannan Station.The N Judah was emptying out near the ballpark. You struggled to get up off the floor and I helped you stand up. You wouldn't look at me. I thought about what I was going to do for the rest of the day. I thought about you making your way through the airport. The Caltrain doesn't even take you to the airport, so why are we even on this thing heading towards it? That would be a really stupid last question to ask you, I thought.