I’m Falling In Love With Prostitutes.

I met the most beautiful girl on the train recently.  The presence of her in my life still feels like a dream.  She had heartbreaking greenbrown eyes.  She kind of had a butt chin, but it was cute.  She had a tiny star tattoo on the inside of her forearm.  I’ll start from the beginning.

As I was drifting in and out of sleep the other night, head against the window and hood up, I was roused by the train coming to a rough halt at the station.  I opened my eyes to take inventory– where I was, where I was going, who was around me and what was I doing with my physical body (I can hold my shit together up top and be easy in public, but sometimes my body gets away from me).  In my brief return to the world I saw her walking onto the train.  Gorgeous.  I closed my eyes again because, in my mind, no good can possibly come from keeping them open at this point.  It’s 3AM and the chance of meeting someone worthwhile seems impossible.  A few seconds later I felt her sit down next to me.  I could tell it was her without even looking; the presumed smell and energy matched up perfectly.  The train started to move, and I felt the sensation of someone looking at me.  I chalked it up to paranoia at first, but that was soon overpowered by the sobering thought of, “oh, no seriously… I think someone might actually be looking at me.”  I opened my eyes directly into hers.  If you’ve never experienced this phenomenon, it is fucking crazy.  It’s like you’re looking into someone else’s world before you even get a chance to see through yours.  I said the first thing that came to my head, which, because I’m fly, was, “what’s up?”

We talked the whole way home.  I took our chatter as deep, meaningful, heartfelt conversation.  She told me she was from Italy but has lived in New York for five years.  I asked what part of Italy she was from and we ended up talking about cultural and societal differences, rhythm’s and flows of livelihoods and general perception of life.  We joked, flirted (which I hate doing) and even got a little touchyfeely (which I’m pretty ok with doing).  I asked where her stop was and she said it was the one before mine.  Sensing her imminent departure I asked for a phone number so that we might get drinks sometime.  She giggled and obliged, so I did the old ‘save the number by sending you a text’ trick, which I thought was the best way to handle the situation.  We talked a bit more until the next stop, at which point she walked away gracefully, stopped in front of the door, looked over at me, and gave a smile that changed everything.

Let me give you more of a background story.  I am living in a world so new to me that my mind is blown every single day.  Days past like hours.  Anxiety has been through the roof at times.  For example, I just searched my whole apartment for bugs because I heard a sound that I believed to be a bug.  It was ice cubes freezing in the freezer.  If too many people get on a train and I’m not sitting down, there’s a good chance I look like a crackhead because of my darting eyes and rapid breathing.  So there’s that.  But more prevalent to this story is my situation with women, which doesn’t really exist.  At the same time I’m constantly surrounded by some of the most breathtaking women I have ever seen, who embody their spirit and femininity in the way they carry and adorn themselves.  This provides an interesting and frustrating dichotomy.

The night I met (Italian girl whose same sounds like the author of Cat in the Hat combined with the play Annie except “a” instead of “ie”) I was convinced she was something special.  I stayed awake thinking about her eyes for like one whole minute, which is a long time at 4AM.   To add fuel to the fire, I had been wearing my favorite shoes that night and my Yahoo! Yearly Horoscope said I would have good luck with meeting women this summer.

The next night, completely alone in a new space all together, I thought of her again.  I had tried calling her earlier in the evening to set up a time to get drinks.  Her phone was off, which is sometimes a weird sign, but it was definitely her on the voicemail, which is always a good sign.  I decided if I didn’t hear from her maybe I would try again sometime during the week.  Lying there, exhausted, but wide awake and paranoid, the first thing I thought of was her smile right before she got off the train.

It was kind of a weird smile.  It might have had some ulterior motives behind it.  It was sexy, but unsettling.  As I continue replaying the interaction in my head the more bizzare the whole encounter feels to me.  Everything was just a little bit off.  I start to realize she was maybe a little too good looking and a little too touchyfeely.  Maybe her contact was superficial.  I was half asleep when I met her, so of course she seemed like an angel. Cher would have seemed like an angel at that point.  I realize her green eyes were too perfectly metaphorical.  I turn Bon Iver up a notch, wrap my blankets around me like a cocoon, and eventually drift off to Benadryl induced sleep.

Because I’m of the curious sort, I sent her a text message the next day.  She replied instantly with prices for the ‘hr’ and ‘1/2hr’.

I guess you could say things are going pretty well for me.

-Brett Jones, May 2011

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