Observing an Interracial Couple in a Train

It had been a tiresome day for me in Washington D.C. I was returning home from work, riding the Green Line from Prince George’s Plaza a week ago when I observed an interracial couple seated across from me. He was a black man, while she was a gorgeous blonde. I received them to be college grads. They were all over each other, talking and laughing, indifferent about the few people riding the compartment with them or me.

At some point, they began kissing, slow and steady at first, then their kissing grew frantic and more passionate. Within seconds, they were sucking each other's lips and moaning like comfortable lovers in the privacy of their bedroom. The blonde, especially, was doing much of the work, tonguing her lover while caressing his chest like she didn’t want to let go. It seemed as though if she stopped kissing him, he might vanish or worse, lose interest in her seduction. It was surprising the way they acted, unbothered about my presence, or that I was observing them. Not once did they glance in my direction.

As for me, I couldn’t help but not turn my face away. It was kinda rude of me to be watching them the way I did, and I did have the inclination of excusing myself to sit elsewhere where I would be less observant, except I couldn’t move. I was so captivated by the exposure and audacity of their love that it made my ride more enjoyable for a brief moment.

All couples go through things: they age; they have kids and have to suffer through paying the bills, but in-between, we’ve kind of lost out on plenty that once was ours alone.

I am in my mid-forties, married for seventeen years, and have three kids. Watching the couple tongue-kiss in my presence made it known how much I’ve been missing out on certain things in my marriage. Moments in my life flashed before my eyes, and it dawned on me that I couldn’t recall the last time my wife kissed me in a similar affectionate manner. Or if really we have ever tongue-kissed that way.

It’s surprising how seeing something occur in front of you can sort of jog your memory into looking inward, into the past. Specific moments of intimacy shared with my wife, however deliberate they were or even accidental that led to some spontaneous activity shared within pleasurable privacy.

Monica and I have a terrific relationship. Compared to many of our friends who have suffered through the messiness of divorce, I would say that through the thick and thin, we’ve held up strong. But I won’t deny that some spark hasn’t departed from the marriage in the preceding years. Not to say that such isn’t typical or inevitable. All couples go through things: they age; they have kids and have to suffer through paying the bills, but in-between, we’ve kind of lost out on plenty that once was ours alone.

Seeing the couple got me wondering what our future would be like if that was us from another age. Were we ever that young before? My eyes went to my hands resting on my thighs. They looked like foreign pair of hands to me. I wish I could find myself a mirror to see what my face looked like as if it wasn’t a face I’d grown familiar with seeing every morning when I’m in the bathroom scrubbing my teeth. My face has the odd resemblance of Bela Lugosi when acting as the Frankenstein monster. Have I ever been so young before?

Was it too late for one to fall head over heels in love again, or was it gone for good?

Before I could dare to probe the intricacy behind such, the train’s conductor sounded off the next stop, which happened to be Columbia Heights. The train’s doors opened onto the platform, and the couple got up and left. I was startled to see them rise and almost wanted to holler at them to stop, not to leave too soon. A pang of regret made me want to apologise for ogling them the entire time. But too late, the doors slid shut and the train continued its journey. I gazed out the window to see if I could sight the couple as the train began picking up speed. I did catch a brief glimpse before slipping from view and then they were gone.

It felt sad for me sitting there, back to being alone with myself. The train made more stops and I kept wishing for another couple to enter and hopefully give me some piece of comforting eye candy. Nothing of such happened. It felt like a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing that I could never get to enjoy again. My misery sheltered me through the ensuing ride.

The train deposited me at Congress Heights, where I walked two blocks before arriving at my home. My kids were there to welcome me the instant I walked through the door, as did my wife. Monica attended to me while I handed my jacket and briefcase to my oldest son to take to the room: “How was your day at work?” “Did you happen to buy some milk?” “Your friend, Lonnie, came by and asked if you and him could play bridge this weekend.”

Monica got my dinner ready and was about to turn away to allow me to myself when I reached for her hand and planted an affectionate kiss on it.

“Thank you, honey,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”

Monica was silent as she stood there looking at me. It lasted only a brief moment, but I noticed the rosy colour highlighting her cheeks and knew she felt my love genuinely as I did of her, too.

“Eat your meal, darling,” she said. She walked away at first but quickly returned and kissed my cheek. “I’ll put the kids to sleep, and then it’s you and me.”

I nodded in agreement and smiled as she allowed me to continue with my dinner.