Glued

The light was red, no cars were around and I was the queen of jay-walking. I effortlessly sprinted across the street and adjusted my winter hat; fall’s creeping coolness nipped my ears.

My backpack vibrated. I swung my bag off my shoulder, unzipping the front pocket. My mom’s picture appeared on the caller ID: I locked the phone to my ear and answered.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Liz!” She was oddly enthusiastic.

“How’s my favourite daughter?"

I sighed, “I’m your only daughter, Caroline.”

“Sheesh… someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed!”

“I’m sorry, mum. I just can’t stand that winter is coming. My seasonal depression is starting back up.”

“There’s no excuse to speak to your mother that way. You know I was in labour with you for—"

"23 hours!” We recited in unison.

“I apologize,” my eyes could've rolled around the street corner in annoyance.

“Okay, Elizabeth. Anyway, have a pleasant day at work and don’t get too manic. I know that you can’t help yourself sometimes. Talk soon!”

“Bye, love you!”

I stuffed my phone in my jacket pocket and zipped it closed. I put my left shoulder to the revolving door, pushed it and glided into the warmth of the subway station.

My black and gold Ray Bans fogged up. I annoyingly removed them, wiping the condensation with my sleeve. I stepped onto the motorized staircase that escorted me further underground, deeper into the sea of strangers.

I kept my eyes forward and locked them onto the first head in front of me. A girl wearing a blue, white and red Habs tuque with a tricoloured pompom was about 20 feet ahead. I was pleased with her mesomorphic build and I could tell that she clearly had taste from her black jeans and choice of vintage black and white Nikes. We arrived at the end of the escalator, scanned our subway cards and continued onto the same platform.

She stopped and waited for the train to come, I didn’t move. She was scrolling on her phone so I only got a look at her profile view but I could already tell she was gorgeous. She had mocha coloured skin, wore a burgundy peacoat and sported silver Harry Potter glasses. From her side, she reminded me of Rashida Jones from I Love You, Man.

My cheeks burned bright pink, I looked away. The subway cart pulled up and the doors slid as the crowd packed themselves inside like canned sardines.

At this point where Miss Dreamy went, I followed: at a leisure and nonchalant pace of course. Her luscious black curls allured me, I wanted any excuse to hear her voice.

She sat in the corner of the cart and there I was, three seats diagonally angled away from her.

What was so important on her phone? I still had not gotten a full view.

“Next stop: Lionel Groulx” the speaker blurted.

I reached for my book inside my floral Betsy Johnson bag and opened it. I was on page 72 of Dark Matter by Blake Crouch.

In my head, I read “We cruised north toward the city on vacant interstate…”

Who was I kidding? My eyes levitated towards their truest desire once again.

I could ask if she had the time but it was 2020, I would have to be Amish not to own a phone or wristwatch. I could pretend I was a naive tourist…she would see right through that.

Finally, her eyes glanced upwards when a group of girls in school uniforms irrupted in hysterics.

Her irises were emerald green, my heart skipped a beat.

Inhale, 1-2-3-4. Hold 1-2-3-4- exhale: 1-2-3-4. The old girl literally took my breath away.

This woman was uniquely beautiful, like the light sand beaches in Crete. She had a slender nose, wide mouth and defined cheeks.

We were arriving at my stop when my stomach filled with knots; I was leaving.

To my absolute surprise, she arose from her seat. Was it meant to be?

I slowly exited the train and curiously observed where she was heading. She gallantly walked across the platform in the exact same direction.

This has to be a sign. I shuttered. I closed my eyes and painted a picture of our first date.

Dreamy and I were dressed business casual at a fancy steakhouse eating filet mignon and drinking a 2007 bottle of Merlot. On our second date, we were skating at an outdoor rink, shooting hockey pucks and then drinking hot chocolate.

I gawked at how tall she was, such a fitting height compared to my curvy, 5’6 body.

I bet she was a master at cuddling and liked the same comedies too.

The subway cart arrived and we got on, once again. The question still remained: where was she headed?

My thoughts flowed quicker now: we were laughing and eating frozen yogurt. She told a joke about not wanting to sniff the fruit salad as the rude employee at the shop had just smelt some rancid fruit, gagged and almost heaved right in from of us. This girl was unfathomably funny!

Now, I sat 10 feet away from her and tried catching a scent, again she was glued to her phone.

I needed to talk to her, it was now or never. If I missed the chance, I could be ruining my entire life.

My violent thoughts were interrupted when the train doors shot open. Just like that, she vanished into the crowd getting off at Lucier L’Allier. My heart sank, my stomach ached and I felt my forehead tense. I closed my eyes and listened as the doors shut and the metro set in motion. What did my therapist say to do when I felt manic? Call a friend, count to ten, focus on your breathing, then—

“Everybody wanna steal my girl, everybody wanna take her heart away, couple billion in the whole wide world. Find another one ‘cause she belongs to me…”

The One Direction song blared from my cell, I snatched the iPhone from my coat.

“10:00am: take meds” it read. Ah yes, my low dose of anti-psychotics. They were prescribed to help my borderline personality disorder.

I chuckled at my mania. It wasn’t even noon and I was already off my rocker.

I snagged my meds and electric pink stainless steel water bottle from my tote and popped a tiny red pill into my mouth. I untwisted my bottle and washed the medication down. I instantly felt at ease.

“I’m always sprinting after my destiny,” I thought." I need to let it come to me.”