Gray, starry skies

I had never looked at the ceiling of the subway before.

Is it even called a ceiling? Or does it have a completely different name? 

It’s gray. There is an air vent almost in the middle of it, just slightly off-center. The grab handles dangle lazily from the ceiling panels. 

The ceiling of the subway is utterly uninteresting, and the plastic benches are uncomfortable. Hard under my spine, unpleasantly charging my hair with electricity. Whenever I decide to get up, it will start to float as if it’s been rubbed with a balloon. 

Nobody else is inside this compartment of the train, at least there wasn’t when I got on about twenty minutes ago. Maybe it’s been thirty. I don’t even really remember getting on the train in the first place, that’s how long these minutes have felt.

My legs are swung over the backrest of the seats facing opposite from the ones I decided to rest on. A cold breeze from the slightly ajar window brushes over my exposed ankles.

I think I missed my stop about ten minutes ago. 

“That can’t be comfortable.”

My cheek touches my hair sprawled across the seat when I turn my head to locate the stranger’s voice.

He’s got dark, curly hair. The kind that girls in high school would swoon over. Looks like it was due for a cut three weeks ago, but in a good, messy way.

“D’you plan to be blind?” I ask.

He pushes his hair out of his face and pulls a face. “I did, actually.”

“Yeah? Well, sucks.”

“How so?” He’s got dimples when he smiles.

“’Cause you can’t even look at the ceiling of the subway with your hair all over your eyes.” I turn my head back to stare at the boring, gray panels again.

“Can’t imagine I’m missing out on much.”

“Oh, you are. It’s like a starry sky.”

Silence for a moment, then, he’s suddenly on the seat next to me, swinging his legs over the backrest of the seats as well. He looks at the ceiling for a bit, then makes a humming sound as if in thought.

“What?” I face him, he faces me.

“Truly stunning,” he says. “But I was right.”

“About?”

“This is not a comfortable position.”

I shrug as well as I can in my horizontal position. The rattling of the subway cart doesn’t help my case. My back has been in pain for a while now.

“Sit up, then.”

He pulls his lips up, then shakes his head. “I think I’ll stay for a while.” After a moment, he adds, “If you don’t mind.”

The odd feeling that has been with me for the whole day grows. It’s the feeling of knowing exactly what to expect and yet wondering about what’s to come.

“I don’t mind,” I say. “It’s probably better that way.”

“I figured,” he says.

We simultaneously turn to look at each other again. A lock of hair falls into his eyes. It makes me snort. “You look dumb.”

He grins as well. “I should really cut it.”

“I think it’s nice.”

“You just said it’s dumb.”

“No, I said you look dumb.”

He raises his hands in retaliation. “Alright.” He smiles. “Do you do this often?”

“No, I just figured today’s as good as any to lay on the uncomfortable benches on the subway train and listen to the obnoxiously loud sound of it rattling on and on.”

“It is a beautifully starry night to do so,” he agrees and points to the gray ceiling. “Look at that. Big Dipper, right there.”

I tilt my head. “I think that’s a constellation called the Big Air Vent.”

“Be creative,” he says and points toward the other end of the train compartment. “Check it out,” he says in a voice that I can only assume to belong to someone deeply charming, “that’s Cassiopeia right there. Oh my God, and Ursa Minor.”

I don’t follow his index finger. I look at him instead. “You know a lot about constellations.”

“Eh,” he says. “A thing or two.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“It is kind of a niche topic.”

“Okay, now you just sound pretentious.”

This time it’s him who snorts. “Perhaps.”

“Who says Perhaps? Pretentious, much?” I bite down on my lower lip to suppress a grin.

“Well,” he says and taps on his polo shirt, “I did grow up in a pretentious household. My parents raised me this way.”

“I take it they don’t approve of the hole that AC/DC button punched into it?”

“Not really,” he says. “But they preferred it over my pride button. And hey, I got a life without them now.” He points at the ceiling again. “Enough about me. Look at Orion instead.”

“I don’t care about constellations.”

“Alright,” he says. “Cloud-watching, then? What do you see in this one?” He points at one of the grab handles.

“Hm.” I tilt my head and squint. “Looks like a grab handle.”

He props himself up on his elbows and lifts one eyebrow. “You’re entirely uncreative, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me paint you a picture, then.”

“You got a canvas hidden up your ass?”

He sits up properly now and crosses his legs. I hadn’t noticed the chains dangling from his jeans before. They don’t go very well with his polo shirt. “Close your eyes,” he says.

I look at him, unimpressed.

“Come now. Entertain me.”

“Fine.” I exhale and close my eyes.

“What do you see?”

“Darkness.”

“No, you see a beautiful, azure sky with fluffy white clouds. A gentle breeze is brushing through your hair, which, by the way, is way longer than mine, so who are you to judge?”

I chuckle.

“Soft grass touches your feet.”

“Gross.”

“What’s gross about soft grass?”

“Talking about my feet is gross.”

“Okay, fine,” he says and thinks for a moment. “Soft grass touches your legs. Better?”

“Way better.”

“You start walking through the meadow,” he keeps talking. “There’s tons of flowers. All your favorite ones. Rhododendron, tulips, sunflowers…”

“I don’t like sunflowers,” I interject.

“Marigolds?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, marigolds, then. Tons of them. And the sun is just warm enough to be comfortable, not too hot, not too cold.”

“The sun is always warm. I think you mean the weather is warm enough.”

“Who’s pretentious now?”

“Go on.”

“In the distance, you can hear birds. Butterflies flutter across the field.”

“I thought it was a meadow.”

“Are you telling the story or am I?”

“You are, and frankly, you’re doing a terrible job at it.” I open my eyes again to take a look at him. His hands are folded in his lap. The white front of his otherwise black converse are covered in sharpie-drawn stars.

“Which stop are you getting off at?”

“I still have some time.”

I smile a little. He reciprocates it. “I had a terrible day.”

“I know,” he says.

“Terrible life, actually.”

“You look like it.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” I instinctively tug at my sleeves.

He nods towards my exposed ankles. “Recently?”

I press my lips together and nod. “Mhm.”

“I get it.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me to not do that?”

“Why would I do that?”

“’Cause you’re pretentious.” I take my legs off the backrest and cross them as well, facing him. “And everyone always tells me that.”

“I’m not everyone, am I?” He looks at the sleeves of my hoodie. “It was like a thousand degrees outside today and you’re wearing a hoodie. Wasn’t hard to tell.”

“Is that why you’re talking to me?”

He shows me a sympathetic smile. “I think that even one conversation can change someone’s life.”

“You think you’re that important to be capable of changing my life?”

“Maybe I could’ve. But it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” His smile fades. “The least I can do now is help you transition.”

I hesitate. “Am I really that predictable?”

He shrugs. “You do have a bit of a sad aura going on.”

“Now you can read auras too?”

“That’s just a skill you acquire after years of helping people like you.”

The subway comes to a halt. He looks at the doors opening, stands up and holds his hand out for me. “Come on,” he says gently. “This is us.”

I take his hand and follow him to the doors. The light coming from the station is blinding.

“Wait,” I say. Our interlinked hands keep the automatic doors from closing. I’m inside, he’s outside. “Maybe this isn’t my stop. Maybe I missed it.”

”I know you’re scared,” he says. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

The warmth in his voice reaches something in the back of my mind. “Do you promise?”

He tilts his head and smiles softly. His hand tugs mine, and I step through the light barrier. “I do.”