solo

The train gives a lurch and the people swing their bodies slightly with the movement, preventing themselves from falling over. 7th avenue station, Culver Line. Says the flat, automated voice actor of the subway. The doors slide open, scraping noisily as though complaining that they have not yet been retired. A new cascade of air enters the subway car as new commuters step aboard. The doors close and the train moves on. The subway has always interested me. People stand, sit or lean so close to one another but never give any notice to you. There are few places that you can stand so close to someone and go unseen, even in New York. 

People lean, heads back, eyes closed. People read books or newsletters on their iPad, the brightness on the screen turned down very low. Some have earbuds shoved deep into their eyes as though trying to drown out the parts of life they don’t want to hear. 

A man and woman ague quietly, substituting the volume of their voices with the rapid movement of their hands. A teenager curses, looking at their phone. A woman with a rusted blue bike leaning against her legs and missing teeth, hums a tune. 

All passengers are headed to some unknown location. All have stories to be told and feelings to be expressed. I think it’s fascinating, but it can also make me feel isolated. 

The train heaves to a stop once more. The disembodied voice says 6th avenue station. And I stand. Within a few minutes I’m above ground. I slide my hands into my jean pockets. My phone makes the pocket of my talking heads sweatshirt sag slightly. I pull it out and skip the song then adjust my old memorex headphones to completely cover my ears. 

I walk through the streets of Brooklyn listening to The Kinks. Head down. People walk past with a manner of excitement and relief that they made it through another week. Thinking of their favorite bar and which friends they will go with. I walk on. I pass two friends laughing and talking about someone they both know. I look after them, feeling a longing roar inside of me. I tuck my braided hair behind my ears and keep moving. 

A page of a newspaper flops by, blogged down by the wind. A bird over head calls sullenly for a mate. A blankness seems to assemble around me. I feel empty as I walk the crowded streets. People pass me, holding hands or talking on the phone to a loved one or hurrying into cafes where they are meeting up with a friend. My phone buzzes and my hand wipes to my pocket pulling it out but it is returned to its place again after I see that my phone just hasn't been updated in a few months. 

I come to a halt at the old brick apartment building I call home. I buzz myself in and began to climb the stairs, passing closed doors with merry chatter behind them. I push open my door, a small, cluttered, one bedroom apartment greets me. 

I sit down on the couch and look around. Waiting for something-or someone but i’m not sure who it would be. I order pizza, open my computer and pull up Netflix. I click robotically through the slides of movies and shows I could watch. After a long time of scrolling, my eyes unfocused, I google good TV shows. The list read: new girl, schitt's creek, euphoria, friends, I pose, looking at the word. 

My apartment hums slightly as though trying to defuse the silence of the room. Music starts to play from two floors below. A party. The sun is squatting low in the sky now. Pulling it’s rays of light with it as it sinks off the edge of the earth. 

The knock on the door makes me jump a little and I hurry forward. Oliver, the pizza delivery person, stands there in a red cap.

“Hey...Elle, right?” He glances at the recite on the box where my name is clearly printed. “that would usually be $6.50 but we do pizza for free on birthdays.” I watch his eyes slide behind me sweeping the empty room. 

“Thanks Oliver.” I mutter, taking the pizza. I have ordered pizza from Givoanni’s for 4 years and every time it's Oliver who brings me my pizza and every time he looks at the recite to make sure he remembers my name.

“You have any fun plans?”

“Uh, yeah… yeah later.” I say while holding the single sized pizza. I close the door along with my eyes, as the music down stairs grows louder.  

I jump again at a knock on the door. I count to 4 then open it. Oliver is standing there, again. 

“Uh, look, Ella.”

“Elle.”

“Right,” I see his eyes look behind me to the empty room once more. “I am having this party at my house tonight and if your uh…plans end early you could come by. Maybe something fun to do on your birthday.” Delight streams inside of me. All words seem to be boiling in my joy and I can only manage a nod. Oliver takes out a pen and a crumpled receipt from his corduroy coat pocket and scribbles an address.

“Okay cool, come by around 10:00.”

“Cool.” I repeat as he descends the stairs. 

The moment I close the door I burst into action. I run about for the next half an hour getting ready. I look in the mirror, smiling then look at the clock and realize it’s only 9:07. The next 30 minutes I sit on my old green couch and eat my single sized pizza.

At 9:40 I get a taxi. His address is about 15 minutes from mine but I didn’t want to be right on time. A few minutes later I am standing outside a peeling grey door looking from the written 4C on the receipt to the 4C on the door. 

I take a deep breath then knock.