Leaning against the beam, dreaming with the musicians on the F train platform, I remembered that I was carrying stickers and rustled in my bag to find them (keep an eye out for them, they’re fresh). 
Looking up, I noticed a man who seemed familiar in ways but turned out to be a handsome bedimpled and lanky stranger. We smiled as he passed, I thought maybe… Politely, he waited as I entered the train. We played looksies a bit but I had no nerve. It may have been his headphones or my concern that he did not speak English. Halfhearted, I wrote my phone number on the back of a sticker and placed it right on his reading material as I exited the train.
Admittedly, at the time, I felt pretty slick as I strolled toward the opposite track, waiting for the A. I reached into my pocket for another sticker, looking around for a good place to post it. I noticed a man slouched on the bench, legs crossed and reading in a sort of sexy-European-musician way. Whatever the fuck that means. I circled him slowly and noticed his mouth and freckles, black curls like fronds from under his knit cap. Looking up at me with clear brown eyes, he smiled, went back to his reading. I sat one seat over as it is polite to do, placed my sticker on the arm rest, looked him over- noticed that he is an artist from his sooty hands and shoes.
A man walks by singing and I laugh, look back at my artist and smile. He looks at me, smiles and shrugs, to which I say “is that an iPad Air?” and he sits up a bit and replies, in a Spanish accent, that it is not, and removes it from it’s case to give me a closer look. I move over to the seat directly next to him, explaining that I am looking to buy a tablet but am unsure what to get. We go back and forth a bit, he thumbs through explaining to me what he uses it for- that he does not have a tv, so he watches and reads and does everything on there. I notice his mouth again, and his clean crooked teeth, his tongue- his black facial hair, his scarves. I ask how he likes typing on it and he shrugs again to say that some people find it difficult but he got used to it, then he pulls up the keyboard so I can type. I hear the train coming behind me and I type: my name is ____, are you single?? Blushing, smiling, I pass it back to him, the train slowing behind us. He smiles as he reads aloud, then types: I am ____ and single is a state of mind. “Ahhhhhhh” I say, presuming to know what that means “well, here check this out” and I give him a sticker as I rush to the train as the doors are closing. The doors close, I am still on the platform.
Exhale glitter.
Sitting next to him again, we start to talk about this blog; he puts the sticker over the Apple symbol on his iPad, leaving the leaf part at the top so it looks like a heart apple. Smitten. I’m trying to figure out what he meant by ‘single is a state of mind’ and he is trying to figure out the spastic enigma that is me beside him. We get on the train together and enjoy a warm conversation. He is so beautiful, I am easily lost in his accent and his freckles, his eyes and those teeth. My head is cautioning me; I’m lead by the loins. I ask to see pictures of his work and he shows me a pair of emerald earrings, hammered wedding rings with diamonds, rough natural and well made. Just before we get off at our stop, the conversation turns pink and he asks me why I asked if he was single, I ask him about his open relationship. We agree that my iPad move was/IS legendary. With confidence and ease, I tell him the exact nature of the blog and why I asked him if he was single. He quotes Mario Benedetti, saying:
Opportunities are lost in the blink of an eye.
Swoon… I’m so happy I did not blink.
Walking home together in the rain, asking questions of each other to assess the possibilities. He tells me so much about himself, I want him to tell me all of it. Life has taken an unexpected and noticeable turn. We get to my block and stop to talk. Face to face in the cold mist, he explains to me, in his Columbian accent, that men are like kitties- that they will walk by you and rub against you, purrpurr as you pet them; but sometimes when you try to pick them up, they claw at you and jump away. You have to learn to let them come and go, love them when they want you to, let them knead you. He asks me what I feel about polyamorous relationships; gives me compelling detail about his liberation through living this way, and explains to me his 3 conditions. As he lists them, he moves closer to me; the moisture on his face in the candle-colored street lamp light illuminating his freckles, I do not look away. I feel the electricity and pheromones radiating out from my lower, more primitive third eye, pupils dope-dilate, I am lassoed in this force field and all I want to do is kiss him. Low and clear, I ask him:
So… do you want to be my kitty?
Purrrrrr Purrrrrrr Purrrrrrr
no i do not love you 