diary: missed connection in december

On Sunday, December 8th, I was coming home from Colada Shop on 14th street. A tall guy with glasses got on with me at Gallery Place and we rode the red line several stops. Of course, I said nothing to him, instead staring at his socks while an absolutely profane, debased inner monologue played out in my mind. Walking home from the train, my writerly brain spiraled: the tan trench, the overgrown hair, slender fingers with too many rings, tall and limber, he was already a character asking to be written.

Eight days later, I’d mostly forgotten about the non-encounter. But then I picked up “You, Again,” by Kate Goldbeck—an amazing friends-to-lovers, homage to When Harry Met Sally, slow burn of a New York novel—and the guy on the cover reminded me of metro guy.¹ So, I Googled: “How to find a stranger you saw once and didn’t speak to” and came across D.C’s missed connections message board on Craigslist. The posts were titled things like “blond girl with UVA sweater at Walmart” “Amtrak 103 NYC to DC, Union Station,” “Are you that cute chubby nerd with a fondness for vinyl?”² But my absolute favorite post was “To the beautiful guy on the red line after Machine Girl.” It goes like this:

near Bethesda, Shady Grove, on the red line. call this old-fashioned and maybe a bit late, but life hasn't been the same; did you like the show? you were a short king with a gnarly wolfcut, black hair, a gray sleeveless shirt, pale baggy jeans, some silver rings, a mole under your lip. young adult? you had bad skin and a cute smile. we actually both came from Machine Girl. at the show I saw you alone reading god knows what manga on the floor, only a few feet away from a moshpit. we somehow ended up on the same train after. you sat behind me and my stinky friend and I finally welled up enough confidence to tell you you were totally beautiful; it's so true. i was the scruffy girl-thing with a black junji ito shirt, fishnets, and cargo pants. wish I at least went on to ask you what your favorite song was from that set, because now I sit around feeling like a roman emperor contemplating uprooting his entire country after passing underneath the visage of a demigod... a month later, do you ever feel lonely?

Someone give this teenaged girl a book deal!! The whole thing was all very POETIC, so Sex & The City, SO (sigh) 1998. I was hooked, obviously. A writer, a romantic, a child of Myspace, how could I not write my own? But because Craigslist is an outdated piece of shit, my post kept getting removed for reasons that remain a mystery.

So, I’m putting my missed connection here.

To The Guy with Dark Hair and Glasses on The Red Line

We got on at Gallery Place together heading towards Shady Grove. It was late afternoon, must've been around 4pm. You were with a woman, your girlfriend, I thought. You had to be 6'4. Lithe, all limbs, you crossed the metro aisle in two sure strides like Noah spreading the sea. A nickname arrived immediately: Daddy Long Legs. You settled into the accessible seats, relaxing into a manspread that might've set feminism back a decade. But who could blame you, really, with legs like that? With so few options for what to do with them? You delicately gathered half your dark hair into a bun, letting the rest frame your jaw, overgrown like you stood your barber up a few times too many, but who cared? You were rocking with it for now. You had long, slender fingers like you played the piano, a lot of rings on, which gave you an edge. What with your dainty glasses, your tan coat and loafers calling to mind a London financier. You were like a Ralph Lauren catalogue incarnate with that sharp jaw. You looked right at me with a placid, vaguely warm, expression. No earbuds in your ear, no phone in sight, just sitting on a train, hands loosely clasped in silence. I was the Black girl sitting diagonal to you in the long leather trench, thin black scarf and black boots, intermittently checking her phone for no reason but to look away from you. Your expression betrayed nothing, but you didn't break eye contact. Maybe you were high. There was nothing flirtatious but, even turning towards the darkened train window, I saw the silhouette of your face still fixed in my direction. But the woman you boarded the train with! You hadn't spoken since getting on. She was standing off to the side. Maybe you were fighting? Maybe you'd been together so long, you didn't feel a need to speak? Just like your face, I failed to understand it. In my mind you were taken, a lost cause, the thought of even trying to speak to you embarrassing. But, at the stop before mine, the girl got off without a word. She was a stranger to you, just like I was. As the train approached my stop, I wobbled up to the sliding doors you were sitting beside. Borrowing your calm demeanor, I balled the opportunity up, stuffed it into my coat pocket like a tissue, and exited through the metro doors. But I wish I’d said something to you.

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I’d love to hear your missed connection stories!!! What stranger do you wish you could bump into one more time?

1. Daddy long legs!!!!

2. Your girl does NOT know how to pronounce “vinyl,” ok

**The song playing underneath the audio is “Speak Low” by Roy Hargrove