The public displays of affection of two lovers on a train. The metro flies on its rail, but the lovers see neither the outside world rushing by through the windows nor their fellow passengers sharing the ride. Their eyes are too full of each other.
She sits on his lap, he having carried her, wedding-over-the-threshold-style, onto the train.Her arm’s around his neck and his hand entwines in her fingers. They only take up one seat, really, the two people in one space.
They’ve been talking. There’s the pink glow of something that might be love hovering about them, but the light is strangely somber. She told him that night. Told him everything. Told him about her father, about the mother she had once come to resent, about the sister she had once come to almost lose. Had lost, perhaps in the way that really counts. She told him everything.
And she told him about the dragon, the fire-breathing monster living inside her. She dropped its name here and there, avoiding his eyes when the hiss passed her lips and staring at the ground as if for a moment she could pretend he wasn’t there.
She told him that she had it. Anorexia.
But still, he looked at her as if she were beautiful.
The metro rail passed by and I sat down next to them, the air slightly humming, by the two lovers on a train.