All The Scenes.

Before Sunrise, Before Midnight   

Rarely does it occur. The glamorous scene of candid romance. I wait and wait, like a fool.

I would be thrilled to trade in the horrific minutes devoted to dating apps for a memorable and exciting one-off run-in that turns into something wonderful. What an original desire this is. Maybe I’m constantly on the prowl, or maybe I’m just curious- craving a new kind of interesting moment. 

It’s such good fun to imagine, to find parallel realities that can pick me up when I'm down or just inspire me, but it’s far more exciting when my imagination correlates to some version of experience. I want a chance encounter that reaffirms my belief that the spontaneous romance I dedicate so much time to imagining is slightly possible. Seemingly too often, I get teased by glimpses of sweet “meet cutes” or origin stories, but they always seem to go astray. I wonder if this is a unique experience of mine or if near misses like this are just (a funny?) part of life.

The premise of Before Sunrise (Julie Delpy, Ethan Hawke, 1995) is a scenario anyone (me) would stay up fantasizing about. No origin story is more sexy or mysterious than two strangers on a train. 

My Before Sunrise parody began at the station. I sat working at a bar in Moynihan Train hall. My oversized laptop was out, my bags lay on a chair so close to me that, in my opinion, it would be strange for anyone to sit there. In his opinion, the attractive tall man dressed in all black, the seat was open for the taking. He had small round glasses and extraordinary eye lashes and he carried a beer, two hard shell suitcases, and two iphones.

“Can I sit?”

“Yes, all yours.” I was instantly nervous, practically trembling. Did he see me looking at him?

I had clocked him as a figure of interest, but was in no way expecting him to join me. I like to admire from afar. I'm not shy, but confronting a source of distraction and attraction is not something I would ever consider attempting. For 15 minutes we sat in silence. He drank his beer and bounced between phones. I stared blankly at my screen, pretending to work, and fixated on the sound of my heart pounding, which was such a rhythmic thunder clap, I was convinced everyone around me must have heard it. 

“What train are you on?” He asked at a random moment, yet his tone was so confident, it actually wasn’t an awkward way of breaking the silence. He had been eyeing my screen, and my his, a way of showing curiosity, yet not as revealing (or vulnerable?) as looking for eye contact. 

“The very delayed one to DC.” I laughed.  

“Same.” He turned his body towards me, granted his chair was already inappropriately close, and committed to the conversation. I turned too, but only slightly. 

He bought me an Aperol spritz. He lives in DC. He’s from Houston. He’s 9 years older. He said my eyes were very pretty and blue and dilated. I told him I wasn’t on drugs, they’re just always dilated. He showed me his car and asked if it were sexy. An hour or so passed. 

My heart continued to pound, my fingers were unstable upon clasping my spritz. His eyes were so close to mine. Our conversation flowed. This was exciting? This was a scene. A romantic scene?

He liked the book I was reading, My Brilliant Friend. He is about to spend a month in Barbados. He drank a Martini. I had a glass of wine. Another hour passed. He had a beer. He started to laugh at everything I said. His phone rang.

“Cara?” He giggled. “It’s my lady. watch my stuff” he demanded and walked away abruptly.

I didn’t know his name. His ladies’ name was Cara. Was the scene over?

When he came back I asked about Cara. It felt strange not to. I scooted my seat back, I stiffened my features, I thought about the friends he mentioned having in Brooklyn- maybe they were single.

He and Cara had been friends in college. They kissed once. It was 12 years ago. After college they stayed in touch, but casually, as friends. Cara got married 8 years ago. Cara left her husband 2 weeks ago.

For 12 years he pined. He knew. Cara loomed over every relationship he had. He kept reaching out, to have an idea of where she was and what was occurring. About a month ago, they both sent each other the same quote from a Joan Didion book that they both happened to be reading at the same time. I wish I knew which quote it was, or if that absurdly climatic and romantic coincidence was even true. But as he said, “after that quote, Cara knew too. Whatever it was, was real. It was still there, it always had been.” 

Cara told her husband and flew from Stockholm, where she still lives, to DC to confirm it. They were completely in sync. To most, this would sound like a real romanticized version of the story, but I ate it up. That was until he took it too far and said, “I didn’t need to eat. I didn’t need to drink. Even water. I didn’t need sex, I was so satisfied just to see her in front of me.”

“Wow, to please a man that much merely with my presence. How do I get there?” I grinned sarcastically.

“Make him wait,” He said seriously. Such horrific and annoying advice. I nodded as if I were diligently taking notes. 12 years of pining is haunting and foolish and wasteful.

Now he and Cara are together. Her husband is gone. He doesn’t regret the wait or the agony because now he knows “it’s worth it and it’s real.” 

“Timing is everything, so fuck it if you have to waste a tremendous amount of it in order to get it right.”

He was so very inspiring. 

I couldn’t be upset. Maybe he had been flirting with me, maybe not. Regardless, I had been both amused and touched by his story, despite his escalating drunkenness and grandiose way of telling it. It’s funny how thin the line always is between mocking romance and indulging in it. I wonder if he and Cara will work out, probably not given the amount of times he stressed how real it was. I thought I was having my Before Sunrise scene, but he had already lived it, and hopefully (for him) he was deep into Before Midnight. I was just someone to share the story with- someone who loves a story, and this one, my imagination would not have found on my own. 

My scene is coming? 

We didn’t talk much on the train ride. Instead, I discreetly wrote down his story on my phone as I sat right next to him. Luckily, he was too busy to notice, texting Cara. 

“What’s your name?” I asked as we stepped onto the platform three hours later. I had to know Cara and who…

“Joseph.”

“Best of luck Cara and Joseph.” I grinned.

  “Patience.” He nodded to me and walked away.

At least Joseph is confident that my scene is coming.