And then, with an urgency indicating her deep-seeded fear and potentially frantic state, she says, "Don't grab me!"
But let me be exact.
It wasn't "Don't grab me!"
It was more like a very serious warning that she wouldn't know what to do if I grabbed her and so I shouldn't grab her.
Kind of like a directive.
More like "Don't grab me"
Man, should that be a punchline or what?
"Don't grab me!"
Two guys walk into a bar, blah blah blah....rabbi, priest, lawyer, blah blah blah...and then, she goes, "well, don't grab me!"
Great joke. Pass it along.
But it wasn't a joke.
It was funny, but it wasn't a joke.
It all happened when I got on the Metro. It was a typical Friday morning metro into work. Beautiful sunny day. Friday. People looked pretty happy to have reached the end of the line.
Get it? End of the "line" instead of end of the week. Funny, eh?
Anyway, because of the time and where I got onto the Metro, there wasn't a seat.
The problem was that there wasn't even really an available pole.
A pole for holding, not dancing.
For those of you who don't Metro to work - and I am only recently one of those converted railheads - let me explain poles and positions.
My favorite position - for Metro, not other modes of motion - is in a corner.
Well, that's not really true. My favorite position would be sitting in a seat. Next to someone who takes up only their allotment of seat. And who isn't coughing, sniffling, sneezing, talking loudly, using a cellphone or obviously hallucinating.
But, it's not always possible to get a seat.
So my favorite position when standing's the situation is in a corner in the back - or front - of the car I'm in.
In the corner, you don't need a pole. You can just lean against the corner to avoid losing your balance.
Plus, in the corner you can set your bag down where others won't trip on it.
But best of all, once you're in the corner, you're no longer a part of the complicated negotiations for position that take place everytime the Metro stops and more commies get on.
Commies. As in commuters. Not as in commies.
So this morning I get on the Metro. And there's already not a lot of room to move. And no visible pole space.
I should mention that the poles are limited in their usefulness. For one, you can only get so close to a pole when other humans are standing near it already. Second, you can only really use that portion of the pole located near your arm span. It's not like you have the whole length of the pole at your disposal.
And of course I can't reach that damn "mens" pole. The one suspended from the roof of the car. The one you're supposed to "reach up" and grab.
I can't use that pole until Metro accommodates my height disability. I've already filed the papers requesting accommodation by stool. I've read the law and I believe that Metro will have to allow me to use a stool and pay for my stool. I'll keep you posted.
Anyway, I see a bit of a corner-type spot and I go for it.
Except I don't go for it as fast as "go for it" makes it sound.
Since the train is about to move, as it always is, I step gingerly toward the spot, negotiating each step's opportunities for a good embarassing lurch forward into the floor.
You know, it's so hard to look sexy when you're lurching forward on Metro.
It's even harder to look sexy when you're about to lose your lunch. Unfortunately, loco-motion sickness is an ailment I experience at least twice a week.
So I'm trying to get to that little place in the back of the car....and I have to stand still while the train begins moving.
A woman who stands either behind me or next to me - depending which way my body's swerving - says something original about the fact that there's nothing to hold onto.
"Where to hold" talk is the Metro equivalent of weather talk.
But usually, it's not a conversation. Usually it's just empathetic eye-rolling.
"Your eyes are telling me that you feel my unbalance."
Anyway, the lady says something about there being nothing to hold onto.
Always the friendly commuter, I tell her I was planning to just grab onto the nearest person.
"Don't grab me!"
Man, I thought she was going to cry.
And, in my defense, I did not follow that line up with a creepy smile or anything weird.
I probably then said okay or something else acknowledging that I heard her and understood her mass transit fears and limitations.
But it was funny.
My Metro-friend - who I happened to be riding with - leaned over a moment later and whispered to me that I could grab him if I needed to.
How sweet.
Guys say the nicest things to me.
I'm sure Princess Grace was told the same types of things.
"You can grab me anytime, Princess baby."
Anyway, trauma over. The corner opened all the way up a short bit later and I slid in, safe from the imbalance of the train and the imbalance of personalities on the train.
In my corner, I tested out a bunch of thoughts.
I thought about my hair. I thought about work. I thought about coffee. I thought about the weekend.
None of it stuck.
All I could really think about clearly was "Don't grab me!"
I felt like doing an intervention.
I felt like confronting the lady and asking her "Why don't you want to be grabbed?"
I wondered when the last time she had been grabbed was.
And then I saw dead people.
I mean I heard voices.
First I heard Madeline's voice.
Madeline, in that same situation, would have encouraged me - or any person to grab her. And she'd lament - quite dramatically - how she never gets grabbed anymore because she's so old with so many children that nobody wants to grab her.
If I were there with Madeline, she'd encourage the person to grab her just so she could keep up with all the grabbing she imagines I get. Funny how she forgets all of the non-grabbing in my life when she's feeling ungrabbed.
"Wow. You want to grab me? Well it's about time somebody wanted to grab me!"
I can hear her voice now.
But the voice I heard next on the Metro was Missy's.
First Missy would cackle her low, appealingly deep laugh. It's a laugh that makes you realize how much fun she's having in that sick head of hers.
Anyway, Missy would laugh deep and low and dare you to grab her.
"Sure. You can grab me if you don't mind going down with me when I lose my balance."
And then she'd laugh again.
Christina would agree with the woman. She'd lament the inconvenience and then find out the woman was reading the same book. Or that the woman had lived in Germany for five years. Or maybe Italy. Or that the woman had just come back from the place she was about to visit.
Christina's got good transportation karma. She always ends up sitting next to somebody whose life is somehow connected to hers. Christina would come home with the woman's card. And a hug.
My mother, god bless her just in case there's still a chance of my getting into heaven, would talk about how difficult it is to ride Metro when there's nothing to hold onto. And then she would tell you what she had for dinner the past 1,825 nights. And about the woman who lives upstairs whose daughter used to ride the Metro but now she has a wonderful job in Seattle and she bought a van so that she could carpool the children full-time since now she's married to a guy with enough money that she doesn't have to work.
By the way, for heaven do you just register? Or is there a lottery?
Anyway, I thought about Erika.
Mostly because I swam without her this morning.
Even better, because I actually showed up at the pool on a day that she didn't.
I'm usually the problem swimmer.
"I didn't hear my alarm" or "I didn't feel good last night so I thought I'd better sleep in."
Technically, Erika's no longer accepting alarm-related excuses.
I have four alarm clocks and a timer on the television.
Believe me, it's not an issue of wake up reminders.
Anyway, Erika would immediately relate to the woman and make a joke that didn't scare the woman. Erika would laugh her happy laugh and get the woman started talking about lots of things that Erika would relate to.
"I know!!"
Blah, blah, blah....
"I KNOW!!"
People think I'll talk to anybody. And I will.
But Erika?
Erika finds ways to actually relate to everybody.
"Oh, you can grab me. Everybody grabs me. I hate it when everybody grabs me. But they do it anyway. So if you need something to grab, you may as well go ahead."
Did I mention that Erika, while saying this, would be dramatically directing the conversation with her hands?
It's like talking to a conductor who just can't stop. I'm thinking about getting her a baton for Christmas.
And Rhea. Did I mention how much I love Rhea? Rhea would shoot you a look indicating that your painful death would immediately follow any grabbing.
Rhea's husband Marc is different. He'd probably get all alert and awake and ask when the grabbing was going to start.
"Oh, will there be grabbing today? Is this something I knew about?" he'd say as he mentally reviewed his schedule to see if grabbing could be fit in.
Gina, my kindred spirit in New York, would use the opening as an opportunity to tell about her latest adventures. Within minutes, the entire train would be listening to her exhuberant telling of the walk to the Metro and all the amazing - albeit scary and dangerous - things that happened.
Gina's always got that joie de vie response that makes you forget what initiated the conversation.
Brother Brian would, I am confident, make a joke.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think this was the grabbing car? I believe the grabbing car is at the front of the train."
My other brother Eric - the brother formerly known as my "little" brother - would make a non-joke.
"I think I should just keep my mouth shut."
Then he'd smile that smile he smiles when he knows he said something that will get him into trouble at home.
My dad, never a shy one, would make a faux embarassed face and say "getting grabbed on the Metro might not be that bad" and then he'd smile. That innocent, happily-monogamous-forever smile that says "I know I look like I'm only computing numbers and percentages in my head, but everybody likes a good grab from time to time, right?"
My father would never say or even suggest the follow up "you know what I mean?"
My father is the king of "I know you know what I mean."
And he conveys that position so sweetly. With a smile that wouldn't violate anyone's sense of discretion.
Unfortunately, I only take after my father to a point. On occasion, although I'm sure it's rare, I probably violate somebody's sense of discretion.
I saw the lady cop a few glances at me during the Metro ride.
I was wearing my Friday office casual. Which I also wear on Mondays through Thursdays. And Saturdays. Some Sundays, if I get dressed.
I had just come from the pool so my hair was long and straight and loose and wet.
She probably thought I was loose too. And quite wild. And crazy.
But I'm not.
And my friends aren't either. At least not most of them.
But, after hearing the voices of my very grabby and gabby friends as I rode the Metro to work, I felt sorry for the lady.
And I wondered if there was a workshop or bootcamp or retreat one could attend where they teach you how to grab and be grabbed. And to joke about grabbing. And to laugh at the prospect of being grabbed. Or at least, like Rhea, to be completely passionate about their non-grabbing philosophy.
Because this lady looked like she could use a good grab. She probably also would have benefited from giving a good grab or two.
But I'm guessing she was happy just to get off the train when she finally reached her destination. Or maybe just relieved.
I got off the Metro before she did.
I rode up the escalator, slipped my farecard through the reader and proceeded to exit the station.
And as I passed the newspaper recycling recepticle, a section of the Washington Post wafted away from the receptacle opening and blew into the air before drifting back down to land at my feet.
I stooped down to pick up the paper and, just as I did, looked up to see the smiling face of a fellow commie heading over to rescue the lost section.
She grabbed - gently but oh so intently - the section out of my hand. As she stood up and placed the section more firmly in the receptacle, she cursed the nature of a box that's too full.
"Oh, it's always full," I assured her. And I laughed a little laugh of female bonding.
We talked about nothing as we exited the station. And then she walked south and I walked north.
And I relished the thought that I'd shared a true moment with a stranger who probably, if given the option, would go for the grab.