Third Date

A fever torched the city. A heat, an angry heat, the kind of heat you could taste. Its thirst drove everybody outside, like the young woman and the young man who day-drank across the street from a Brooklyn subway station. The concrete sidewalk was uneven and they planted their feet to stop the chairs from tipping. 

The young woman was telling the young man about a would-be bridge jumper in Chinatown. She spoke quickly and the young man struggled to keep up. But he was interested and imagined the scene she described. A few dozen people gawked from the sidewalk before the bridge. They gripped their phones horizontally and took photos, whispered, and imagined. A group of men turned their backs and adjusted their chairs as they played dominoes at a small metal table. A yellow truck sold empanadas at the end of the block. Several officers stood behind the chainlink highway wall and the young woman watched their lips move. The jumper’s face was corkscrewed and he yelled something after something but the young woman couldn’t make out his words. She wondered if the bridge jumper was talking to the people on the street. She wondered if that mattered until she grew too uncomfortable with the spectacle and wandered away but after circling a few adjacent blocks she went back. The bridge jumper was gone and she watched the last ambulance hook the turn toward the highway. On the train ride home, she tried to find articles or tweets about the bridge jumper but there was nothing.

Like it had just dissolved, she was saying. Him. The whole thing.

Was he a real bridge jumper though? he asked.

What do you mean?

Like, if you don’t know for sure if he jumped. I dunno if you can call him a bridge jumper if you don’t know he jumped.

That’s fair.

Yeah. It’s like.

The young man trailed off and fingered the condensation on the side of his half-full glass of beer. He’d ordered another round as she told the story about the bridge jumper, interrupting her only to ask if she wanted another – she did – and when the new beers arrived he quickly drank some of it down. The young woman’s new beer remained untouched.

It’s like what? she asked.

Like, what do you think he wanted, you know? Attention?

Maybe. 

The young woman’s chair scraped the concrete as she shifted its position. This place makes you feel so invisible, she said.

Yeah. The huge crowds.

Not only that but like. Let’s say you’re in a place with hundreds of thousands of people. How many people in that area are almost the exact same as you?

How? Like physically?

Maybe. Could be. Or they want the same things you want. Talk about shit like you do. Feel the same feelings.

Like when you see a stranger who looks almost exactly like a friend of yours. That ever happen to you?

The young woman smiled. A few times, yeah.

It’s always so crazy.

Like you want to just go up to them and say your friend’s name.

Or some weird nickname that makes no sense. 

The young woman laughed and then they both were laughing. They forgot about the uneven pavement as they laughed and when they did their chairs lurched and threatened to tip. They caught themselves and then took big sips from their beers.

It’s crazy hot out, the young man said.

Seriously. Fuck this shit.

Fuck it. The young man tipped his glass toward the young woman’s glass and they clinked.

The city is crazy, too, he continued. People are going wild.

I don’t think it’s that simple.

What do you mean?

Like. I think people are tired of holding back. 

From what?

Just. Like. What they want to do or say. 

The gloves are off.

Yeah. 

It’s like I said. Going wild. Like I saw these people smoking weed on the train earlier. Some little dirty roach or some shit. Hell, they were spitting on the ground as they did it.

That’s fucking gross.

Yeah.

I guess what I mean is like. Whatever they did before, you know, all this, maybe they’re just sort of done with it. Done with what they used to do. Who they used to be.

Oh, like a job thing?

Sure.

Did you do that?

Yeah. No. I mean, during everything I was laid off so I sort of didn’t have a choice.

And you do something different now?

Kind of. That marketing thing I told you about.

Oh yeah. The money’s good?

It’s okay. 

Hey, I mean. The young man sipped his beer. Then he said, Could’ve been worse.

Yeah. 

A hush blanketed the young woman and the young man. After a minute the young man, who thought the young woman was very attractive, stoked the embers of the conversation and talked about a video he’d seen online. When he asked if she’d seen it she said it sounded familiar and the young man laughed as he remembered the video again. For a while, they talked about the funny things they’d seen online. The young woman thought of bringing up what bothered her, the dizziness, the pain, the court ruling. But the young man looked happy and was making her laugh. 

As they talked the sun sank behind the subway station and the weather cooled. The chairs and tables around them filled as the bar grew busier. Street vendors collected their wares and folded their gray plastic tables. Dented vans carried their things away. The food trucks extended their awnings and clicked on their lights. Birds pecked at the remains of lunch. As the station’s tide swelled the square remained busy, each bench seat or standing place filled again when someone else departed.

After another round of beer and then another, they agreed to leave, laugh-muttering about the work that awaited them the next day. The young woman and the young man paid their bill, crossed the street, and descended the steps to the train. The platform was packed and they searched for a spot near the far end where it was less crowded. The unspoken plan was to travel back into Manhattan before separating at the great throbbing underground heart that awaited in Midtown across the river. The date was ending, and to the young woman and the young man, it felt like a fine ending. They both tried to think of simple things to say, to extend the conversation a little bit further, to see if it might survive past their third date.

The train arrived and they crowded into the last subway car.

Pressed against the rear door of the car, the young woman realized it was loose. Free to slide open. Her eyes darted to the young man as the train began to move. A wild idea flickered through her, then set her mind ablaze. 

Hey, she said.

What’s up? the young man asked.

What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?

Like, ever?

Yeah.

I went skydiving once. Right after college.

How was it?

Incredible. Like. 

The young man paused and the young woman watched him imagine the endless stretch of blue before him.

It’s hard to explain if you haven’t done it, he said.

Sort of like, holy shit, this could kill you?

That, absolutely. 

This, uhm, this door behind me is unlocked.

Oh shit. 

We could ride the back of the train.

You serious?

Yes.

The young man’s eyes flicked to the people around them. All silent and gorging from their phones. 

Let’s do it.

The young woman and the young man together tugged the door open. The roar of the tunnel flooded the car but no one turned to look. Beyond the door on the right was a vertical steel handrail. The young woman grasped the bar and eased herself onto the tiny metal ledge. She looked down and the rush of the tracks reminded her of gnashing teeth. Then she remembered what she was doing and, gripping the handrail, made enough room so the young man could stand beside her. The train shook and jostled. The rear door howled as it slammed shut and the young woman felt gravity claw at her body and gripped the handrail with both hands and didn’t let go. The young man tugged at the latch but the door wouldn’t give. The train rounded a turn and its brakes screeched and the young woman shouted Holy Shit and the young man shouted Holy Fuck and they couldn’t hear each other, their hearts resounding like invading armies, the all and everything an explosion of terror and immortality. They pressed into the door cavity as close as they could, bodies glued together against the metal and glass. 

At last, the train slowed and entered the light and warmth of the next station. The subway doors rattled open and the crowd recycled in the rhythm of city travel. Smiles crept like vines up the faces of the young woman and the young man. They adjusted their weight so their footing was stronger. Any idea of knocking on the window or begging for reentry remained unspoken.

Do you know which station is next? the young man asked, their faces an inch apart. 

The young woman tasted his breath of beer and salt.

No idea, she said.