The circle of possibilities — @belleartmovement (english version)Belle ART Movement
by Alina Simu
The subway station gets crowded around six o’clock in the evening, but that time had already passed. Everybody is closer to eight o’clock, some are at home eating with their family, some are strolling around the park, and others just started their day of work. The subway entry becomes more prominent as I walk towards it. I stuff my hands in the pockets of my grey coat, waiting for them to get warm again. I find my phone in it and I press the volume button, making the song I was listening to the only source of noise I identify.
Waking down the stairs I see an old man playing a violin, his hands being wrapped in gloves cut at the level of his fingers. In his box there are a few bucks. I search my pockets and I find the change from the food I’ve bought today. I bend over and drop the cash in the little box. The old man smiles kindly by showing his wrinkles from around his eyes.
The screen shows that the subway should arrive in about two minutes. I rest my back on a column, on the other side of it there’s a woman, I call her that because any person older than me deserves this title. When will I claim this title as well?
Two minutes pass and in the third one I’m already settled on one of the chairs. There are three people in front of me, but my eyes are glued to the blue jacket of a man. His hat covers his forehead, leaving out a few rebellious strands of blonde hair. He lets his backpack sit on the ground between his legs, while his hands are searching for something. The door closes and he gets a red book out of the backpack, but the writing on the cover gets more and more unclear the more I look at it. He catches me staring and we maintain the eye contact for a few seconds until one of us looks the other way.
I feel my ears burning hot, and I bet my cheeks are few shades brighter. I look at the screen of my phone, but my mind is so busy with the thought of him that it doesn’t even recognize the alphabet. I try to look over him, but I fail as we catch each other’s sight, but this time the corners of my mouth lift in a cheeky smile. His rosy lips imitate my gesture and then his head falls back into the book.
Attention, the doors are closing! Next station is Grozăvești, exit on the right side!
He gets up and throws his book in his backpack before getting it on this shoulder. He comes closer to the door and he presses his body against the pole. He turns his head in slow-motion or maybe everything happens so slowly because I have a romantic view of the world. I don’t know, but he smiles right before the doors open and for him to disappear. The sensation that my heart wants to jump out of my chest and that of my head spinning around the circle of possibilities we would have had if one of us said a simple “hello” lingers.