Great evening

Tonight was my children's-book writer's circle meeting. Since there are only three of us, it's more of a triangle, really. It went well -- she was working on her adult novel, he had been busy working with publishers on stuff he'd already written, so I was the only one to bring a piece, a short story I'd written ten years ago. Probably more like 13 or 14, now that I think of it. Since there's not much market for kids' short stories, it was suggested I use it as the intro to a young-adult novel. Which I'm considering.

That's just background, though. What made it a great evening was the train. I had to drop the girls off with their mom in Manhattan on my way, and they sat on the train and split a slice of pizza for awhile, then both sat reading books. Great, no chasing around the train, I always hate that part. Then finally, the last 1/3 or 1/4 of the train, Eve started acting up. Then SHE intervened.

To quote Davey Jones, then I saw her face, now I'm a believer. She was a brunette. Looking like she was going somewhere special in a little black dress. Stunning in the literal sense -- it was all I could do to look back at the struggling Eve. Then SHE came to my rescue, turned to Eve and started talking to her and smiling at her (at her, not me, but it was still something to behold). She asked Eve's name, but got only shy smiles... until she warmed up and started chatting. They discussed why one shouldn't stand without holding on when the train is moving. Then she talked to Grace about the book Grace was reading. They talked about the party she was going to at Gotham Hall (she'd be riding 'til our stop. YAY!), and this, of course, led to talking of Batman.

When we got off the train, I asked her name. I used the desire to blog the experience as an excuse. I couldn't bring myself to ask anything else -- she was years too young, by my reckoning, early twenties the latest, and I was an unkempt mess in my sophisticated "got beer?" shirt. Anyway, I'm sure she could see my utter infatuation (the stars in my eyes were the size of quarters) -- but you know what, I don't care. I'm sure I'm in good company.

Her name was Stephanie. And you know, she looked like a Stephanie. She may well, from now on, be the Stephanie against whom I measure all other Stephanies.

She walked away to her party at Gotham Hall. We went to Manhattan Mall to meet Mommy. End of the ride.

But not quite the end of Stephanie, for me. I'm something of a lech, to be honest -- in the privacy of my own mind, at least. I look. I appraise. I ogle discretely. I am not particularly proud of these things, but it's what I do. But for the rest of the ride, every other woman faded before my vision of Stephanie.

And if it weren't for that middle-eastern woman in the print dress and calf-high boots on the F train, subtly but energetically bopping to the music on her iPod, I wouldn't have noticed anyone else at all.

::shrug::

I am what I am.