The following is a true story.
There was no sound inside the 6:04 am train to New York as it passed through the the suburbs on this frigid February morning. Inside the train, commuters either slept or checked the messages in their iPhones. No one spoke to each other and no one looked out through the train windows.
There is no reason to look outside. It is still mostly dark, and whatever can be seen is covered with snow. It is also exactly the same route that each of the commuters has traveled a thousand times before.
That is; no one looked out the widows except for me. I was feeling sort of melancholy and did not want to check the hundreds of emails that my bosses in Europe had sent me while I was asleep last night. I missed the days when the morning commute was a chance to read a book, and was not just an extension of the workday.
So I gazed out the train window as house after house whizzed past, and a few brave souls walked their dogs in the snow.
Then the train began to slow and came to a halt between stations. The conductor announced on the loudspeaker that due to the weather there was congestion up ahead on the line, and that we would be here for a few minutes.
As the train stopped, I noticed that I was looking directly into the second floor of a small split level house. It was the type of house that realtors refer to as a “starter home.” There was a large picture window on the second floor and it opened to the master bedroom. The house had no curtains on any of the windows. Using some detective work I figured out that the owners must have moved in recently and had not yet had time to get curtains.
The lights were on in the bedroom, and because it was still dark outside, the entire room was clearly visible. There was a young man sitting on the edge of the bed. He was wearing pajama bottoms and no top. He was just an average looking fellow, and he was looking at another door in the room and appeared to be saying something.
Then the other door opened and a young woman, about twenty four years old, appeared. She was wearing a kimono-type bathrobe and her long dark hair was wet. She had obviously just taken a shower. She smiled when she saw the man was watching her, and she said something.
The man stayed sitting on the bed and she slowly walked over. He leaned forward and reached for the belt on her robe, but she just laughed and jumped back just out of reach. She took two more steps backward then undid the belt and let the robe slide to the floor.
She was amazing beautiful as she stood there naked. Her hair was still wet and water from the ends dripped down in droplets onto her breasts, and flowed down onto her flat stomach. She held her arms to the man as she walked forward to be with him on the bed.
Then she disappeared.
The train lurched forward, and suddenly the house, the man and the beautiful woman were gone. The train continued to move and soon the view out the window was of gas stations and auto body shops. The train picked up speed and was soon once again rushing towards New York.
I looked around the train car and noticed that no one else had glimpsed the erotic episode in the little house. I knew that I should not have been a voyeur. But it was such a beautiful love scene on a bleak and dreary day that it drew me into it.
The train never stopped in that exact spot again and I never again saw the young lovers. I sometimes wonder how such an average looking young man was able to attract that stunningly beautiful woman. From her smile it was obvious that she was totally in love.
As I take the boring commute these days, I sometimes smile to myself when I remember that somewhere outside the train window there are two people who have much better things to do in the morning than answer emails.