Love Means Never Having to Say You’re Sorry (to the Other Passengers on a Crowded MTA Car)

Back when I first started working, I relied upon my iPod and the occasional book to entertain me during my morning commute into the city from Brooklyn.  Then one day, I spotted them: the PDA Couple.  Chances are that if you’ve ever ridden a subway in New York City, you’ve encountered one of their kind at one point or another.  There are plenty of Drunken Hipster PDA Couples that you can spot on the L train late at night on the weekends, so those aren’t really unusual.  In fact, they’re really quite common.  This couple, my PDA Couple, however, was special.

pda-couple(artist’s interpretation; not actual PDA couple, though these people are totally classy in their own right)

Like some magical clockwork we’d find each other in the same cart at least a few times a week.  They’d be pressed up against the doors of the train, dressed for their respectable adult jobs while making out like they were middle schoolers who’d just discovered the rapturous pleasures of first base.  Every morning that I’d see them, the air must’ve been filled with a strange magnetism that inexplicably brought them into my line of vision and quite explicably brought me to near tears/vomiting.  There love was moving to behold, inspiring to the bitter and heartbroken, and completely inappropriate for 7:50 in the morning.  This ballet of romantic mutual delight continued for months, and everyday it was a train wreck of passion from which, once spotted, I could never turn away.

Then, one terrible day, I stopped seeing them.  Nothing had changed in my schedule, so I knew something was amiss on their end.  I grew frightened.

I worried for their love.  Had they simply moved to live off another line, hence me never seeing them?  Had they parted ways?  Was it amicable, or ugly?  More importantly, if a couple prone to such an uninhibitedly public declarations of love couldn’t make it in this crazy world, then who could?  WHO??? 

Once or twice I saw them again, some months later.  They sat together awkwardly, as if they wished to remain friendly yet couldn’t let go of some unspoken awkwardness.  Was their another woman or man that somehow played a part in this strange equation?  Had their connection been based on pure physicality and lacking a significant emotional foundation to ground them?  These questions I did ponder for a few days, but I soon resigned myself to the fact that they were over.  The world had grown a little darker knowing that true love was so obviously nothing but a fairy tale, a ruse; still, I took solace in knowing that I was far more likely to keep down my first cup of coffee.  

One day recently, though, the prodigal lovers of egregious displays public smoochin’ returned from their mysterious sabbatical to remind the masses that love really does exist, and it doesn’t know when it’s ever appropriate to not act on those feelings.  It started quietly enough.  I spotted them sitting together, the awkwardness had dissipated and been replaced by a warm affection.  A week later, they’d found their way back to the doorway; admittedly, they were rapt in conversation as opposed to playing tonsil hockey.  Then, this morning, the phoenix of their love reemerged from the ashes; instead of swapping bon mots of affection, they clearly decided to just swap spit instead.  

In a world of bachelors and shots at love and cougars, it’s nice to know that true love doesn’t require you to get in front of a camera and compete with 19 other justifications for eugenics.  So I salute you, PDA Couple of my morning commute (and PDA Couples everywhere, for that matter) with this Coldplay video for “Lovers in Japan”:

Oh, lovers, please do keep on the roads (or trains, or sidewalks, or wherever) that you’re on.  You remind us all that true love does exist, and that it’s tacky as hell.

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One Response

  1. *sniff* Oh those trassy bridge and tunnel rabbits. They give me hope for a brighter, love-filled future….*belch* Oh, sorry. Guess it was just indigestion.

    Like

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