Chance
It was a calm, cold autumn afternoon in New York and as I have always done on Saturdays, there I was, wondering about Soho, getting the best of the day until nightfall, following a delicious ritual including visiting some galleries, looking at some stores windows, the people in the streets and taking some photos.
For some reason, that Saturday I decided to stop earlier than usual. Walked to Little Italy, bought some bread, cheese and some good wine to take home. Got the subway at Broadway and Canal, going to the upper eastside.
I was living in an old brownstone building on 3rd Avenue, near 94th Street.
The small apartment in the 4th floor was my refuge. Had a wonderful partial view of the East River, from where I could see the top of little ships and tug boats that used to go by the river dragging barges with all sorts of things. On foggy days, I could hear the lament of the foghorns from the ships.
The train wasn’t full but no seats were empty. Soon though a two-seater near the door emptied up and I sat. That’s when I noticed the beautiful woman standing midway on the train observing me.
I don’t usually like people staring at me and, usually gives me the sensation that something is wrong,
She was very beautiful and the odd thing is that she didn’t seem to belong there.
She was dressed up in a nice long skirt, of a dark tone of grey, a light skirt with some embroidering going vertically near the buttons. A long jacket matching the skirt completed the image. She was holding a coat in one of her arms. She was dressed for the night, for some fancy event or so and therefore looked so inadequate for a subways car, at that hour.
I was seated, holding a pouch and a camera and could not avoid looking at her. Lost in my thoughts, to my surprise, I noticed her coming in my direction and that made me tremble.
She approached and asked with a very sweet voice:
– May I sit?
I responded still with some trembling in the voice:
-By all means, please.
And I made space for her to seat.
She sat there, quiet for a moment. Then she turned to me and asked if I was a photographer. I said that I was, but amateur, for the love of it. She became very interested and we started a conversation about the things I liked to shoot and how often I did it. I told her of my every Saturday excursion to Soho. She found my dedication wonderful.
Then I asked her where was she going in which she responded:
–Nowhere in particular, just wondering about.
Worried, I mentioned she should not wonder too much uptown because it was no place for a person like her but not giving much attention to what I said, she asked if I had prints of my work. I said yes, I had a good number of photos printed, mostly in B&W.
She promptly asked me:
-Can I see them? I would love to see them.
–Well, I guess yes. And I thought my place may not be the kind of apartment she is used to go.
-It’s just a simple place.
–I like simple places, she said.
When my stop arrived, we got off the train and went to my home.
As I said, it was a very simple place. I had the photography set up in the back room; there was a kitchen with space for a table at the corner, right in front of the door and the front room was a bedroom/living room combination, with a couple of comfortable chair near the window, were I used to sit and do my reading and had a small tea table completing the set.
She sat comfortable at one of the chairs. She was so beautiful. She should be on her mid thirties, no more than forty, yet reflected such a youthful aura. Her eyes were bright with such anticipation for the photos she wanted to see, almost childish.
I brought a couple of albums I had arranged and she started looking at them, asking about each photos. She wanted to know all about them. When I had taken them, what was the feeling that made me choose it, if there was any story behind it? Such interest no one had ever had about my work. I was amazed about it. It was such a magic moment I wish would never end. In my 26 years of age I had never met someone as captivating as she.
The time went by. We had some of wine I bought and the conversation was flowing so naturally we didn’t even notice the time go by.
At a point, she looked out the window, noticed the night was coming. Her face changed to a somber expression and the smile, until then, so captivating, went away.
She held my hands and looked at me silently. Her blue greenish eyes looked like the surface of some enchanted lake, and were holding tears, for some reason. Suddenly, before I could comfort her, even not knowing the motive of her crying, she got up saying she had to leave, that she didn’t have any more time and she would never forget that day.
I went towards the door, still shaken by her abrupt departure and said:
- Let me walk you downstairs.
–No, she said. Let’s say goodbye right here.
She kissed in the cheek, let go my hand and headed to the stairs.
-Wait, I said. I don’t even know your name.
– It’s Julia, she said, Julia.
She quickly went down the stairs and I went to the window to observe her.
Julia crossed the street, got into a cab that turned right into 94th Street towards 2nd Avenue.
She didn’t even know my name.
It was a calm, cold autumn afternoon in New York and as I have always done on Saturdays, there I was, wondering about Soho, getting the best of the day until nightfall, following a delicious ritual including visiting some galleries, looking at some stores windows, the people in the streets and taking some photos.
For some reason, that Saturday I decided to stop earlier than usual. Walked to Little Italy, bought some bread, cheese and some good wine to take home. Got the subway at Broadway and Canal, going to the upper eastside.
I was living in an old brownstone building on 3rd Avenue, near 94th Street.
The small apartment in the 4th floor was my refuge. Had a wonderful partial view of the East River, from where I could see the top of little ships and tug boats that used to go by the river dragging barges with all sorts of things. On foggy days, I could hear the lament of the foghorns from the ships.
The train wasn’t full but no seats were empty. Soon though a two-seater near the door emptied up and I sat. That’s when I noticed the beautiful woman standing midway on the train observing me.
I don’t usually like people staring at me and, usually gives me the sensation that something is wrong,
She was very beautiful and the odd thing is that she didn’t seem to belong there.
She was dressed up in a nice long skirt, of a dark tone of grey, a light skirt with some embroidering going vertically near the buttons. A long jacket matching the skirt completed the image. She was holding a coat in one of her arms. She was dressed for the night, for some fancy event or so and therefore looked so inadequate for a subways car, at that hour.
I was seated, holding a pouch and a camera and could not avoid looking at her. Lost in my thoughts, to my surprise, I noticed her coming in my direction and that made me tremble.
She approached and asked with a very sweet voice:
– May I sit?
I responded still with some trembling in the voice:
-By all means, please.
And I made space for her to seat.
She sat there, quiet for a moment. Then she turned to me and asked if I was a photographer. I said that I was, but amateur, for the love of it. She became very interested and we started a conversation about the things I liked to shoot and how often I did it. I told her of my every Saturday excursion to Soho. She found my dedication wonderful.
Then I asked her where was she going in which she responded:
–Nowhere in particular, just wondering about.
Worried, I mentioned she should not wonder too much uptown because it was no place for a person like her but not giving much attention to what I said, she asked if I had prints of my work. I said yes, I had a good number of photos printed, mostly in B&W.
She promptly asked me:
-Can I see them? I would love to see them.
–Well, I guess yes. And I thought my place may not be the kind of apartment she is used to go.
-It’s just a simple place.
–I like simple places, she said.
When my stop arrived, we got off the train and went to my home.
As I said, it was a very simple place. I had the photography set up in the back room; there was a kitchen with space for a table at the corner, right in front of the door and the front room was a bedroom/living room combination, with a couple of comfortable chair near the window, were I used to sit and do my reading and had a small tea table completing the set.
She sat comfortable at one of the chairs. She was so beautiful. She should be on her mid thirties, no more than forty, yet reflected such a youthful aura. Her eyes were bright with such anticipation for the photos she wanted to see, almost childish.
I brought a couple of albums I had arranged and she started looking at them, asking about each photos. She wanted to know all about them. When I had taken them, what was the feeling that made me choose it, if there was any story behind it? Such interest no one had ever had about my work. I was amazed about it. It was such a magic moment I wish would never end. In my 26 years of age I had never met someone as captivating as she.
The time went by. We had some of wine I bought and the conversation was flowing so naturally we didn’t even notice the time go by.
At a point, she looked out the window, noticed the night was coming. Her face changed to a somber expression and the smile, until then, so captivating, went away.
She held my hands and looked at me silently. Her blue greenish eyes looked like the surface of some enchanted lake, and were holding tears, for some reason. Suddenly, before I could comfort her, even not knowing the motive of her crying, she got up saying she had to leave, that she didn’t have any more time and she would never forget that day.
I went towards the door, still shaken by her abrupt departure and said:
- Let me walk you downstairs.
–No, she said. Let’s say goodbye right here.
She kissed in the cheek, let go my hand and headed to the stairs.
-Wait, I said. I don’t even know your name.
– It’s Julia, she said, Julia.
She quickly went down the stairs and I went to the window to observe her.
Julia crossed the street, got into a cab that turned right into 94th Street towards 2nd Avenue.
She didn’t even know my name.
To be continued ...
