by Frank Riccobono
A short, wistful love story. I'm not sure where this writing voice came from. I hope to be able to revisit it some day.
The first thing I noticed about the young man sitting across from me on the train into New York today was his mustache. He was my age or younger, but had a bushy 80s mustache that looked out of place on someone so young. He spent the ride talking to a young woman, whom I assume was his girlfriend based on body language, and looking generally content.
I didn't notice the older man sitting next to them at first. Eventually I realized that he wore the same mustache though his hair had gone about half gray. The hair that wasn't gray, though, was the same color as that of the young man. The faces of the two men, though one young and the other wrinkled, had a similar shape as well.
During the ride, the old man glanced over his shoulder at the couple several times. He spent most of the ride twiddling his wedding ring and checking his watch. He held a daily newspaper or magazine under his arm but never looked at it.
In light of these sights, I have come to the only conclusion a logical person such as myself could...today I met a time traveler on the PATH train wistful for a lost love.