The nonchalant "hi" (cos i just can't come up with a damn title)

There are so many reasons why she should have ignored me...but none came to mind at the moment. I say my usual "hi", the polite one that I fling at all and none...the one devoid of any feeling or sentiment...she looks right through me...she did not acknowledge my presence, and I did not mind. Talking to her was like embarking on a journey of meaningless puzzles with no destination or end. The last time I had talked to her, this is what had taken place, not exactly, but almost. One never forgets such conversations, stored away for future "ponderings"...let’s call her Edith...

Edith: Are u going this way?

Me: ehhh, yes

So, we get on the same train...and I know, even before she opens her mouth that it was going to be a fucking long ride.

Edith: I wrote a play

Me: That's good...

Silence....It was getting into one of those long ones that u know can only end badly, so I decide to say something

Me: Eh...so, your play, what's it about?

Edith: I don't think its appropraite to talk about it...

She looks around the carraige like people were eavesdropping or something but we were the only ones there, the nearest man was fast asleep with an ipod or walkman or whatever people use

Me: Ehhhh, okay.

Silence

Edith: The thing is, I hardly know you, and you are asking me all these questions, you know, It's my play, and it is very...

She looks at me in anguish

Me: Oh, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I just thought you wanted to, since you mentioned it.

Edith: It's just that it's such a private question to ask in a public place, you know...

By this time, my mind had long wondered off and my thoughts somewhere else, far away from this woman sitting opposite me, my interest in her was polite...a treat to her as a human being.

Edith: I mean, this play is you know, a very private thing...it's like asking me to reveal myself, I mean, how would you feel if someone asked you about your writings...in the metro...I just think this is not the right place.

Me: Yeah, you are right.

Edith: I mean, it's me inside you know...

Me: Of course.

Edith: I just can't talk about something so private...it is like opening myself...

Me: Yeah, I know.


Edith: It’s a fantasy world, for children...I don't know if you will understand it...maybe you will think I am weird...

Me: What?

Edith: It’s a fantasy world, set in the forest, and there is this girl called....

This woman now proceeds to launch into some kind of tale for thirty minutes...thirty fucking minutes...about a fantasy forest and conversations between children, very detailed and all. Just before I get off the train...I ask

"So, what's the name of the play?"

Edith: It’s not like I don't want to tell you, but I just feel like its such a personal question, you know.


Yes. So, imagine when she sent me a mail, with different dates with theatre productions, asking what time would be suitable for me so we could go together? It was so unfortunate but none of the times stretched over a three week period was convenient. I was busy beyond busy, with no time to even eat...that is what I told her...I am so very sorry but it is impossible...well, that was a shame she said, she thought we had "hit it off" and enjoyed our conversation on the train...

And now, she has refused to return my nonchalant "hi" and for this Lord, I will always be grateful for.