Romancing the train

Aren't trains romantic?
What? You don't agree?
I did something today, well two things, that not many people in my neck of the woods do. I left my small, suburban city in the San Gabriel Valley and I did it by train.
My wife and I rode the Gold Line light rail from east Pasadena to Union Station in downtown Los Angeles. Then we took the Red Line subway to Highland and Hollywood Blvd. where we got off and attended a live radio show on the Academy Awards.

The show was interesting. I love film. I love critics. I love being critical. What? Don't tell me you actually "liked" "The Curious Case of Benajamin Button." That was such a dud. It could've been a real good movie had it been better directed, had the sceenplay been interesting and had the actors not slept through it (all except one or two). What was that film about? Take every moment of life as it comes? What a cliche. I think we all have heard that one before. It was as one critic said "such a misfire."

But I digress.

The train ride was in some ways more romantic, more a people-watching fest, than the movies or the critics' roundtable.

On trains, on public transportation, people engage in displays of affection. That in itself can be, um, annoying. But is up to the viewer. Or shall I say the voyeur.

The guy wore a backwoods baseball cap, black, a red sweatshirt but not a ratty one. It was new. He had a strawberry blond mustache/goatee going. He had his arm around his girlfriend and would kiss her when she said "something cute." She was Hispanic, with high cheek bones and jet black long hair pushed through a tan baseball cap worn bill in front.

I am fascinated by people who don't care people are watching them. It is not like this couple started making out. They were affectionate, playful. He was very demonstrative. She would pare his comments with a "No not particularly" in that sexy, deep voice that some women have.

The train came upon the Mission Station, one of my favorites. A bride leaned against a lightpost and her groom smoothed her dress as the photographer positioned his camera for the best shot.

"What a beautiful dress," said the woman in front of me with the baseball cap.
We joked about a bride being on a train platform. Then the boyfriend continued playing with her hair, pecking her cheek and stroking her back. It was as if she had to pay attention to him.

I was thinking good thoughts about men and women, being the romantic I am (see the first sentence).

Then, about a stop before the East Pasadena station, the two get up. At the Allen Station, he straddles the door but she reminds him they are getting off at the next station. The automatic train doors close with a swish. He gives it hard kick with his foot. I startle.

She calms him down. But now they are standing at the door as the train lurches forward to the next station.

I glance at her and she no longer looks pleased. Is that fear on her pretty face? The high cheek bones recede an inch. I am getting uncomfortable.

At the station, in the elevator, his arm around her, he gets a call. He's got an obnoxious ring tone. We all exit and he tries to go down the stairs with her. Doesn't he know that is the wrong way?

Finally, the couple reach the foot bridge and head toward the parking garage. But by then, I've walked ahead of them and stop thinking romantic thoughts. I hear the din of the cars on the freeway below and smell the exhaust in the parking structure.

My thoughts are on the mundane now: getting home, what work I need to do, will it rain. I don't even look back to see the train leave the station.