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last night, i walked down the stairs to the subway platform at around 2 in the morning. looking down the platform, i saw that it was empty save for one college-type boy, walking slowly toward me. with a sigh, i resigned myself to a long wait, meandered up to the forward end of the platform, and pulled out a book.

glancing up, i saw that the boy had, upon reaching the stairs, not climbed them -- as i had expected him to do -- but turned and walked back in the other direction. when next i looked up, he was walking toward me again. closing my book, i watched him.

he was small of build, dressed all in black, but in a way that evoked more a school uniform than goth tendencies. black tennis shoes, dark slacks, a soft-looking coat -- maybe suede -- buttoned up. headphones, big silver ones like mine. shortish brown hair with a slightly rumpled look. he walked the platform, from the stairs to the point where the wall slanted inward, slowly, with carefully-measured steps. i couldn't stop watching him; my book forgotten, my heart quickening with the feeling that i was observing some private ritual. when he got to the end of his walk, he would stop; turn; align himself carefully; and, with an impression of indrawn-breath, as if embarking on a difficult task, begin his slow pacing again. it was as though he was practicing walking, as one might rehearse lines for a part in a play. every so often, he would stagger slightly, or drift to one direction or another and then correct his course. i wondered if he was drunk, or drugged; he seemed otherwise lucid.

i decided after a few minutes that he was kind of cute, but that wasn't why i couldn't take my eyes from him. i was blatantly staring, at that point, trying to catch his eye as he came toward me, but it was as though he looked right through me. finally, drawn to him with a force that had me half-breathless, i picked up my bag -- while he was walking away -- and came over to the stairs, the nearest end-point to his inexplicable walk. as he came toward me again, i cocked my head at him: a question or a flirtation. i found i was smiling just a little, the way you do when you share a secret with someone. his eyes passed over me again, unseeingly. he came even with me; he stopped, turned, raised his gaze to the far wall. i could have reached out and touched him.

"are you measuring it," i asked, flippantly, "or is this just better than sitting still?" whether he truly did not hear me or only pretended, i don't know; he didn't react. he walked back to the far wall. sighing, i watched, getting a better look at him as he came back. he carried himself with a calm sort of assurance that, for some reason, made me imagine a private-school background for him. his features had a softness that made me think he was young -- maybe 19 or 20. he had full lips, the sort that settle into a natural pout; high, sort of aristocratic cheekbones; dark, expressive eyes. it was then that i realized what he was doing: trying to walk a straight line with his eyes closed. his utter absorption in the task, his quiet indifference to everything around him, filled me with fascination. it was as though he existed in a world utterly separate from the glaring flourescent lights, the dirty tiles, the muffled traffic noises from the street; an angel, a ghost, a shadow of a dream, briefly coming into phase with the world of our meager perceptions, would have walked like that. i think if he had shimmered into nonexistence or walked out onto the air over the tracks it would have seemed perfectly natural. i could have watched him for hours.

all too soon, the rumbling of the train filled the air; he was at the far point of his pacing, then, well away from me. i felt a pang of disappointment that we would not be in the same car. as the train pulled into the station, i kept my gaze on him, resolved that if he looked my direction, i would wave goodbye. he didn't.