He took the same route every day. Four blocks north and two blocks west with a quick stop at the espresso shop on the corner. Today DeSean sat on one of the bar stools near the window and sipped his coffee while he waited for the 6:47 train. So immersed was he in thoughts of the evening ahead, his scone sat untouched and he nearly forgot to take it with him when he stood to leave.

Pushing in his stool DeSean caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. He leaned in and straightened his tie, something he did without thinking, even on the weekends when there wasn’t a tie to straighten, and ran a hand over his hair. It was cropped neat and close, as always, and he was reminded suddenly of the time, just after he took the job at the firm, when Gloria had convinced him to grow his hair out.  Don’t worry, baby, we’ll keep it tidy. You’ll still be a serious lawyer.  She took obvious delight in his reluctance and her cajoling and teasing had ultimately convinced him to cancel his appointment with his barber. To Gloria’s dismay, though, he only lasted a mere four months before cutting it short again.

DeSean boarded the train and took his usual seat by the window and let the memory of Gloria warm him as the train started to move. He always saved his thoughts of Gloria for his morning commute. He liked to imagine himself planting her, like a bulb in dark soil, way down deep inside himself where he could pluck her out and reanimate her for a short time before depositing her back into the ground of his safe-keeping. It felt safe on the train. Safe from the scrutiny of others; from the prying questions about how he was doing and the whispers behind cupped hands at the office. The train felt to him the only place where he could allow Gloria to reemerge and expand within him. He wondered what she would think of his plans; what she would make of what was going to happen tonight when he got home from the office.

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