Last Thursday, July 19th

Before 9am. Torrential down pour.

N: Slow on the tracks. Windows all fogged up.

7: Smooth transfer.

G: Eventless ride until Clinton-Washington (one-stop before Fulton). I looked up from my book, Lewis B. Cullman's inspiring autobiography, Can't Take it with You: The Art of Giving and Making Money, and noticed a very tall male rider, who was perched on the opposite side of the train, now suddenly positioned in front of me. I noted him before because he was drenched, from his sopping wet curls to his soggy Tevas, and clutched in his arms a flat, rectangular cardboard box with a folded, black garbage bag draped over the top.

I wondered what cargo that ill-prepared man might have inside that poorly-wrapped box. Lately, I’ve been trying to give people the benefit of the doubt, so in that spirit, I thought, “Maybe he made brightly frosted cupcakes for a mid-morning brunch with friends. Yes, cupcakes, that's it.” Satisfied, I returned to my book.

At Fulton, I popped off the train and began to climb the stairs to the street, when a voice behind me quipped, "I'm surprised you took it with you…"

I stopped with alarm: had I left something on the train that a fellow passenger was trying to tell me about? My brain did not quite put the words together. I turned and saw it was the man with the cupcakes!

He said again, "I'm surprised you took it with you." But, this time he gestured with his head towards the book in my hands.

Oh no he didn't.

Cupcake did NOT just try to use that as a pick up line. On the G train. In the pouring rain. At 9:30 in the morning. Before my morning cup of coffee.

To thwart another embarrassing, rather desperate, attempt to court me, I coldly said, "It's a book about fundraising."

"Wha…," I heard him say as I left him in my dust, taking two steps at a time.

"Oh! I’m a fundraiser! I'm having lunch with a billionaire this week," he hollered back, enlightened.

"That's great," I uttered absent-mindedly, as I emerged at street-level, opened my enormous, black golf umbrella and began walking quickly towards Le Bagel Delight, a neighborhood bagel shop run by former firemen, for an iced coffee and a bagel.


“I run a non-profit canoe launch,” he offered, hot on my trail.

Just as I reached the curb, the light turned red and cars blocked my escape route. Dammit, I sighed. I kept looking straight ahead. I could feel him standing next to me.

Fine, I resigned. Fine, fine, I will awknowledge you. Not like I have much of a choice, seeing as I don't particularly feel like being totally rude first thing in the morning. I turned towards him. He was grinning foolishly. I wondered whether or not this guy was really as much of a freak as the circumstances upon his introduction made him seem, of if he was just a crunchy, outdoorsy-type, unaccustomed to the ways of the big city.

Suddenly, he exclaimed, “I have a bird in my box!”

“A bird in your box?” I repeated dumbly.

“A baby sparrow!” he replied, eagerly. Without missing a beat, he told me how no vet wanted the tiny lost creature, so he was determined to nurse it back to health himself.

I warmed a little, “Well, I guess you’re doing your part in the Universe.”

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all, I thought. I’ll wait for just one more sign to confirm that…

Right on cue, a deafening clap of thunder exploded directly overhead, followed immediately by a very threatening, bright bolt of lightening that ripped across the sky—directly over Cupcake’s head.

Ok, Universe, I can take a hint.

“BYE!” I announced as I bounded off the curb towards refuge of Le Bag.

“So, what do you do…” I heard him trail off.

I didn’t even turn around, I couldn’t. Please don’t follow me, please don’t follow me, please don’t follow me.

He didn’t follow me.

Hope the sparrow makes it.