Coincidence

         "...and they lived happily ever after. The end."

         The child in the seat beside me is fast asleep on my shoulder as I slip the fairytale back into the knapsack at my feet. We come to a lurching halt at the second stop with a screaming from the wheels and a ding. The doors glide open, and I lift the child's bag off of the floor of the filling car. I peek inside and realize that I have left my romance novel at home. Twirling the worn pink drawstrings of Angelina's bag between my fingers, I think of how little she resembles me, and I brush a dark lock of my hair from my cheek. I look up and notice a new face before me.

         My daughter and I take the twelfth car of the A train every morning. And every morning, we see hundreds of new people, but not faces, and this one does not belong.

         Clean shaven with short, neat hair. He has thick lashes and brows, but very light in contrast to his sun-kept complexion. I wonder how someone could keep such an appearance in the dead of a New York winter. His face is leveled at the newspaper before him, and I imagine him in a different setting.

         Lying in the warm, damp sand of some lonely beach in the tropics with his love. Sun glinting off the water that runs down his sides makes his bronze tan seem darker. A cool, moist breeze tousles his hair, and he reads on in peace under the shade of a straw hat.

         The next stop jars me back to reality, and I see the hat he must have worn before stepping onto the car. It's a faded grey newsboy cap that seems to tell a life of the man that his other clothes must not have known. Perhaps he keeps it as a reminder. I think his love must have given it to him when times were harder. I can picture him donning this cap and a worn trenchcoat, smile upon his face, as he leans down to kiss his love goodbye for the day. She hands him his newspaper with a gentle touch, and he's on his way down the hall of their small apartment complex, her waving after him. He turns round before the elevator, tips the cap, and blows her a kiss. The elevator doors close behind him with a whoosh.

         And we jerk forward on our way again. Angelina stirs her blonde head on my shoulder and nestles back to sleep. I stop twiddling and put the knapsack back between my feet. The man turns the page of his newspaper and crosses a leg. His shoes are of fine black leather and his trousers a dark black wool. They seem rather stuffy compared to his simple oxford and overcoat. He wears a crucifix, a large silver watch on his right wrist, and a copper chain on his left. There is a plain silver band round the fourth finger of his left hand. He smiles, apparently amused at the story at hand, and his even white teeth catch my attention.

         A vision comes to me of a young couple. All dressed up, hand in hand, standing before an altar. He with his fine shoes and suit, all smiles, she in a lovely white gown as she slips the ring onto that finger.

         Screeech! Jerk. Ding. The doors open again and an elderly lady enters. At once, the man is out of his seat and holding the post in front of me with one hand, briefcase, cap, and newspaper in the other. The only person standing, hands quite full, and a little off-balance as the car hauls forwards, he does not appear ill at ease. I think he would be comfortable anywhere.

         Angelina lifts her head and climbs into my lap, arms wrapped around me, dark cheek back upon my shoulder. The man sits beside me, but does not look over.

         Placing his briefcase and cap on his lap, he opens the newspaper once again. I notice his strong hands and large fingers, corded with muscles and neatly trimmed nails. I imagine they were warm upon her shoulders after a long, hard day.

         The man looks over at Angelina, the smile not quite touching sad blue eyes. Clear and deep, but sad, so sad. A shock of golden hair falls to his forehead, and I fight the urge to brush it back.

         I imagine his love doing that as she smiles at those lovely blue eyes, much happier then. She whispers, "You're a daddy, darling," as he stares lovingly at his new daughter. He reaches down and gently, so gently, kisses her forehead.

         Angelina's head jerks up and the train jerks to a stop. Her gentle eyes become wide and aware as the man recoils and stares at her as if surprised.

         "Do I know you?"

         "No," comes the curt reply. The sadnes is gone, and the man stands. He smartly shoves the cap back on his head and briskly walks off and away from the car.

         A sadder thought comes to mind as Angelina stares after him and the car slings forward. I imagine the man, eyes cold and yet sad, walking away from his love as bitter tears run down her pale, fair face from doe brown eyes. Their little girl asleep in the cradle, he doesn't look back as he steps onto that elevator leaving two broken hearts behind.

         "Mommy?" Angelina peers at me from those crystal blue eyes, full of great pride in some new epiphany. "That man looked like the one in your desk drawer."

         I grip the bar with my free hand as the train lurches to a last stop. Putting her knapsack on her back and my purse on my shoulder, I lift Angelina into my arms and leave the train.

         "Yes, darling. That's what we call a coincidence."

         As Angelina repeats the word slowly and carefully, fascinated, I make a note to ride a different car tomorrow and find a better place for the picture of the man: her father, who still wears that simple band as do I.