the tourist
last sunday morning, i rode the trolley through astoria. the trolley passes in front of a single story motel, with rooms perched on the edge of the columbia river and doors that open just a few feet from the tracks. as we passed, a man and woman popped out of one of the rooms. at first, he was momentarily startled to see the trolley. it's more of a weekend novelty than a mode of transportation, and i am sure he did not expect it to be directly outside his door. but then, a beat later, he waved at the trolley with an awkward but genuine smile. everything about him was perfectly ordinary and bewitching. collared shirt under pullover sweater, warm muted colors, jet black hair. the woman didn’t look at the trolley, she was looking down at something. a phone? i didn’t really see her, i was too busy being enchanted by this fellow. i spent the rest of the trolley ride imagining the brunch he was leaving to go have. in my mind, he got an english muffin and scrambled eggs. he ate the eggs because he knows the protein is important, but truthfully, he’s all about that english muffin. he likes the way the butter melts into the dips in the muffin, he likes the crunch of the outside being toasted and the soft chew of the inside. he loves english muffins, he always has. he doesn’t deny himself an english muffin, even as the hour rapidly approaches lunch. it was sunday, after all. it was a lazy sunday in astoria, where he was pleasantly surprised by a trolley. he’ll never know how much i think he likes english muffins.