"The pink sofa is mine!"

The elevated volume of my voice made the teenage girl on the seat opposite mine look up with an irritated frown.

I gave her an apologetic smile. There had been no doubt about it, she was right—subway passengers shouldn't scream into their phones. I lowered my voice. "The sofa is mine, not Helen's. I bought it before we married, and she—"

"Relax, Evan," Carl said at the other end of the line. "Yes, the sofa is yours, and you've moved it to your new apartment. It's safe from your ex. Helen won't break down your door and steal it. Remember what we went through. Just be firm. Under no circumstances let her talk you into giving it back. Even though that thing is ugly as hell."

"Let her talk me into giving it back? Never!" I shook my head with vigor. The time when I would fall for Helen's charms was over. The very thought of her cuddling with someone else on my precious comfortable sofa made me cringe with disgust.

And it wasn't ugly. It was just pink.

"Next stop: Charles/MGH." The automated announcement on the train's speakers sounded like my ex—reproachful as if scorning the need to state the obvious.

"How is your new apartment, by the way?" Carl asked.

"Great. I do enjoy the distance from Helen." The long commutes from Alewife to the uni in downtown Boston were less enjoyable, though.

The teenager on the seat opposite mine frowned at me with a more than apparent disapproval. I lowered my voice again to almost a whisper. "You know what. Let me tell you all about it when I'm at the institute. See you there."

"See you." Carl hung up on me.

The train commutes are supposed to be pleasant. They should allow one to see nature, and human beings. Towns, and churches, and rivers. In fact, to see life. 

Yet as of late, they were the bane of my new existence without Helen. Always crammed into my seat, with some stranger's feet stuck between mine. And, if I was really unlucky, there'd be a sprawler sitting next to me.

Like today.

Trapped between my neighbor's ample, warm thigh and the hard, cold wall of the train on my other side, there was no way out of here. I found myself at the mercy of the man's sweet-smelling aftershave and his stench of stale cigarette smoke.

The vehicle decelerated, making the droplets on the window migrate forward as if they couldn't wait to get to the station.

The train stopped with a small jerk. The sprawler's leg rubbed against mine. He hummed—if in tune to his music or if with pleasure kindled by our contact, I did not know.

I coughed, giving free reign to the cold that had been my permanent companion since I'd begun my daily routine of commuting ten days ago.

I gazed out into the rainscape, trying to ignore the intrusive presence of my sprawling neighbor.

Another equally bright red train stood on the parallel track next to us. Its dusty windows were as wet as ours, and its passengers just as gray and drab as the ones next to me. 

Only one of them stood out. A girl. She had her hair dyed marshmallow blue. Her head moved back and forth in a regular rhythm. Fat, white AirPods nested in her ears.

I touched the cold glass of the window, all of a sudden grateful for the wonderfully unbreachable gap it formed between her and me. It was barely a foot wide, but it fortunately kept whatever she was listening to out of earshot—my sprawly neighbor delivered more than enough soundtrack for this commute.

The color of her hair clashed nicely with the bordeaux of her heavy coat, but it complemented the turquoise of her lips.

Her head-dance stopped, and her eyebrows drew closer to each other, like two cute caterpillars trying to head-butt. Her gaze wasn't on me, fortunately, but on the woman facing her. She dug one of the pods from her ears and said something while pointing at the lady's lap. The window didn't reach low enough for me to see what had caught her attention there.

She stuck out her tongue at whatever lay there. Her frown stayed in place; she obviously wasn't satisfied with the result of her action.

After that, she hid her mouth behind a hand.

The color of her nails matched her hair.

Her glower returned, and she revealed her lips again. Then she bent forward, and the lady opposite moved backwards. She was probably seeking the safety of her seat, trying to maintain the gap between her and the intrusive she-stranger.

I imagined I was lucky with the sprawler next to me. At least the man did not move as much as that girl, nor try to eagerly communicate with my lap. For the time being.

Suddenly, the girl blew a raspberry, her lips vibrating in silent decompression.

A smile replaced the frown on her face. Fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes made her mirth seem genuine.

She sat back, her blooming grin growing broader and revealing a set of teeth reined in by dental braces.

That was when she noticed me watching her.

Her smile shrank—still there, but more subdued now, probing and curious. She tilted her head.

The unspoken question in her eyes made heat rise into my cheeks. It was too late to look away now. I held her gaze and shrugged, smiling back at her in a way I hoped expressed both polite apology as well as friendly amusement.

The sprawler next to me interrupted my efforts at communicating with her. He pushed his elbow into my arm as he pulled a can of Coke from the tattered backpack perching on his lap.

The woman wrinkled her nose at me.

I wrinkled mine back at her, not having a clue what we were doing there. But she smiled.

A good smile. The type that comes with dimples.

I contemplated my next move, but a sizzling noise put an end to my careful planning.

Cold liquid sprayed me from the left.

The sprawler must have opened his can.

I squinted at the man through the haze of the droplets that now sprinkled my ruined glasses. He was gulping eagerly from his can, oblivious to my demise. His Adam's apple was dancing as he swallowed sip after sip.

Was he even remotely aware of the collateral damage of his can opening? Hardly. His eyes were half-closed as he enjoyed his drink.

I wiped my face with one hand as I dug into my pockets with the other, looking for a tissue. Alas, I found nothing. I must have forgotten to bring along a fresh pack this morning. Searching for something—anything—to clean myself of the intrusive Coke, I briefly considered at least wiping my hands on the sprawler's sleeve. That would make him retreat and aid me in retaliation.

Eventually discarding the impolite thought, I looked out of the window once more, seeking her smile again. The blue-haired woman grinned, holding something in her hand, waving it at me.

I squinted at her as I tried to recognize the vaguely familiar object through my smeared glasses.

She was showing me a fresh pack of tissues.

Illustration by EvelynHail. For a full-resolution version, see:

https://www.wattpad.com/837038848-mind-the-gap-✔%EF%B8%8F-january-14-9-33-a-m-evan/comment/837038848_6d8da752e98d96a6d0c9dc3c0192c6d2_1607239446_f86cad62f3