A solid lid of gray clouds burdened the roofs and towers of Boston, its weight palpable.

My train carried me downtown, towards a day of endless and fruitless encounters. Staff meetings, breakout meetings, and team bonding meetings.

My boss of bosses, Liam had told me that a promotion might be on the horizon for me, pending approval by the board.

But today, work held little appeal, and I'd rather have stayed cuddled up in my Alewife man-cave. There, at least, I'd be able to watch the download count of Warriors of Math. I had submitted the app to the store last week, and it had almost immediately become featured in the Kids' Games department.

I still couldn't believe the number of downloads it got.

Its home screen displayed on my iPad, and I glanced at it with pride filling my heart. It featured the sword wielding heroine in her Braces-inspired dress.

Braces—what would she be doing now?

I shook my head, chasing her memory away. Life was way too short to waste it pondering missed opportunities and wild dreams.

At any rate, I knew what she would most likely be doing now.

Braces was cuddling with Mr. Chiseled Jaws.

And Venus' orbit was incompatible with mine, so I had let her float away.

My stars had to lie elsewhere.

We still have Mom, Janice had said, way back when we had had lunch at Chef's Retreat, on top of the Best Boston Insurance for that father/daughter event.

Yes, we still had Mom. Since her breakup with George the Chancellor, Helen's demeanor towards me had changed. She had mellowed down in an apparent effort to be friendly and non-naggy.

Yesterday, she had even called me, suggesting a family dinner for next Saturday.

Just the three of us. As it should be.

Realizing my fingers were stroking my heroine's black mane on the iPad, I took a deep breath and glanced out through the window to check the station we had just stopped in.

And I looked right into Braces' face.

It was framed by hair glowing in raspberry-red and summer sky-blue.

A gentle smile played on her lips.

How did she manage to look so different, yet so breathtaking each time I saw her?

Fuck Mr. Chiseled Jaws!

I just had to show her what effect she had on me. It might make me look silly. It might make me look like the stalkerish boy on the train next door, but I didn't care.

I lifted my tablet for her to see, pointed at the app, and then at me, showing I had created her digital replica.

She must have understood my message because she nodded and smiled. But then her bushy caterpillar eyebrows—she had dyed them in the same colors as her hair—one red and the other blue—approached each other, and she looked down.

Her smile returned after some seconds, and she brought up a communication weapon of her own—another tablet. Its dark screen displayed a drawing that resembled something I had only seen in a cartoon before. It depicted a laughing leprechaun with wild, dark hair and a crooked nose.

I grinned wildly. Was this really happening? We were finally communicating, she and I! After almost an entire year of misinterpreting each other, we had opened up a channel of communication. I had shown her my hobby, and she was showing me hers.

She was reading comics!

I pointed at the image and then at her, verifying my interpretation.

A nod, and we finally had our close encounter of the third kind, the one where each party understood the other.

In her compartment, a teenager pushed himself against the window, almost hiding her. I had to tilt my head to keep her in my view.

She wore a white t-shirt with black writing. My attempts to decipher the message were interrupted by a second teen, a girl, joining the first one. They kissed passionately, with him almost swallowing her face.

I tore my eyes from the freely displayed window porn and resumed my reading, finally deciphering the writing on Braces' chest:

CHUBBY

SINGLE &

READY

FOR A

PRINGLE

Single?

Wait a second. 

Braces was single?

Or was this t-shirt a mere remnant of her days of former independence?

I just had to know the truth.

Partially wondering why the trains stood that long, but at the same time blessing MBTA for the delay, I switched my iPad to Pages, wrote a message, and showed it to her while pointing at the message on her ample bosom.

AND YOUR FIANCE?

She was writing now, too.

My heart was pounding as I was waiting for her reply.

She held up her tablet.

DUMPED HIM!

I couldn't believe it. This was fate!

I gave her a thumbs up.

She multicolor-frowned again, wrote another message on her device, and showed it to me.

AND YOUR WIFE?

I hesitated. What made her think I was married? Anyway, I wasn't. Quickly, I tapped a reply and signaled back.

DIVORCED!

I had never thought I'd be so happy to be divorced.

It was time to give her my phone number, this time for real.

Or not.

Without warning, her frickin' train took her away.

I stared incredulously at its fleeing cars passing me, and then at the mocking empty track it left behind.

But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. I'd see her again, of course. I had seen her every month or two in the course of a year. And I had a lifetime to wait for the next encounter.

The next encounter.

And then, I'd have that bloody number ready.

I wrote it, plain and clear, into a fresh Pages document and stored it safely away. It would be the first thing I'd show to Braces as soon as I saw her again.

"Sir?"

Surprised by the unknown voice, I looked up, right into a man's face. His clear-blue eyes mesmerized me with a benevolence emphasized by his tender smile. He wore an earring, with a small, steel-colored dove hanging from it.

A blue cap sat on his head, and his wavy, shoulder-length chestnut hair and beard alighted on his dark blue jacket.

The insignia of MBTA adorned the cap.

He must have been a ticket inspector.

As a well-trained commuter, I reached for my CharlieTicket Pass, but he held up his hand, stopping me.

"There is no need to show me your ticket, Sir," he said. "I've got an important message for you. Do heed it well." He pushed some kind of leaflet into my hands.

The leaflet showed a photograph of some MBTA official in some publicity stunt, captioned with RED LINE RE-ROUTING.

"You see, we're doing track work. Starting next year, the Red Line will be fully rerouted." The ticket inspector's voice was soft, but it carried surprisingly well over the agitated voices of many passengers, and the ruckus of our now moving vehicle. "Northbound and southbound trains will take different routes, and they won't stop at Charles/MGH anymore."

The man looked straight at my face as if waiting for me to come to grips with his words.

"Are you saying what I think you are saying? They won't stop at... Charles/MGH anymore?" I echoed his words.

They won't stop at our station anymore? My brain repeated inwardly. 

"Yes, starting January. And at least for the duration of the following year."

In about a month, Charles/MGH will cease to be my only chance to meet Braces?

No. That can't be.

"Err.." I wanted to protest, to tell him that was unacceptable. That MBTA had to change their plans. That they couldn't play God and interfere with people's lives like that.

But he wouldn't understand. Would he?

"Are you okay, Sir?" A worried frown grew on the ticket inspector's forehead.

I nodded yes. But I wasn't actually okay. Not really. 

"Good." He pointed at the flyer I had been clasping nervously in my hands. "Just wished to tell you to take this information into account as you... plan your future itineraries."

The bright light of the train's illumination gave his hair a copper sheen.

Still smiling, the man tilted his blue cap at me. Then he turned and shuffled off to the next compartment.