Excuse me, but is your lap taken?

“Excuse me, but is your lap taken?”

I glanced up from my normal commuting stupor, and gazed into a young lady’s pleading mascara eyes. The subway car was packed, and she was one of many who had nothing to hold on to. The swaying motion of the car and the tightly packed bodies pushed her around like a rag doll in a dog’s mouth.

The question took me aback. I said, “Well no, but ---“

“Look mister, I can either fall on you the next time this tin can hits a bowed rail, or you can just let me sit on your lap. I‘m not heavy. Which will it be?” She glared at me, her mouth set in a thin line.

My mind seized in indecision. Who behaves like this? I don’t know this woman, and she’s proposing some rather intimate contact. I suppose I should just give her my seat, but she is awfully cute with her short black hair and all-business attitude.

“Well I suppose---”

She didn’t let me finish the sentence. She turned and lowered her posterior towards my lap. Time seemed to crawl as I watched her beautiful derriere descend. Halfway down the car swayed violently and she fell backwards onto me, her arms wind-milling for anything to grab onto. I shoved my hands into my lap for protection. Her left hand clipped my ear as she landed like a sack of concrete. The intense pain in my ear and groin made my eyes water.

She said, “Damn heels. Sorry about that.”

She must have heard the slight whining coming through my clenched jaw, and looked around at me. Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, my gosh I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

In a hoarse voice I said, “Fine. If you’ll just shift your purse from between us, I’ll be a lot better.”

She took some weight off me, yanked the purse out and sat back down.

“Ohhh,” I mumbled. “Please be a bit gentler. I want to have children someday.”

She brightened, “Really, me too. My name’s Anna, by the way. She twisted halfway around and put out her hand. I pulled one protecting hand up from my groin, and we shook in the confined space like tiny-armed T-rexes.

“I’m Greg, and I don’t usually cry when meeting women for the first time. It’s just the pain.”

She smiled. “I finally meet a man who can actually take it like a man, and I’ve ruined him for life. Such a pity.”

“The only pity would be if you didn’t make it up to me.”

A middle-aged woman sitting next to me with a pile of purchases glanced over and rolled her eyes at us. She curled her upper lip and said, “Get a room.”

Anna gaped at the woman and sneered back. “Ma’am, if you weren’t taking up two seats we’d have plenty of room.”

The woman’s lower jaw flopped open, and she stood in a huff and waddled her way through the crowd. A wave of clapping went through the train car, and Anna sat down next to me in the vacated seat.

I asked, “Is this your usual method of picking up men?”

She smiled crookedly and said, “Not hardly. I had a horrible day, and my feet were killing me. Whoever invented high heels as a fashion statement should be shot. I’m sorry if I, ah, damaged you.”

The brakes squealed and a crackly voice came over the loudspeaker, “Carnation Station. Exiting to your left. Watch your step please.”

Anna stood up, managing to find a handhold on the nearest pole for support. “This is my stop. It was nice meeting you Greg.”

A wave of panic came over me. “Wait --- Do you have any dinner plans for tonight? I know we just met, but it seems a shame to leave it like this.”

The car came to a lurching stop, and she said, “Yes, I do have plans.”

The door slid open and a rush of commuters swept through the door. When most were gone I saw that she still stood there, her head turned toward me. She said, “Well, are you coming?”