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Train | Sep 05 2001

Getting off the train, she said, my friend, that she loves me. She was drunk. I hadn’t expected her to get off at this stop but the next. Instead she surprised me by standing and mumbling something about a bus, about how it was better for her to take a bus than switch trains. I stood and hurriedly embraced her. That’s when she said it. Never had she said such a thing. Moreover, I hadn’t heard from her in some time, despite having left several messages, which had made me wonder if we weren’t such good friends, in her mind. I said her name and that I love her too, only the I-love-you-too part came after she had already turned to go, and thus I said it to her back and, since we were on a train surrounded by people, not very loudly. I don’t know how drunk she was. Not that drunk. Something about the moment made it difficult for me to sit back down. In fact, it wasn’t until long after the train pulled out of the station and I realized that people were looking at me standing there, that I slowly lowered myself into my seat.