Megan
I sit on the subway listening to the hustle and bustle of the city above. I typically have headphones in so I can listen to my music or a podcast. Sometimes I even play Netflix shows on my phone. But today, I am deep in thought and choose to go without the extra entertainment.
After all, the weekend that I spent with John at his estate was wonderful. He ravished me again and again, and to my embarrassment, we barely even left his bed. Meals were wheeled to us on silver carts, and I could hardly even meet Jocelyn’s eyes whenever she appeared.
But John wasn’t bothered at all. He merely ate his steak, drank some wine, and then pulled me back to bed.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered hoarsely in my ear. “I need you, Megan.”
I shiver hotly again, remembering the hours of passion. Even now, I wince a bit on the subway seat. John rode me hard, and I loved every second of it.
But now, I’m back to real life. I’m Megan Flowers, and I’m on the New York City subway with lots of people sharing the ride. This is my normal mode of transportation. As the underground train car goes above-ground for a small stretch, I can make out the varying noises of after-work traffic: cars zooming up to stoplights, buses setting off their loud air brakes, taxi drivers leaning out the window to yell at pedestrians, and of course, the street folks busking on the corner hoping to earn a few dimes.
My senses have grown used to all the stimulus, and I’ve developed the ability to zone out. To ignore these extraneous sounds, basically, so that it doesn’t bother me. As a result, I sit on the subway, removed from it all. I have an array of grocery bags at my feet, although they’re not for me. Every Monday after work, I bring groceries and a prescription to the elderly woman down the hall, and I’m looking forward to seeing her.
Maria is a petite lady, standing at a mere five feet tall. She probably only weighs one hundred pounds soaking wet. Her hair sits in curls on top of her head, but photo albums displayed on her coffee table show a younger, livelier version of herself with long curly hair and the excitement of life lighting up her eyes. Her eyes now show some of the weariness that comes with age, but they still shine with love and kindness and I value her advice.
She always insists on meeting me at the front door to help carry the bags. She walks with a cane in one hand and struggles to keep herself balanced with a grocery bag in the other, which makes me feel terrible. But I rearrange the bags before I get there to make sure there is one with barely anything in it. I let her carry that one, and manage to shoulder the rest.
Maria’s an amazing person, and I’ve spent many hours with her, listening to her stories. She’s told me of her life as a child in Oaxaca, Mexico. Her family sold hand-crafted hammocks at the local market, their most affluent customer the American tourist. But then, her parents suffered an abrupt death. Evidently, a city bus driver was drinking on shift and ran right off the highway. The bus overturned and the passengers were thrown from their seats, many ejected from the windows. Her mother and father were two whom lost lives that day.
As a result, she and her brother, Manuel, decided to start a new life. They came to the United States penniless but were able to eke out a living over the years. Maria doesn’t have much, but her gratitude shows. She’s never unhappy, and I have a lot to learn from the elderly woman.
As we unload groceries, she turns to me.
“What’s wrong, mi querido? Why are you so silent today?”
As always, she’s able to sense my mood, and I take a deep breath.
“Maria, I would like to ask you for some advice if you would be willing to lend me an ear.”
Her face lights up with gentle kindness. “Of course, mi querido. What is it?”
“About two weeks ago, I met a man.”
She smiles gently.
“And you waited this long to tell me about it? He must be very special.”
I smile.
“It just happened recently. And it’s not serious, at least not yet. We’ve actually only been on two dates.”
“How did you meet him?” she asks.
“I was alone at a restaurant,” I start. The older woman cocks her head at me.
“Alone? Mi querido, how come? I would have gone to eat with you, you can always ask for my company you know.” I laugh gently at her compassion.
“Thank you, Maria, you’re exceedingly kind. It’s kind of a weird story actually. I was out for drinks with my boss and he had to leave very suddenly, and so I found myself alone. A handsome stranger approached and asked to join me. He said I was hogging the view out the window, and made me laugh.” Maria laughs gently herself.
“Well, that’s a good sign.”
I nod.
“Yeah, and I think you would really like him. We hit it off and ended up spending many hours together talking about ourselves and life. We eventually left the restaurant and went for a walk in Central Park.” I leave out the raunchy details for her innocent ears.
“Well, that sounds like a wonderful evening. So how is it going?”
I take a deep breath.
“I wasn’t sure if I would ever see him again, but we’ve been seeing each other quite frequently even though we just met. He has a huge estate in Long Island, and I visited him there. It’s amazing.”
The older woman nods.
“So what’s wrong, mi querido? He sounds amazing.”
I sigh.
“Well, it’s just that John has servants, drivers, and lives in a super fancy house. It’s a bit odd because he has so much money, and I have so little. There is a gap in age as well. I think he’s at least twenty years older than me because he said he has a son around my age.”
Maria nods thoughtfully.
“Now dear, so long as the connection is real, you know that those things don’t matter. Material things are just that: they are of the physical realm. So too with age. But love, love is bigger than the things of this world.”
She pauses to let me think on this.
“If you believe he is a good man, and you feel happy, secure, and appreciated when you’re with him, then nothing else really matters. Things fall into place the way they are supposed to, even if they’re out of alignment at first. I would not worry yourself over it. Just take things day by day.”
“Thank you, Maria, that’s great advice.”
“I sure hope I get to meet this John sometime, Megan,” the older woman says with a chuckle. “Careful though! I may just steal him out from under you.” I smile with amusement at this comment. I know Maria’s not serious. She’s said now, more than ever, that her life is devoted to Jesus Christ and Espiritu Santo.
Yet, I would like John and Maria to meet. They both mean so much to me, and I think they’d enjoy one another’s company. They’re both wise and kind souls, with similar philosophies. Conversation would be effortless between them, despite their differences.
I hug Maria and remind her that she can drop by anytime she needs anything. She nods and smiles at me, patting my arm gently.
I head back to my apartment feeling much more secure about my relationship with John. My heart is full and my outlook bright once more. Maria is right, money is just money, and that shouldn’t keep me from giving John a chance. Nor should the age gap be an issue because when two souls find one another across the universe, sometimes it’s just meant to be no matter what year it says on your birth certificate. So far, John has accepted me unconditionally, just as I am, making me feel wanted, needed, and accepted. And he deserves the same treatment because frankly, I’m falling in love.