and . . . action

i was riding the train to boston from newburyport massachusetts. on a friday night. i barely made it in time and forgot to bring anything to read. the blackberry was on 2 bars of battery life and i needed to make some calls later. so i put it in my pocket and stared out at the tail end of the day that was receding behind the trees made evil due to lack of leaves. the conductor sat diagonally from me with a copy of the Herald and pen for the crossword. he kept getting up to call the stations and i desperately wanted to fill in some answers. rowley, ipswich passed, and i was getting bored. we came to hamilton and everything changed.

a woman got on and sat where the conductor had previously been. she was about 45 or 50 years old, looking a bit tired and haggard. she wore some obscure brand of athletic jumpsuit that had half-gloves at the end of the sleeves. it was navy blue with neon green stripes and accents. she wore beat canvas tretorn sneakers with a pink logo. her auburn hair was tied in the back of her head in some sort of victorian bun. what happened next was nothing less than mezmerizing.

it was another 30 minutes to boston. in that time, she literally put on her face. we've all heard that phrase "i need to put my face on." or "face that she keeps in the jar by the door, who is it for?" this woman unrolled a tool kit of mascara, eyeliners, powders, wrinkle creams and lipsticks went to town on her face for 30 minutes. she attacked it. in between applications she sent text messages, took phone calls and adjusted her sports bra. she explained to her friend that "steve" had called at the last minute and asked her to the celtics game. this woman threw on a body-tight track suit, beat up tretorns and ran out the door to meet steve, knowing full well she would have 30 minutes to apply her mask before reaching north station and the famed boston garden. there, she would meet steve, who would spend the next 2-3 hours staring at 10 men run the court, while the woman in the mask sat next to him.

i really became attached to this woman, and her process. i started out stealing looks at her via the reflection in my window, but near the end, i was flat-out staring at her. i don't think she ever even saw me, her eyes boring into her hand-mirror the entire time. holding it at different angles and making conversational expressions into it. i believe she covered every known emotion with her face to make sure that her makeup would withstand any reaction. and it did.

we reached north station and i walked out of the train behind her. i really wanted to tap her on the shoulder and wish her good luck. good luck with steve. knock him dead.

but i didn't. ok.