Cruising

Tonight on the subway I saw this boy. “Boy” is the best word for him, though he was probably legal – barely. He was cute and blond and slight. When fags use the word “twink,” he’s what they mean. And he had perfect hair.

He noticed me noticing him on the platform and noticed me back. We got into the same subway car. He stood by the door and I moved further toward the middle of the car, partly because it was crowded and partly because I wanted to watch him from a safe distance. A lot of passengers got off at the next stop, so it was easier to see him. I stared at him, long and hard. And I’m pretty sure I made him uncomfortable. Or at least aware of the fact that he was being stared at.

I stare at people a lot. On the subway; in bars; pretty much any public place. Some might call it "people watching." The truth is, though, that I’ve always believed that if I concentrate hard enough I can make things happen. I guess that’s what more successful writers are calling “magical thinking” these days: believing you have some control over the circumstances in your life. I actually just think that if I try really really hard, I’ll eventually unlock secret telepathic abilities.

It’s sort of widely believed – and I think there is actual scientific evidence to back it up – that we only use a shockingly small portion of our brain. The rest is just kind of dormant, and some people think that if we actually figured out how to use those dormant parts we’d all be psychics or telepaths or something. I know it’s kind of weird, but I think there might be something to that.

So I stare and I think and I try. When it happens, I imagine it will feel like an alkeseltzer fizzling in water, except moving out and away from me and expanding my perception.

I looked at this boy on the subway and thought toward him, probably making him more and more uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell if it was uncomfortable in a good way or in a bad way. He might have known I was watching him and appreciated the attention. Maybe he felt prettier, more powerful because of it. Maybe he was hoping I’d talk to him.

He looked me right in the eye and held my gaze, which surprised me. I didn’t think someone as young as he looked would do that. His eyes were challenging and inviting at the same time. I looked away first and felt as if I’d been bested.

I got off the train at Union Square and thought about grabbing his hand and pulling him out with me. Instead I walked away and imagined him looking after, watching me disappear into the crowd.