On the regional train to Philadelphia I sat in the cafe car and tried to remember why I was there, while the tables around me filled up with middle aged men smelling of coffee and aftershave, and thirty-something women with perfect hair. They chatted about their weekends as they settled into the plush, faux-leather seats.  The red-head to my right picked a folded copy of Elle out of her handbag and started to flip through the pages.  I thought about how elegant she looked.  I added reading Elle to the list of things I hadn’t done and should try.  At least, I thought, I would pick up a copy at the corner bodega and try carrying it around, in case any of this feminine charm could be gotten by osmosis.

The train car was getting full and loud. A dark man with a square chin and eyebrows like two giant caterpillars took the seat across from me. He did not look at me at all, which left me disappointed, in spite of myself.  Instead he clicked open his laptop so I could just see his chin floating, disembodied, above the back of the computer.  For a moment, looking at him, I missed my father.  The train began to move, and I sank deeper into my seat.   The train moved slowly at first, then it jolted forward so suddenly that the red-head gave out a nervous laugh, high pitched and feminine.  I wondered what her husbands looked like.

We got through the tunnel to Jersey and were flying