The Delight of Missing the Train

Noticing pre-afternoon soft white light spill through the massive arched windows of Grand Central Station, painting the marble floor in tiger stripes.

Noticing your face spill into a smile when the sound of trumpets overpowers the click-click-click of your heeled leather boots. A musician by the escalators playing “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast, and you are instantly reminded how just last week, as night settled in Los Angeles, you twirled your friend on the pier in Santa Monica while another musician’s violin cried the melody, and you sang—poorly:

Tale as old as time
True as it can be
Barely even friends
La-la-la-la — because you didn’t remember the words
Na-na-na — neither these ones
Just a little change
Small to say the least
La-la-la-la — or these
Beauty and the Beast

And how then, instead of going to a bar, you went back to her place—where you were staying—because your friend had never seen the cartoon, and you couldn’t believe it, and immediately recognized it as your direct duty to show her.

Now, in Grand Central, you pull out your phone to film yourself smiling—the most genuine smile. Under different circumstances, you might have sent the video to that friend. Or to a man, because of all this music signifies. But right now, you want to keep it private. This tender, sweet moment.

Yesterday, as you clicked your heels down the Grand Central subway station, a musician played The Simpsons theme. At rush hour, it was especially comedic.

Now you wonder if it was the same guy.
If the same—then a delight.
If a different guy—then two delights.