February 11 - Metro Story

Brian found a seat on the Metro, opened his laptop, and started working on his report, but was soon distracted by the perfume of the woman sitting next to him. He stole a glance at her. She was young, Japanese, and good looking, though not in an intimidating way--approachably attractive.
Even still, Brian wasn't one for starting conversations with strangers, especially not in Tokyo where his goals of learning Japanese had stalled out somewhere after chapter 2 of Japanese for Busy People. He'd long since gotten used to the idea of keeping to himself in public places. Besides, it's what everybody else there seemed to do, so he gave himself points for being culturally appropriate, and logged it in his book as a victory.
However, the woman sitting next to him smelled good. He tried to work on his report, but it was hard to concentrate. He began typing: Our third quarter earnings have surpassed even our most modest projections primarily because the woman sitting next to me smells so unbelievably good.
He chanced a look at her and could have sworn he detected a trace of a smile. He continued typing.
Other factors include increased brand awareness, strong launches in new markets, and the way her hair sets off her eyes.
He wasn't exactly sure what that line meant, but he liked both her hair and her eyes so it seemed to him a good way to combine the two. He looked out the corner of his eye and there was another hint of a smile, accompanied by a casual, almost subliminal twirl of her hair and--it wasn't just his imagination--a surreptitious glance his way.
More typing: Another reason could be the possibility that she can read and understand English.
He almost winced a bit at being so forward and tipping his hand, but this time there was definitely a smile. There was no mistaking it. And then a split second of eye contact between them.
I wonder what her name is.
She gave him another smile, making no attempt to hide it, but she didn't volunteer a name.
Maybe she's shy?
She smiled again and shook her head. Then after a couple of seconds of eye contact, she pointed at her mouth and shook her head.
He returned to the keyboard. She--His fingers paused over the keys while he tried to think of the most sensitive way to articulate what he thought she meant, and then he went with the simplest and most direct--cannot speak.
She confirmed this by smiling.
He looked at her and pointed at his ears. She shook her head again.
He decided against typing deaf mute because he wasn't sure if that was the polite way of saying it. Besides, it didn't seem necessary: What else could she mean?
The train was getting close to his stop. He typed quickly.
She knows sign language, of course.
She nodded.
And if she can read English, she can probably type it, too.
She nodded again.
And she would probably like nothing better than to email a guy she met on the Metro whose name is Brian and who she thinks is pretty cute.
She looked around the subway car a moment before pointing at the old man sleeping across the aisle, as if to say You mean him?
All this and a sense of humor.
She laughed a bit.
Can you read lips?
She shook her head, then reconsidered and gave him a so-so gesture.
The fact that he wasn't speaking out loud had an emboldening effect on Brian. It enabled him to be more direct and blunt than he would normally have been. That, along with his impending stop, pushed him to be more brazenly flirtatious. He whispered an overly enunciated, "I think you are totally cute."
She laughed a bit and mouthed, "Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."
He hadn't completely understood her, but her expression indicated that it was something good, so he smiled, maybe a bit too much. But she'd seen overcompensating smiles before, so she clarified herself by pointing at him and then holding up two fingers and mouthing, "You too."
They arrived at his stop.
All around them, people stood up and moved toward the door. It opened and the people by the door pushed their way off and were replaced by the people crowding on the platform. The doors remained open a few seconds longer. Brian's body tensed up, but other than that he didn't move.
The doors closed and the train pulled out of the station.
He typed: That was my stop.
She pointed at herself and held up two fingers again, and they both laughed, and that's how it started. Brian and Moeka (She had to type it for him after mouthing it three times without him being able to understand it) quickly became a couple. On their dates, they each brought their laptops and communicated via MSN Messenger. When that quickly got too unwieldy, they took turns typing on the same computer. It was faster, plus it gave them a chance to sit closer.
Brian soon begain studying Japanese sign language and with Moeka's help he progressed a lot further and faster than he had with conversational Japanese.
It was the smoothest, most stress-free relationship either of them had ever had. Moeka's friends in Tokyo's Deaf community were very welcoming and encouraging toward Brian, and Brian's friends likewise took to Moeka. Not that it mattered too much. They preferred to spend their time together, just the two of them--cooking, reading, writing, signing, and dancing (Moeka could feel the rhythm). Moeka was happy, and so was Brian.
All those years, all the sayings and cliches about love were wrong. Love wasn't blind. It was deaf.