Backstage Writers - Think Hope Do

We all get nagging urges. Most people don’t act on them. I do.
I sit down next to someone on a train. I hang on to my belts and straps. I try to make myself smaller. Like a good little commuter, I start daydreaming. Then, inevitably, the guy takes out something to read.
It doesn’t matter what it is. I have to peek. I have to read along. If it’s a newspaper, I have to know which one, which article. If it’s a book, which title, which author? Suspense passage? Boring description of a room? I try to be discreet. I shift and twist so my eyes naturally cross his page. Phrase by phrase, I take in the text, and when I can, I linger and enjoy every captured word. I’m watching this man learn. Even better, we’re learning the same things at the same time. It’s like silent choir. Speaking of choir, the other day the man behind me started singing, not humming, singing something catchy with a warm vibrant voice, something I’ve been yearning to sing for years, a campfire tune, the kind you hum all day. Now it’s one thing to read over someone’s shoulder, but you can’t hum along with someone on a train. You just can’t. And this man has a great voice I don’t want to spoil by adding mine. Still that melody, I can’t resist it, I’m drawn to listen, and my whole body starts to sing. My brain reacts last.
I don’t sing very long, thanks to La Defense. Great station. Mega seat partner refresh. Rebroff gets off, as does the selfish man to my left who’s immediately hidden his copy of Le Monde. Eager Ernie plops down beside me. He actually says “Pardon,” because he’s stroked me with a stack of sloppily penned essays in abominable English. “This summer I go at Normandy for to visit my grandmother…” I stretch and cop another peek. “I will make my terminal stage at the glass factory of my uncle.” I pretend like my smile is a sneeze coming on. I stifle it and sneak another peek.