A voice reached out to me on the subway.
I was nose deep in a book and sitting to my left, a middle-aged man with graying hair. He offered me a seat next to him at 14th & Union station a stop earlier and may have called me sweetheart or something to that effect. I later caught him glancing down at my book and back at me.
It took a moment to register that another human was initiating contact on the train because these are things you tune out. He didn’t look strange or troubled, but surprising - ordinary. He was doing the last thing I expected to happen on the subway: starting a conversation.
“Are you going to war,” he asked in a very New York accent.
The question startled me, but of course he asked me that. I’m reading a book called “The Generals: American Military Command from World War II to Today” by Thomas E. Ricks. It’s not your average “Hunger Games” or “Beautiful Ruins” you see passengers read to pass the time.
“No,” I told him.
This was a poor excuse for a pick-up line, a co-worker explained to me later. He wanted to know why a girl like me was reading a book on military history - in a place like this.
I chose my next words carefully because I did not owe him an explanation. I stepped into my “mind palace” and went back to the Spokane International Airport, where I bought this book in early January. Desperate for reading material, a bright red book on the bottom shelf caught my eye and my compulsive habit of buying books kicked in.
But why did I choose this book? I could go the personal route and say, “I wanted to learn more about military history because I didn’t pay enough attention in school.”
It felt like he was accusing me of wearing fake glasses.
To be honest, I didn’t have a good reason and I didn’t need one. He only asked me because I’m a woman and that was the last thing he expected to see on the subway.
My book was open to Chapter 16, which is devoted to a man called William Westmoreland, whom I had never heard of until I read this book.
“He was an idiot,” the man said.
My book agreed. Westmoreland took command of ground combat during the Vietnam War in 1964 and then sent the Army into ruins, according to my book.
“Apparently he went to some Army Cooks and Bakers School in Hawaii. I didn’t realize those existed.” I replied.
Despite being very uncomfortable about having a conversation with a stranger on the subway, I welcomed it. I haven’t spoken to anyone out of the blue like that since Spokane.
“Did you know Douglas MacArthur threw up on the steps of White House,” I asked.
This bit of trivia blew his mind. I later learned President H. W. George Bush threw up at a dinner for Japanese diplomats in 1992.
“He really did. He apparently got into a verbal fight with FDR and couldn’t handle the stress. He tossed his cookies.” I continued.
For the next 20 minutes, we were the only people speaking on the train to Brooklyn. He’s a divorced butcher at a shop in the Upper East Side. Apparently David Letterman goes there. He had dreams of being an electrician and started going to college for it, but life happened.
He has a son who really enjoys Facebook and playing Candy Crush on the subway.
“I told him,” he said. “Join the service and be a man.”
The train rolled into Atlantic Avenue - his stop.
“Have a nice life,” he said while waving goodbye. He stepped off the train and that was that.