The subway doors open and three young men step in together, huddling at that entrance as the train moves forward. I instantly recognize their youth, casual beauty, and modest affluence. They fit the label of college students with all these traits. Conversely, they are perfectly disparate from one another: the one in the center, facing me directly, is compactly built with a clean, clear, masculine, face–the bona fide “ladies’ man” of the group. On his right is the most laidback character with longer hair and facial hair–the “stoner” of the group if there had to be one; on the left is the tallest but most unorthodox member–with glasses, floppy hair and severe but pleasant facial features. If you shaved all of their hair and ordered them to don the same shirts and fatigues, they’d be uniformly attractive, yet retain more subtle vestiges of these distinctions. In other words: they’re all winners, but some more than others.
They speak to one another with purpose, inaudible to me at my distance. Yet–with my imagination, the knowledge that it’s early evening on St. Patrick’s Day, and the fact that the ladies’ man of the group is sporting a striped green scarf and bright green beaded necklace, I can fill in the gaps. Ladies’ man is reading his phone as the tall nerd asks him a question. Ladies’ man shows him the phone and answers. No doubt they’re on their way to some watering hole to celebrate the holiday. It must be one of their first–if not the first–since they became of legal drinking age. If I had any plans for that night, it’d be exactly two decades since I became of legal drinking age. The other difference is: I don’t drink anymore, and even if I wanted to, I have no posse to go drinking with anyway. It’s just one of the casualties I’ve learned that come with age on this earth.
I used to be one of these three young men, though. I used to be part of a group of men who looked similar to me in youth and beauty, yet were not similar. We had little in common with each other besides those traits, but that was enough at that age. It was enough to explore the world together and enjoy life.
I can’t help but ponder the fate of these young men: I guess I already answered the question of who would be most likely to get lucky that night, or any other night. But maybe I’m wrong, and I still wonder how they’d each pursue that primal goal, unique to each of their character, strengths, and knowledge.
To go even further: unbeknownst to them as it was to me at their age, two decades will be snatched from them and they may find themselves in the most disparate circumstances. Will these doe-eyed, fresh-faced young men be hurtling towards the opposite of where they were going to at this very moment? I couldn’t help but pick the most incongruous scenario: would that seemingly mild “nerd” of the group be saddled with the ultimate responsibility–as a married man, with children? It’d be so different from the tender seedling he appeared today, in contrast to his more traditionally masculine companions. It’s possible. It’s as old as time. It seems to happen to nearly everyone to heed that ancient call.
On this day, I can’t help but wonder now: was there someone watching me and my friends and thinking the same thing when I was that age? I’m sure. In fact, when I got lucky with someone whom I had spied on, on my many ventures about town–he made an admission: “I always thought you were cute.”
He must’ve watched me from afar several times, analyzing the differences between me and my friends, and secretly creating stories for us in his head. How did I compare to my friends? Was I the cute one? The tall one? The funny one? The nice one? How much joy did he take in admiring my or all of our beauty? Probably as much as I do now, with these three young men.
I could be bitter at the callowness on display today and their ignorance of the storm yet to come in their lives, but that’s not my nature. It’s neither here nor there anyway. If I’ve learned anything else in life, it’s that no two stories are exactly the same–similar, yes, but it’s foolish to make up your mind so surely about most matters. Life is as varied as the people in it. Sometimes we triumph, sometimes we fall down spectacularly. And when I did either one? Most of the time, beyond my mortal efforts–the rest was out of my control. I had my fun, and these young men will too. They will have these memories to look back on, as I do my own.