Surrey with a fringe on top ... in front of Ira

to set the scene...

It is a chilly spring afternoon, about 1:00 PM, and it is raining. It's that point of suspension when it's not really raining hard enough to need an umbrella, but raining just enough that the drops are frequent enough to want one.

I'm walking with a purpose near Cooper Square, on my way to the Astor Place subway stop to head Uptown to meet friends for a birthday brunch. John Mayer's "Bigger than my Body" plays at about half volume on my iPod. I stop somewhere in Cooper Square, obeying the solid orange hand commanding me to wait for the light to change before I cross the street and head down the subway steps.

I am lost in the dreary afternoon, possibly sleeping with my eyes open, until I slowly pan left and see a guy in front of me. I pan a little more left, still slowly, and see a familiar, yet forgetten face. As guitar continues to play in the background that is my iPod, I realize in slow motion that I recognize this person and reach into my left coat pocket and pause the music. Moments before the pause,

"Hey, what's up?"

Enter, the ex-boyfriend.

(And for the purposes of this blog, I will refer to him as, the "ex-boyfriend.")

We exchange pleasantries. Long time no see. How's it going? Are you still in Astoria? Where are you headed?

Through all of this, I suddenly realize that the walk signal must have come on and I missed it, because now the hand is flashing orange.

Realizing that we are both headed onto the same Uptown train, I offer, "You want to cross?"

He responds, "Yea."

So I begin walking and sense he is not following. Phew, that was a quick chance encounter and now it's over. (Well, wrong.) I cross the street andwalk down the subway steps by myself, headed for the Uptown 6, swipe my metrocard and walk right about 15 feet down the platform.

Not even 15 seconds later, I hear behind me,

"So, in a city of 9 million people we still run into each other?"

It's not over? I laughed, politely, and started up again that same conversation we had somehow begun above ground a few minutes before.

Awkward, but cordial, we catch up on the year plus of our lives. Vague details of his I did not care to hear. And vague details of mine that can be uncovered by reading my Facebook page. The train came, we sat down on the same blue bench.

Oh dear Lord, I thought, Astor Place to 96th Street. This is going to be one long subway ride.

The train moved and with each stop, I thought, make it go faster. Eventually and finally we arrived at 96th Street and parted ways before the turnstiles. I was using the Southwest exit and he... one of the East exits.

Awkward hug.

"Maybe we'll run into each other again?" He offered, probably lying.

"Yea," I returned with a polite smile. "Bye."

I walked away.

Do you remember that scene in "When Harry Met Sally," when Harry and Sally are in Sharper Image trying to find a housewarming gift for Jess and Marie and they happen upon the karaoke machine?

They are singing "The Surrey with a Fringe on Top" from the musical, "Oklahoma," and Harry stops like a deer in headlights, when he spots his ex-Wife with her new beau, Ira. While my situation was slightly different, it is those chance encounters that seem sometimes to be so quintessentially New York, but in reality are bound to happen in life, at moments when we are lost in, well, a moment. And when it is least expected.