Opening The Box
Issue No. 5 - Surprises
I heard his voice behind me — on a train riding north from Washington, D.C.
I was in a car where the seats were facing backward — always a little disorienting.
It had been years since we’d seen each other, or even spoken.
But I knew that voice. That unique intonation. That ever-so-slight Brooklyn accent.
I heard what the man was saying, but it didn’t matter.
I was so sure it was Rob.
I was struck numb.
What should I do? What should I say?
I told myself to put on a nice expression — the first sight he’d see of me.
Then I sat, leaden. Unable to move. Just listening.
Just experiencing that voice.
Trains were always part of our backdrop.
Metros. Transit lines. Amtrak. Subways.
Rails became a metaphor — two people moving forward, feeling side-by-side, but never quite able to meet.
Not really. Not in any lasting way, it seemed.
Every moment we shared was borrowed from someone — or something — else.
But we grabbed those moments anyway.
During the year Rob and I were lovers, we met several times in Washington.
The city’s rich metro system was part of our rhythm.
The sliding doors were fast — quick to open, quick to close. Just a sliver of a window.
On one special day, I knew Rob would be on the Metro, coming to meet me.
He’d need to change trains at Metro Center — the busiest stop in the system.
Somehow, I timed it right.
I saw him leave one train and walk toward another.
He looked up. He saw me. He stopped, stunned.
And I went to him.
Today, I pulled one of his letters from The Box. In it, he wrote:
Because we were making love afterward, I never got to reveal the thoughts and feelings you wrenched from me when I saw you on the platform.
You. You pop up when I least expect it — and now I feel you can pop up at any time. I incessantly look for you everywhere.
I saw you — but no, it couldn’t be. I lurched physically forward, involuntarily, then caught myself. It couldn’t be you.
As you walked toward me, I melted. I was raw. I couldn’t focus on anything but you — and even that was terribly, terribly difficult.
I kissed you without thinking. Held you without wondering. I was alone with you on a crowded platform, and the world be damned.
So the next time you wonder how I am when I drop all reality, control, and barriers — think of that moment near the escalator. You had me then. Totally unhampered. With no baggage.
Thank you.
And oh — what a moment.
The world dropped away.
The air was sucked from my chest.
Even the roar of the trains in that cavern went silent.
Hard to imagine a better moment.
But many followed that day.
Over the years, I’ve fantasized that he looked for me, just as I’ve always looked for him.
On trains and platforms. At airports. On highways. Through crowds.
And now — the question you may be wondering:
Was it really him on the train that day I was riding backwards?
With an anxious glance in a pocket mirror, I put on lipstick and checked my hair.
This was for me — he wouldn’t care what I looked like.
I took a deep breath. Tried to paste on a smile, one I was too nervous to pull off.
I so wanted to see him.
The man on the train had been talking since I first heard his voice — about what, I can’t recall.
I remember being vaguely aware that it didn’t sound like Rob.
But the voice. The voice.
Finally, I stood. Straightened my clothes. Put on some kind of smile.
And went to face the man I loved.
No.
It wasn’t Rob.
I was deflated in an instant.
Disappointed beyond measure.
Whatever expression was on my face would have concerned anyone else — but the man just kept talking. I was a stranger, after all.
I returned to my seat, gathered my things with trembling hands, and moved to another car.
That one had seats facing forward.
If we are fortunate, we’ve all experienced surprises that stay with us for life.
If we’re even more fortunate, someone has loved us enough to arrange one:
A surprise birthday party. A candlelit dinner. A bouquet of flowers.
Washing the dishes three times in one week.
Good surprises — in thought and deed — are the stuff of love.
When both align, and are given with a gentle hand, the stuff of love.
But sometimes surprises aren’t good.
Someone you love is struggling. Or you are.
The house falls apart. The pet dies. You get hurt. Or you’re asked for too much.
Recently, I found myself in one of those situations.
Someone I care about — and who Angela, my daughter, also knows — made a request.
It was unrealistic.
And frankly, unfair.
My old reflex kicked in:
If I couldn’t say yes to the request, maybe I could help resolve the issue anyway.
Because I cared.
But I felt out of control. And I needed someone to talk to.
Angela — technically my stepdaughter, but truly my daughter — has always been there for me.
And I’ve always been her Mary.
She is a treasure in my life.
“Mary,” she said gently.
“Focus on the things you can control. You taught me that.”
Yes. Physician, heal thyself.
Still, I wanted to help. Because helping would make me feel better.
But Angela asked:
“Has this person asked for your help?”
“Well… no,” I said. “But—”
“But what?” she asked.
And that’s when I realized:
What I called helping was actually selfishness.
Unrequested assistance isn’t always welcome. And sometimes it’s not even needed.
So I made a decision: Say no.
That one choice gave me back my power.
It let me focus on what I could control — and let go of what was never mine to carry.
Angela reminded me of wisdom I’d given her.
And I got to apply it to myself.
So, I’ve shared a surprise from the train — and a not-so-good surprise that was resolved by reaching out to someone I love and trust.
Now I ask you:
💬 What surprises have you experienced?
Have they stayed with you? Changed you?
I’d love to hear — reply to this email and share your story.
And always remember:
Heartbeats are Finite. Possibilities are Infinite.
Thank you for enjoying this issue of Opening The Box. It's an honor to share my treasure with you. Please become a subscriber...I sincerely welcome paid subscribers, but a subscription is free. Paid subscribers will unlock bonus letters, stories from readers and listeners, behind-the-scenes reflections, and the insider's journey behind the romance of a lifetime. Every subscription helps me keep The Box open. With gratitude, Mary