The Metro was crowded. Hot. Humid. Stinky. I was over it. A woman shoved her way past me, separating me and my husband. I watched as Todd had no choice but to move about 15 feet away from me, grateful for the silent “You okay?” he shot me with his eyes across the train packed with Parisians.
“I’m fine,” I wordlessly nodded back. But I wasn’t fine. I wanted off this damn train. I wanted the smelly man across from me to stop leering at me. I wanted the other smelly man next to me to stop brushing my hand with his as he pretended to just be adjusting his position on the pole. I wanted to lean against my husband instead of this sweat-slicked pole. I wanted to reach our stop and escape to the perfect summer afternoon above ground.
“How are we all going to fit?” I thought to myself, knowing damn well the answer was that we just would, same as it goes every day on any subway in the world. Sometimes, you just do. I sighed as I was forced closer to the smelly men while weary passengers pushed their way into the train car.
As the doors were about to close, I noticed a handsome black man struggling to board before he lost the chance. Though it went against everything my cramped, tired, perspiring traveler’s body wanted, I stuck my arm out to catch the door for him. Only then did I notice the two small children with him.
“Merci,” he said breathlessly. I blanked on the French words for “You’re welcome” so I smiled warmly, hoping he understood. We locked eyes and my world stopped. The look of sheer gratitude in his eyes took my breath away. This tiny act of kindness was clearly not something he encountered on the Paris Metro often.
I glanced down at his children, two young boys so beautiful they made my heart ache. The older of the two, probably around 5 years old, smiled so big at me. The younger, looking to be around 3 years old, just stared at me with the biggest chocolate eyes I’d ever seen. My heart melted. My uterus quivered a little.
The moment was interrupted as the four of us realized simultaneously that by saving them from missing the train, I’d also made it possible for another 10-15 people to squeeze their way in behind them. Firmly holding my position with my hand on the nearest pole, I saw the look of panic flash into the father’s eyes as a man slipped between he and his older son, separating them. Without thinking, I reached for the boy’s hand so he could hold onto the same pole I was. I squeezed to the side as much as I possibly could to allow the smaller one to join, mentally cursing my curvy figure for taking up so much space. Once again, the look of gratitude in the father’s eyes took my breath away, shaking me out of my momentary pity party. He moved close to us and asked with only his thankful eyes, “Are you sure it’s okay?” My eyes answered back, “Of course.”
For the next three stops, the boys stayed with me as their father was forced to stand just a few feet away, keeping a watchful eye on his boys. With each rough movement of the train, he would look at me and wordlessly ask again, “Are you sure it’s okay?” I hoped he understood as I eye-spoke in response, “Of course. And they’re beautiful.”
And they were. The boys held the type of the beauty that only comes with innocence. Each of them held a spark in their eyes that said, “Live! Love!” At least, that’s what my heart kept hearing.
A lump formed in my throat as the older one snuck a curious glance up at me, smiled, and moved his hand up the pole so he could just barely touch mine. I smiled down at him to let him know he was safe. We began an adorable game of cat and mouse with our hands. He would gently touch mine, I would smile, he’d sheepishly move it away, I would smile again, and he’d move his hand back to touch mine. Again and again, until he finally giggled and I thought my heart would explode. The father spied our game and a sharp look of concern flashed across his face. “Is he bothering you?” his eyes asked before shooting his son a stern but loving warning look. “Not at all,” mine responded. I don’t know how but I immediately knew what an amazing father this man was. He smiled gratefully again.
The younger boy was getting tired, his tiny legs struggling to keep him upright on the jostling train. I shifted slightly so he could lean against the pole more. Instead, he leaned against me. The move was so natural, so primal, I was breathless yet again. He closed his eyes and leaned his small head against my stomach, a move I could tell he’d made a million times with his own mother. There’s something about the softness of a woman’s stomach that children are drawn to, like nature’s pillow. A small sigh of contentment escaped his little lips. My entire body started to hum with a feeling I’d wanted for so long but hadn’t yet felt on my own…motherly. The lump in my throat grew.
I looked up at their father, expecting him to be irritated with my sudden closeness with his cubs. Instead, his eyes seemed to say, “It’s great, isn’t it?” For a few moments our eyes locked and we held an entire conversation about how beautiful the boys were, how much I wanted one of my own, how appreciative he was that I helped, how much I loved visiting his city, how impressed I was with his parenting, all without ever saying a single word. I looked over at Todd, now a bit closer to me than before but still out of my reach. His eyes said, “Nice job, babe.” I just grinned like a maniac.
At the next stop, the crowd thinned a bit as many passengers exited. The father was able to move a few inches closer to us. “Still okay?” his eyes questioned. “More than okay,” mine answered as my body relished the delicious feeling of the tiny head against my tummy. The older boy and I continued our hand/pole game, though he’d become more confident and less shy about it. Now he smiled hugely, showing me all his adorable miniature teeth. His eyes danced with mischief. I longed to play a real game of tag in the park with him. I bet he’s really good.
The smaller boy leaned even closer into my stomach, letting his eyes close again. My heart felt like the Grinch’s at the end of the story, growing two sizes till I thought my chest may burst. The rest of the train seemed to disappear and I could only focus on the family of three. This stunning, perfect beautiful little family in Paris. I knew nothing about them, knew not where they were going or where they had been, nor where the mother was. But I knew I loved them. All of them. And in that instant I knew that our nationalities didn’t matter. Our different languages didn’t matter. Our potentially opposing world views, political persuasions, values, morals, favorite types of cheese didn’t matter. We were human. We knew love. That was all that mattered. That was universal.
Suddenly, the train doors opened and the father reached for his boys. It was their stop. I wished it wasn’t. I let go of the elder’s hand, shifted slightly so the younger, who was now an almost-sleeping puddle of jello against me, knew it was time to move. He looked up sadly, obviously not ready to relinquish his post against my stomach, the stomach I usually hated for being so soft and round but was now suddenly proud of for providing comfort. I smiled down to say, “It’s okay. I like you here, too, but your dad needs you more than I do.” He smiled back as if to say, “You’re right. And thank you.” The elder looked at me with his impish grin, squeezed my hand one last time, and went to his father. As they were almost out of the train, they all looked back at me. The dad’s eyes said, “Thanks again.” Mine responded, “Thank YOU” as the doors closed.
The Metro had never felt so empty. And my heart had never felt so full.
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