I stood on the platform under Grand Central, waiting for the downtown 4/5.
She was pointing to my earphones and saying something.
I plucked the iPod buds from my ears to listen.
“I have that too!” she said excitedly.
She was about 10, in pigtails and a big smile. She was with her mother and little sister, who appeared to be about 5.
I wasn’t sure what to say, and was especially mindful of having the mother there next to her. Mothers typically don’t take to their little girls chatting with strange men–especially devilishly handsome ones such as myself.
“I use mine every day,” I said. (C’mon, what would you say?)
She told me hers doesn’t come in too good sometimes.
“Is yours an iPod?” I asked.
“No. A radio.”
Still no sign of the 4/5. I peeked over at the mother, who looked tired, like she just wanted to get back to Brooklyn, sit the kids in front of SpongeBob, and take a deep breath. She wasn’t giving me the evil eye.
I told her about my new Bose headphones, how they drowned out all the noise around me.
“Wow!” she said, looking around at all that contributed to the noisy mosaic.
“Uh…who’s your favorite singer?” I asked.
“Mary J. Blige!” came back the response.
I scanned my brain for something I knew about Mary J. She covered U2′s “One”, didn’t she?
“She’s great,” I said.
“Michael Jackson too!” the girl added.
“He’s a little crazy,” I shot back. I hoped my assessment wouldn’t be interpreted in some weird way by the mother as racist. Then again, I reasoned, Michael is white. The mother nodded her head in agreement. Jacko being Wacko is something we all can agree on.
“How old do you think he is?” the girl asked.
I thought for a moment.
“45?”
“He’s that old?” the girl responded. I shrugged.
“He started singing when he was really young,” I said. “Your age.”
It was quiet for another moment.
Finally, the 4 train shuffled in.
I smiled at the girl and we walked to different parts of the car.