On the train last night, I was approached by a young Mexican man who spoke very little English. Despite this, he felt very confident in his abilities to communicate; and he very obviously had a burning desire to speak with me. After dodging a slightly uncomfortable stare session, I allowed him to at least try to explain himself. This is how it went -
Him: Hi. I see you yesterday on this train. You are, how old?
Me: 24.
Him: You have babies?
Me: Uhmm.....no children.
Him: REALLY?
He was in complete disbelief that a woman of 24 years would not already have at least ONE child. No babies? OMGlady! TIME IS RUNNING OUT FOR YOU.
He pressed on.
Him: I see you with the, uh, paper. (Makes sketching motion with his hands). You are an artist?
Me: I draw a lot. I went to art school.
Him: Ahhh, y I am a writer! I write my dreams. I show you. You have paper? Can I use?
I lend him a piece of paper and the hard top of my sketchbook, and he excitedly drafts his most recent reverie. Accompanied by an illustration. And whaddya know? It is two swans kissing in a lake surrounded by tropical islands. He expounds.
Him: My dreams, they are...very romantic. I write a romance novel on my computer!
A pause.
Him: I put you in my romance novel!
Believe it or not, I insisted that my character would not be relevant to such a story. And though I never asked him to explain his novel further, I'll have to assume it is a story of a brief, yet heated love affair by which I produce multiple babies.
Shortly thereafter was his stop. He excused himself with a handshake and a smile - then says, "next time." Next time, WHAT???! I'm afraid he left me hanging. Just like a writer of suspense and passionate drama. He's totally legit!
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