Missed Connection: NYC Ferry, Astoria Route

I was the guy on the upper deck with the charcuterie board. You were the woman who slid over and asked why I brought so much meat and cheese on the ferry. I said, “I have a big meeting later, but my interns are sick, so I picked up the appetizers.” You said I was full of it. Then I said, “Try this prosciutto with gouda and grapes, and tell me I’m full of it.” You leaned in, and stopped, and asked if you would get me in trouble, to which I replied, “I live for trouble.” Then you laughed. You took a bite. You made a face like you had an orgasm. Then you said your name was Isabelle, and I said I was Felix. You asked how I knew you had a weakness for charcuterie, and I said, “Who doesn’t? It’s a world of possibilities on a single plate.” You said you never thought of it like that. Then you called me a nerd. We laughed, and I asked you to go on a date with me on dry land. You were about to say “Yes!” but then you got distracted by a tan line shaped like a ring wrapped around your finger. You said you were busy, but if I ever found myself on the ferry with another charcuterie board, you’d be happy to help me eat it.

Then you left.

The next day, I got on the upper deck with a new plate of meat and cheese. You were sitting in the same seat, looking at me with your hand covering your mouth like you couldn’t believe I actually did it. The two of us ate like royalty, gave ridiculous backstories to every passenger, and got so into it that we missed our stops. The moment you noticed, you shrugged and smirked, and whispered “Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes,” into my ear. That was the first time I saw you. Like, really saw you. I saw the bruises on your collarbone, the peach-colored foundation covering them up. My heart started pounding. I said, “Who did this to my Isabelle?” But you lied to me. You covered my mouth and stumbled through some story about being on the treadmill and your shoelaces came untied and you tripped. And before I could call you a liar, you changed the subject. You said you wanted to keep seeing me, but only on the condition that we never reveal our last names, jobs, phone numbers, addresses, or any personal information. Most importantly, the ferry was the only place we were allowed to meet.

It destroyed me.

I thought this thing we had going on was incredible. But I thought it was just the beginning of something real. I didn’t want to lose you, though, so I just smiled and nodded. I should have told you the truth. I should have told you the first time I noticed you was over a year ago.

You were sitting in the rain, cross-legged on the upper deck. Your hair was wet. Your dress had white flowers on it. Your eyes wrinkled with your smile. I wanted to talk to you but didn’t know what to say, so I kept my distance. After that, I spent every commute imagining the places you and I would go, the food we’d cook each other for dinner, the stupid things we’d fight about, and the sex we’d have to make up for it. Then, one day, I decided to stand up. I walked toward you. I was about to tell you my name when somebody called your phone. I sat down and overheard that you were late for a dance recital, that Saturday was best for pickleball, and that the eggplant parmesan could be reheated at four hundred degrees. You were married. I had to accept that. But then something changed in your voice. You got quiet for a long time. You started flinching and stuttering. It was like the person on the other line was yelling at you. Then you hung up. Your bottom lip was shaking. Your eyes were wet. You looked completely numb, defeated. I wanted to help you but didn’t know how. Then I saw you reach into your purse. You pulled out a travel magazine, The Western Europe Edition. Your smile grew each time you turned the page. It gave me an idea.

Charcuterie board.

German meats. Italian cheeses. French breads. I could bring Western Europe to you through food. All I had to do was go shopping and make up a little story. You were right, by the way; I was “full of it.” There was no big meeting. No sick interns. I was just a guy on your ferry who wanted to make your day. And now every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from 5:46pm to 6:22pm, you and I could enjoy fresh charcuterie on the upper deck of the NYC Ferry, pretending to live the life I had been imagining for God knows how long. Then we’d pass your stop. And I would have to watch you leave the boat, remembering this life was only temporary. I thought about that a lot. Eventually, I realized our little secret wasn’t enough.

I found you on Google.

It took ten minutes. I found your full name, home address, and everything else you never wanted to tell me. I went to your apartment to tell your son-of-a-bitch husband that you didn’t belong to him — you belonged to me. He didn’t answer the door, though. Nobody did, no matter how hard I pounded, or how loud I screamed, “Isabelle!” over and over. I was getting ready to throw a flower pot through the window when your neighbor came out. She asked what I was doing. I said I was looking for you. She said you weren’t home. Your husband wasn’t either. Apparently, the two of you fought last night and he chased you out the door. You got in the car and drove off. Your neighbor said he shouted “horrible things” at you as you broke away from him. That was all she knew. I was so relieved; so proud of you, Isabelle. I wanted to celebrate with fresh Spanish chorizo and a French baguette. I couldn’t wait to find you waiting for me, sitting cross-legged on the upper deck in that flowery dress I loved so much.

But you weren’t there.

Instead, sitting in your seat was a saran-wrapped charcuterie board with a note taped to it:

Exploring a world of possibilities.

Thanks for the nudge,

Isabelle.

I still can’t believe it. Seriously, Isabelle? That’s all I get? After everything I did for you? You left New York without me, without even telling me where you were going? How the hell am I going to protect you if I don’t know where you are? Can’t you see I’m trying to save you? Why won’t you let me? You deleted Instagram. You changed your number. I’m running out of options here. Posting this Craigslist ad was the only other thing I could think of. When you see it, message me here.

I promise I won’t be mad. I just want to talk.

You’re my world of possibility, baby.

<3 Felix