The Woman With No Middle, by Don Tassone

The four of us boarded the train in Cannondale, Connecticut, for New York City.

A woman sat alone across the aisle to my left. She had warm, brown eyes and long, gray hair. I said hi. She smiled and told me her name was Marilyn.

When we changed trains in Norwalk, Marilyn found us and squeezed in with us.

“I can tell a lot about people by their eyes,” she said. “You all have kind eyes. I like you, but I don’t like people whose eyes aren’t kind. With me, it’s either one or the other. I have no middle.”