“Hello.” The man next to me on the subway spoke and made eye contact. He scared the crap out of me. I muttered, “Good morning,” and turned my back on him. He didn’t speak again and I forgot about him. But the next day he was there again, looking at me. This time he just nodded a greeting. And he smiled. Nobody smiled on the subway. What was up with him?

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “hello.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

6 thoughts on “Hello”

  1. hello, don’t i know you, have we met, i think so, you look so familiar, i’m sure i saw you on TV, yeah your the famous TV chef, hey hey, why are you running away, hello!, what’s up with people these days, i thought we were all neighbors, hello!

  2. “Hello,” the man seated across from me on the subway said, making eye contact. He must’ve been a maniac, because everybody knows that NOBODY speaks to or makes eye contact with a stranger on the New York City subway. Quite naturally, I ignored him. What else are you supposed to DO when someone who is most likely a maniac says hello to you?

    “Yeah,” he continued, still making eye contact, “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were pretty to’ up from the flo’ up that night. Was five years ago, I was drivin’ a car service then. I drove you from Far Rockaway to Bay Ridge, and, for a woman, you sure were a mean drunk.” He gave me a pointed look.

    At that I looked at him, but of course I didn’t recognize him. Sure, I’m a sober woman today, but five years ago, I was a blackout drunk, and if I’d been in Far Rockaway any night, I’d been at Jason’s place (not that I WANTED to remember Jason).

    “Did I ever pay you for the ride?” I asked, mollified.

    “She speaks,” he said, “and you offered to blow me in exchange for driving your raggedy ass all the way from Far Rockaway to Bay Ridge, a favor I declined. But when we got to your place in Bay Ridge, your rich Daddy came out and paid me…he also bitched you our for comin’ home drunk AGAIN,” at that he laughe.

    “Well I don’t do that anymore,” I said, “not that it’s any of your business.”

    “Don’t do WHAT, princess, don’t offer to blow strangers or don’t come home drunk?”

    “Both, actually. Anyway, hello to you too, and if you’ll excuse me, this’ my stop.” I stood up and made for the train doors as they opened, even though it most assuredly was NOT my stop. But it was OK, there’d be another train any minute, one not populated with characters from my dissolute past.

  3. “I was annoyed when I heard a friend say they wouldn’t buy a certain book I loved because they hated the authors personal views.”
    “Yep. Anyway, that was a long time ago.”
    “Well, that is a bit odd. So have you read The Ant of Seattle?”
    “Nah, I hate that guy. I heard the story was brilliant, but he is a real jerk.”
    “Uh, hello…?”

  4. Hello is a nice word. For me it conjures up simpler times because it rhymes with Jello. Then recall of that word causes the ditty to come up that ended in the singing of J-E-L-L-0 on the old fashioned commercials. I can still hear its pleasance and I smile. Jello is something that’s always on my pantry shelves. I think that will always be the case. Hello. Jello. J-E-L-L-O!

  5. “Hello,” said the gent with the pin striped pants.
    Clara lowered her eyes. She did not want to become friends with this person who’d entered class late and acted like a clown. When asked his name by the professor, he said, “I am C-l-y-d-e Pinkerton. You will find me on your role probably about halfway down the list.”
    She didn’t trust people who tried to draw attention to themselves like Clyde and his buddy Julius. Right in front of the class. This was not high school, this was the universit– in the city, not a farm town.
    “What’s your name, Miss?” Clyde persisted.

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