Friday, August 29, 2003
i've been so anxious lately. maybe because i've seen how easily dreams disintegrate. and i don't want this one to disintegrate.
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Thursday, August 28, 2003
"Trust me, when my girlfriend calls and I'm playing Virtua Fighter 4, that phone just rings and rings...."
a very fine ending to a very fine video game review ... and maybe more.
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a very fine ending to a very fine video game review ... and maybe more.
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Wednesday, August 27, 2003
I'm nervous. It's a hot day and my car doesn't have air conditioning. I know he has two fancy cars in England, but he also said he cycles to work in the Financial District. So maybe he won't mind.
I'm wearing an odd, simple costume for a first date on a hot summer day. A nice shirt, small skirt, sandals. If he shows up wearing something conservative, I'll dig the heels out of my trunk. Rush hour bridge traffic was heavy, but I still somehow managed to arrive early. I've washed my hands, checked my minimal makeup in the bathroom mirror. I'm as calm and together as I can possibly be.
The train arrives. I retreat to the window in the stairwell, not wanting to seem too eager. I want to see if I recognize him first. If I don't like what I see - what will I do? I don't see anyone who looks like him, and it's been a few minutes, so I walk up to the waiting room. Suddenly there he is on the stairs, the long hair, wide face, dark eyes. In the door he comes, into my arms a huge bouquet of red, red roses. The most robust roses I've ever held in my hands. He said he'd bring roses, I thought he was joking - he obviously wasn't. He's dressed for an adventure.
We walk to my car, smiling at each other, making little talk. I warn him about the a/c, he doesn't seem to care. My first question to him: do you want to go swimming? He says he's brought shorts, I say, Maybe in a waterfall?, he says, Oh, just a little paddle, then. His accent is great.
We drive. I miss the exit. I'm distracted. We talk all the long way around Esopus, Kingston, back across the river again. He is telling me the story of how he found out his father was not the man he thought was his father. How he'd had a crush on his half-sister without knowing who she was. We are talking talking talking. So many little stories. I'm driving, I'm not looking at him as much as I want to be.
At the garden, he is unimpressed. We walk through the woods. Looking over the Hudson he tells me that when he was small he got knocked unconscious somehow while swimming, and has been terrified of water ever since. He wants to learn to swim again. We find another trail. We are walking, talking, steam is rising from the forest floor and the setting sun reflects from the river. He says it seems like a jungle. I don't feel any chemistry. I'm holding myself in, holding myself back. I don't know what to think or feel, so I think and feel nothing. He is beautiful, we walk at a similar pace, there have been this many awkward gaps in the conversation: Zero. He seems interested, he says sweet things. He asks if he can touch my hair "Oh, it's just a bit of fluff!" There is a moment at the end of a trail when we pause. Something in the air. I hold still and the moment passes, we turn and retrace our steps.
He tells me his parents pushed him really hard in school, and his first girlfriend was when he was 19. There's something so sweet about him, sincere and gentle. He's really funny. His English phrases - "fancy" "cheeky". Now his parents want grandchildren and none of his three siblings or himself have produced. I tell him my mother has said to not do anything on her account.
We find a place to eat. It is bright, loud, exciting. Red walls. I'm not hungry, I'm too distracted. He's starving. He insists I order a drink, he's said he can drive me home, or have a cab drop me, if I can't drive. He says he's only started blacking out in the past year. It's strange but somehow the porsche is always in the drive when he wakes up in the morning. My raspberry margarita comes, his beer. I say it's such a girlie drink. He tastes it and says in the privacy of his own home he might enjoy it. We order. He's never had Mexican food, ever. Not even chips. Not even salsa. He says, my friends have this stuff in jars, but I've never tried it. He orders a steak "blue" and asks me if I know what that means. It means barely cooked, and I ask him if I can try a bite when it comes. He says if I like it I've passed a major test. All other girls have been disgusted by it.
More talking, I'm tipsy. Afraid to meet his eyes. I'm not eating enough guacamole, and so I say I'm distracted by him. He looks at me, tries to catch my eye. We share a smile. The food comes and he saws me off the first bite of his steak. I bite it off his fork and chew. It just tastes like regular steak to me, and I tell him. He says, Be careful or I might marry you.
After dinner, we're looking at a map. I come sit next to him, arms touching, knees touching. It feels nice. He notices. We're so comfortable it doesn't even feel strange to feel this comfortable. We go out to the street, and he calls hotels. They are all full. I'm not fully comfortable with it, but I tell him in the worst case he can crash at my place. He says he wants to catch the last train. I don't think we would make it, even if we sped. He says it's up to me. He says he feels very awkward, he feels it's rude to stay. I tell him I don't think he did it on purpose, even though he's told me stories about how wily he can be (convincing an officemate that a Russian actress, 19, needed to be put up for a week. He said he thought at first that I was a joke from one of his friends - a fantasy girl.) We go to the Black Swan for another drink. We compare types and find that we are exactly each other's typical types. He wants to go see photos of my ugly duckling phase.
At my house he looks around, says the smell reminds him of his grandmother's house. I make tea, pull out photos. I show him random ones, hunting for the one where Bridget and I have dressed up crazy to go to the pool. He's attentive, making comment - how cute, it doesn't really look like you, do your parents still live there? what's the bell tower for on your grandmother's house?
We sip our tea. He turns to me, with intent. We kiss. He's so gentle, tastes good. We stop after a minute. He wonders if I was just being a good samaritan to let him stay, and I say - if I had wanted you on the train, you would have been on the train. He kisses me again. Our hair keeps getting in the way, we brush it aside. He says - You're beautiful, you know that.... He says I look tired and knows just the place for me. He picks me up from the couch - with some effort, I might add - and carries me to the bed. He climbs on. We kiss for another minute and he asks if he'll be allowed to sleep on the bed or if he still has to sleep on the floor. I tell him he can sleep with me on the bed. He tries to undo my shirt, then takes it off, takes of the bra underneath. I feel it's too quick, but I'm so tired. He says he could look at me all night. My skirt comes off, his clothes are gone. We're doing intimate things. He leans over me in a certain way, and I say, I don't think we should have sex. He says ok. He goes back to touching me. Finally he's finished with me and I say - what about you? and he says, I'm fine, go to sleep, princess.
I sleep.
In the earliness, we awaken. We talk some more: escapades, adventures. Funny stories. He's been everywhere - Thailand, Sydney. We catch the train, and curl up to nap. Awakening again, we discuss politics, taxation, dynasties. He's descended from the Chinese Tang dynasty. A hip young emperor. We arrive and catch the same subway. He lets me sit, and holds the bar, leaning over me, his hair hanging down. He says, this is the subway stop for my house. We get off at Bleeker, walking side by side. It feels as if everyone is looking at us, wild creatures with wild hair. He kisses me by the turnstile, and says, you know the story: if you like me, give me a call. I head downstairs to the F train. He goes up the stairs to daylight.
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I'm wearing an odd, simple costume for a first date on a hot summer day. A nice shirt, small skirt, sandals. If he shows up wearing something conservative, I'll dig the heels out of my trunk. Rush hour bridge traffic was heavy, but I still somehow managed to arrive early. I've washed my hands, checked my minimal makeup in the bathroom mirror. I'm as calm and together as I can possibly be.
The train arrives. I retreat to the window in the stairwell, not wanting to seem too eager. I want to see if I recognize him first. If I don't like what I see - what will I do? I don't see anyone who looks like him, and it's been a few minutes, so I walk up to the waiting room. Suddenly there he is on the stairs, the long hair, wide face, dark eyes. In the door he comes, into my arms a huge bouquet of red, red roses. The most robust roses I've ever held in my hands. He said he'd bring roses, I thought he was joking - he obviously wasn't. He's dressed for an adventure.
We walk to my car, smiling at each other, making little talk. I warn him about the a/c, he doesn't seem to care. My first question to him: do you want to go swimming? He says he's brought shorts, I say, Maybe in a waterfall?, he says, Oh, just a little paddle, then. His accent is great.
We drive. I miss the exit. I'm distracted. We talk all the long way around Esopus, Kingston, back across the river again. He is telling me the story of how he found out his father was not the man he thought was his father. How he'd had a crush on his half-sister without knowing who she was. We are talking talking talking. So many little stories. I'm driving, I'm not looking at him as much as I want to be.
At the garden, he is unimpressed. We walk through the woods. Looking over the Hudson he tells me that when he was small he got knocked unconscious somehow while swimming, and has been terrified of water ever since. He wants to learn to swim again. We find another trail. We are walking, talking, steam is rising from the forest floor and the setting sun reflects from the river. He says it seems like a jungle. I don't feel any chemistry. I'm holding myself in, holding myself back. I don't know what to think or feel, so I think and feel nothing. He is beautiful, we walk at a similar pace, there have been this many awkward gaps in the conversation: Zero. He seems interested, he says sweet things. He asks if he can touch my hair "Oh, it's just a bit of fluff!" There is a moment at the end of a trail when we pause. Something in the air. I hold still and the moment passes, we turn and retrace our steps.
He tells me his parents pushed him really hard in school, and his first girlfriend was when he was 19. There's something so sweet about him, sincere and gentle. He's really funny. His English phrases - "fancy" "cheeky". Now his parents want grandchildren and none of his three siblings or himself have produced. I tell him my mother has said to not do anything on her account.
We find a place to eat. It is bright, loud, exciting. Red walls. I'm not hungry, I'm too distracted. He's starving. He insists I order a drink, he's said he can drive me home, or have a cab drop me, if I can't drive. He says he's only started blacking out in the past year. It's strange but somehow the porsche is always in the drive when he wakes up in the morning. My raspberry margarita comes, his beer. I say it's such a girlie drink. He tastes it and says in the privacy of his own home he might enjoy it. We order. He's never had Mexican food, ever. Not even chips. Not even salsa. He says, my friends have this stuff in jars, but I've never tried it. He orders a steak "blue" and asks me if I know what that means. It means barely cooked, and I ask him if I can try a bite when it comes. He says if I like it I've passed a major test. All other girls have been disgusted by it.
More talking, I'm tipsy. Afraid to meet his eyes. I'm not eating enough guacamole, and so I say I'm distracted by him. He looks at me, tries to catch my eye. We share a smile. The food comes and he saws me off the first bite of his steak. I bite it off his fork and chew. It just tastes like regular steak to me, and I tell him. He says, Be careful or I might marry you.
After dinner, we're looking at a map. I come sit next to him, arms touching, knees touching. It feels nice. He notices. We're so comfortable it doesn't even feel strange to feel this comfortable. We go out to the street, and he calls hotels. They are all full. I'm not fully comfortable with it, but I tell him in the worst case he can crash at my place. He says he wants to catch the last train. I don't think we would make it, even if we sped. He says it's up to me. He says he feels very awkward, he feels it's rude to stay. I tell him I don't think he did it on purpose, even though he's told me stories about how wily he can be (convincing an officemate that a Russian actress, 19, needed to be put up for a week. He said he thought at first that I was a joke from one of his friends - a fantasy girl.) We go to the Black Swan for another drink. We compare types and find that we are exactly each other's typical types. He wants to go see photos of my ugly duckling phase.
At my house he looks around, says the smell reminds him of his grandmother's house. I make tea, pull out photos. I show him random ones, hunting for the one where Bridget and I have dressed up crazy to go to the pool. He's attentive, making comment - how cute, it doesn't really look like you, do your parents still live there? what's the bell tower for on your grandmother's house?
We sip our tea. He turns to me, with intent. We kiss. He's so gentle, tastes good. We stop after a minute. He wonders if I was just being a good samaritan to let him stay, and I say - if I had wanted you on the train, you would have been on the train. He kisses me again. Our hair keeps getting in the way, we brush it aside. He says - You're beautiful, you know that.... He says I look tired and knows just the place for me. He picks me up from the couch - with some effort, I might add - and carries me to the bed. He climbs on. We kiss for another minute and he asks if he'll be allowed to sleep on the bed or if he still has to sleep on the floor. I tell him he can sleep with me on the bed. He tries to undo my shirt, then takes it off, takes of the bra underneath. I feel it's too quick, but I'm so tired. He says he could look at me all night. My skirt comes off, his clothes are gone. We're doing intimate things. He leans over me in a certain way, and I say, I don't think we should have sex. He says ok. He goes back to touching me. Finally he's finished with me and I say - what about you? and he says, I'm fine, go to sleep, princess.
I sleep.
In the earliness, we awaken. We talk some more: escapades, adventures. Funny stories. He's been everywhere - Thailand, Sydney. We catch the train, and curl up to nap. Awakening again, we discuss politics, taxation, dynasties. He's descended from the Chinese Tang dynasty. A hip young emperor. We arrive and catch the same subway. He lets me sit, and holds the bar, leaning over me, his hair hanging down. He says, this is the subway stop for my house. We get off at Bleeker, walking side by side. It feels as if everyone is looking at us, wild creatures with wild hair. He kisses me by the turnstile, and says, you know the story: if you like me, give me a call. I head downstairs to the F train. He goes up the stairs to daylight.
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i know i'm going to have to make a choice eventually. if a choice is available to me...
there is love, and then there is possibility.
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there is love, and then there is possibility.
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