The Aussie, Part 2

I didn’t want to go. He’s not for me, he likes me too much, what if we run out of things to say, what if I’m awkward, what if he gets to know me and he’s disappointed, he dresses funny, if I wear my tallest heels I’ll be taller than he is. “Do you want to do dinner?” “I do but I’m hesitant. I’m moving in a couple months and I think dating someone in New York is not the best idea right now.” “I guess that’s fair. Shame. You’ve got such a different energy than any other girl I’ve met. But I’m not letting you off the hook that easy. We can still hang out.” “As friends?” “Sure.”

I agreed to let him take me to an improv show at The Pit. He smells so nice, jeans and sneakers this time, his shoulder touched mine, is he leaning toward me, is that body language, he touched my knee, please touch my knee again, he’s got a nice laugh, he hasn’t looked at his phone once the whole night I love that, he’s definitely leaning toward me, touch my knee again.

“Where are we going now?” I want to spend more time with you. “Do you play pool? I know exactly where we’re going.” A pool hall in Korea Town. “I know, it looks dodgy, but it’s cool.” Dodgy. In a tiny elevator, just me and him, twelfth floor, kiss me in the elevator, kiss me in the elevator, kiss me in the elevator, he’s smiling at me, shot myself in the foot with the friends statement, I could really like him and now he won’t kiss me.

He is terrible at pool, and I’m not much better but it doesn’t even matter. He doesn’t even care when I beat him, still not looking at his phone, touches my stomach as he passes by for the next shot, please touch me again, I don’t want to be your friend.

“Up for a location change? I know that look. It’s bed time?” I want to go home and think about how lovely this night was and I don’t want to drink any more to ruin it. Arm around my shoulder walking to the subway, if I hadn’t made the stupid friends proclamation he’d be holding my hand, he smells so nice, will he kiss me at the station? A hug. A long hug. A kiss on the forehead. A kiss on the cheek. You missed! Another kiss on the forehead. I am surely frowning as I say goodbye and jog down the subway stairs. “Text me when you’re home, yeah?”

Usually when someone asks me to text them that I got home okay, I forget. This time, I didn’t forget. Because he was all I could think about.

In the cracks of the pavement

It was about three years ago that I was walking along somewhere between Little Italy and Soho with a couple of friends. He held her hand, she and I murmured a few disconnected lines here and there, he cracked a joke, we chuckled. It was a crisp autumn evening, warm enough that I was wearing sandals, but just cool enough for a light jacket. I was cozy in that comfortable peace. We were walking by all of these restaurants filled with people who seemed hell bent on having the merriest night of their lives. The lights were extra sparkly, their laughter extra tinkly. It was the kind of evening that comes around once in a while when everything is light and airy and possible. You could run into that knight in shining armor around the corner – and he’d be wearing a light sweater and carrying a jacket which he could proffer for your use if you happened to catch a breeze and get goosebumps on your arms.

And my heel got stuck in the pavement.

There I was, stuck, in the midst of all this possibility. That knight in shining armor probably took a cab and went home without ever having the chance to offer me his jacket. The laughter suddenly seemed as if it was either too far away or too close, mocking me. The lights were now too dim for me to see as I struggled to get my sandal unstuck.

I got it free and hopped once, twice, steady. My friends were waiting for me and we strolled off again. That little stroke of reality lingered on but possibilities enveloped me once more.

I must remember this.