Starting up again...

Grad school, with all of the dense readings, the lectures on little known subjects, the lunches with friends sharing unbelievable stories, has been an enlightening experience. Yet, all the above mentioned factors aside, the most enlightening aspect has been the interaction with my male peers.

My undergrad experience was far from the see a cute guy in the halls, smile, know you will probably run into him later at whatever solo cup rager was going on that weekend, look as cute as possible on that night, and then who knows what. In my case, if I saw a cute guy in the halls, chances were I would probably never see him again. Now, here I am in a full on campus environment, where, after one semester, I know everyone's face if not their name. It's both comforting and disquieting.

Our Dean said in his welcome speech that some of us, undoubtedly, will get married to each other. How could that possibly be the case? It already feels incestuous to view each other romantically - and oh how people would talk. And yet that doesn't stop people, attached or otherwise, from making eyes and overtures...

The Ride

I was waiting in line at an amusement park, but it wasn't until I got right up to the front that I knew what I was in for: a roller coaster. "I should tell you," I told TC's roommate. "I don't like roller coasters." The roommate smiled. "You'll be fine."

And suddenly we were in the car, but it was straight out of a cartoon, and there were no bars, no straps, no seats. We were standing in a small space with no roof and then we were off, speeding down the tracks. I looked back at where TC was climbing into the car behind me, smiling and full of joy and hope. I looked at the roommate. "You'll be fine!"

We were at the top of the hill, and the roommate looked at me again. "Here it comes! Are you ready?" My insides were like hot soup, sloshing around inside of me, and I watched the descent come into view. Before I could blink we were up and over and flying down the steep hill. Relief gushed out of me but it was short lived. Up ahead I saw the loop.

"I'm going to fall out!" I shouted to the roommate. I looked back at TC. Still grinning. I shouted one more time, "I'm going to fall!" The roommate pressed himself into a corner of the car and so I followed suit.

And then we were up. The car sped around and over the loop and then immediately pulled into the station. I survived. I climbed out of the car feeling a thousand tiny pin pricks of anxiety and adrenaline all at once. TC was behind me. Still smiling.

When I woke up from the dream, it was 1:30 in the morning. The day's earlier discussion was still heavy on my mind, and it had clearly manifested itself very literally in my sleep. I looked at my phone. He had texted me. "You ok?" I took a breath.

"I'm okay."

A little blast from the past, if you will...

Wait...

... is it already September?

The Friendly Ghost

It seems this week my past has come back to haunt me. But it’s more Casper, less Poltergeist.

Right after E. broke up with me, way back in 2004, I started hanging out with new friends. Guy friends. It was nice to be surrounded by testosterone but in a non-threatening way. It made me feel relaxed, like I could finally figure out who I was unattached. This new group of guys also introduced me to JB.

JB was attractive to me in all the ways that E was not. He was 6 years older, about to go to NYU for graduate school, funny in the most sarcastic way, and so comfortable being one of the guys. He heard I had a crush on him and started sending me instant messages. He was sweet. When I got into NYU for undergrad, he was so excited for me. “You can come over and we can do our respective homework together,” he said. He was six months ahead of me getting to New York.

By the time I got there, he had met someone.

We’d chat every once in awhile online about everything from politics to new music (did I mention he was born in Seattle?) and then one day he deleted his AIM account. And then his Facebook profile was gone. It was 2005 and our mildly flirtatious friendship was over.

Cut to today. July 2010. Five years later.

Hey Lauren,

It appears I reactivated my Facebook account just in time for your birthday. Happy Birthday!

How's life? What's new?

JB

Hello, Casper. Nice to see you again.

Long Awaited Meet and Greet

I met him outside. He had been so built up in my mind; this tall, familiar, comforting stranger that caused my head to turn. Never being one to get caught in a fantasy, I was shocked by the effect this man had on my imagination. What a strange feeling it was to wait outside for him. I felt as if I knew him, although, I did not. We only had months of distant attraction between us and a recent bombardment of text messages. Finally a face to face meeting, perhaps it could be considered a date. I had dreamt of this moment, filled with witty banter and possibly an overwhelming attraction shared by the two of us. Alas, there hung that looming hope, perhaps this is something real, perhaps this will turn into something lasting and true; perhaps I need to get to know him.

Stepping through the door in his entire six foot six inch splendor, stunning in his perfectly tailored, beautifully crafted pale grey summer weight suit; I noticed instantly his nervous energy. Leading me through the crowded streets of midtown Manhattan, he took the lead deciding which streets to cross and which lights to patiently wait for. Making comments about my city and commenting on the neighborhood as if I were the newbie; I found it quite endearing. Turning to enter the park to my regular favored spot, he stopped and gently guided me on to a further entrance. Laying out a blanket he chatted on boldly full of fumbles and mumbles.

The suiting jacket came off, the French cuffs were rolled up, socks and shoes discarded, he made himself comfortable exposing his perfectly sun browned skin. Situating myself on the blanket next to him, my shoes remained on, my stature much stiffer, I sat in puzzled amusement, something wasn't quite right. There was a familiarity about him, a comfort and ease about him that did not match his scattered dialogue or inappropriate over-sharing. Conversation was not easy or fluid as I had hoped. In fact he began to share of his family's dysfunction in detail. He let his heart leak out of the pain he'd experienced from his childhood, in front of me spilling out into a pool between us. He spoke of it with sarcastic tones as if it were all a joke. I was embarrassed by his nakedness, the brash bare reality of his situation. It was laid on me like a sack of dry bones. Though not what I was expecting during an afternoon picnic meeting this man for the first time, I felt for him, taking on his details like precious relics to be protected. He shot jabs at me too, using every piece of information I shared with him as ammo for his sarcasm. I realized, despite his cool demeanor, he must have been rambling out of nervousness. This conflicting confidence and unmistakable self doubt keep me confused. I left taken a back by his seeming insecurity.

I haven’t heard from him since, though the thought of him lingers. He remains a mystery and an unquenchable puzzle. Perhaps he will reach out again and we will give it another go. I can only pray he is more relaxed, a bit more himself. I wish to get a true glimpse of who he really is. If he does reach out again, I will make sure to bring a flask.

I was a fool, I was a fool to think...

LDC: welllll alright
sooo
i might be going skiing this sunday
that gona be a problem?
me: no, it's fine
LDC: haha ok
u talked to M at all?
me: nope
LDC: sweet
LDC: well ur gona be here soon
its sunny right now
me: nice
LDC: yuppp

10 minutes later...
me: i lied
LDC: about?
me: i don't want you to leave for a whole day when i'm only in town for 3
but i can't tell you not to go skiing
and i can't even guarantee how much i'll even be able to see you that day because no one will make any freaking plans
LDC: well when do u leave sunday?
me: at 9
LDC: ur worrying too much about this i think
me: i'm not worrying, you just caught me off guard
LDC: well dont worry bout it
obviously i wana hangout with u alot
but i cant just clear my schedule for 3 full days
me: i get it
LDC: i dont wana make all these expectations
its stressful
ur gona come up to visit
were gona hook up
have a great time
i wouldnt worry about nething
and i dont wana piss off M by stealing u all weekend

I fly out to Seattle in three days. And what am I supposed to do now?

Expectation Management

I'm learning (see here) but it's still a struggle. Tomorrow, I
will be off to Paris to see the lovely MP. In less than a week, Monday morning to be specific, I will land at Budapest Ferihegy Airport.

Will he pick me up? Will I take a bus into the city and meet him at his apartment? Will I, duffel bag on my shoulder, spend the day sightseeing until he gets a break from work? Not the faintest idea.

I will talk to him about these things... likely as the day approaches. See, my reluctance stems from not knowing how he perceives me. Crazy romantic? Tourist-friend crashing on his couch? Or, the worst of the worst, desperate fool?

In the two and a half months since we said goodbye, we've stayed in touch. He knows when I submit a grad school application, and I know when he has a marathon political party meeting. Odes to love? Definitely not. But, I do count the smiley face emoticons and occasional term of endearment (my favorite came after I informed him of my birthday last week: "see you soon, princess") as signs he is equally happy to see me.

Now I just have to keep those expectations low...

!!!

ONE YEAR

Visits

I will see MP in Paris on January 21st.

I will see the Hungarian in Budapest on January 25th.

The MP visit, traipsing through our adopted city, will undoubtedly be giggle-filled and lovely. As for the Hungarian one... now, that's a great big question mark.

The End...?

Since his dad just happens to be the Hungarian Ambassador to the United States, we both left New York for DC that Friday morning. His flight back to Budapest was on Wednesday.

I wrote him an email welcoming him back to DC. No answer. I wrote another the following day, Halloween, to see if he wanted to hang out after the fancy dinner his parents had arranged for him. He wrote back, to my glee, saying that he had had that in mind. Would it matter that he didn't have a costume? I checked my phone all night. He didn't text, he didn't call. In an email Sunday night, he apologized for not getting in touch. His dinner had ended late, and feeling under the weather, he had passed out. Did I want to hang out Monday or Tuesday night?

The plan was to go to a hip little show on Monday night. Completely absorbed in each other, over a drink at the venue, the show sells out. No matter. We exited into the night, arm and arm, and made our way into a diner. At the counter, we split a chili cheeseburger. So comfortable, so easy. I didn't want to leave him, but it was getting late, so he walked me to the metro. Until lunch the next day.

We laughed, discussed our favorite European films, and shared soup and spring rolls. Our goodbye was near. Unseasonably warm, he wanted to sit out in the sun, so we strolled through Dupont Circle and sat on the steps of the fountain. We nestled into each other. I told him I would be sad. He said that he wouldn't always be there, and I wouldn't always be here. That I made him like the States, something he didn't think possible. That this past week was like a dream. But what if it's a dream you don't remember in the morning? Nah, it's like surrealism, you can always access your dream life. Our last goodbye kiss, and then the walk away. We looked back at each other twice. When I sat at my desk, the tears rolled down my face.

That was a month ago.

We've kept in touch, albeit not nearly as much as I had hoped (who knew starting the green party in Hungary during an election year was so demanding?). Nevertheless, during our last chat, I mentioned a potential visit to Paris to see MP this January. What if I tacked on a trip to Budapest?

"Bring some good luck charms in your bag."

The Middle

Let's get to part two of the Hungarian story.

Monday morning in New York, two and a half weeks after saying goodbye, I waited in the hotel lobby for the group. He was the first to come down. Big grins and kisses on the cheek. For the most part, the day passed like any other, and yet we had our moments. Walking up Fifth Avenue, he told me how he went to an experimental concert in Chinatown the night before, and I pointed out the Paris Theatre where I'd seen A Very Long Engagement twice. At a bar that night, he and I played foosball against my colleague and his fellow Hungarian. We may have won two of three games, though I can't be sure. Another coworker, aware of my crush and now slightly inebriated, sing-songed at me. One of his groupmates asked if I thought he, the Hungarian, was cute. I'd like to think we were more subtle than that, but perhaps we were just that obvious.

After our tour of the O'Keeffe exhibit the next day, he asked me to lunch. We ended up eating with the larger group but no matter. I was then off to an old standby cafe to do some work, and he tagged along, despite his reluctance to hop on the subway downtown. On that rainy afternoon, over two cups, we talked and talked for hours until he asked me to dinner. We made the 40 block trek back to the hotel arm in arm, stopping for a compost cookie along the way. Changed and refreshed, we made our way back downtown (let's be real, I don't know of anything above 14th). And at the counter of a trendy cafe, about to order, he kissed me. We shared our meals in couple fashion and then got a drink on Ludlow before calling it a night close to midnight. Though I've never been one for public displays of affection, I admit, I was completely swept up in us. There are worse sights.

He hadn't been to New York in almost 15 years, and we still spent all of Wednesday together. Me, writing down math formulas, him, answering emails in a different language on my laptop. Beside each other on a bench, splitting a grilled cheese and tomato soup, I played with his hair, and he stroked my knee. Hours later, it was time to meet Lauren E., but he still had work to do. Without thinking, I offered to let him use my computer while he stayed with a friend that night. He protested, but I countered with: "why rely on that person when you can rely on this person?" Suffice it to say, my dear friend was startled to see me walk into Le Pain (late) hand in hand with him.

"I didn't know you were bringing someone."
"He's just leaving; he's borrowing my computer."
"I could stay for a coffee..."

So he did. Call me presumptuous, but I think she found him charming. And he is. After all, I did spend 36 hours with him.

Thursday night, he and his friend joined me and mine for a reading/anniversary celebration of a friend's wonderful literary culture blog. We kissed hello, locked eyes often, reached out for each other whenever that happened (also often), and kissed goodbye. Waiting for the subway, an old high school friend, whom I hadn't seen in years until that night, asked about him.

"Is that K guy your boyfriend?"
"No, I met him three weeks ago."

Introduction

Lauren E., meet your soulmate.

You can thank me later.

The Start

I had read all of their bios, seen all of their photos, and he didn't stand out. But there he was across the room, leaning on the counter, one foot in front of the other, head down, smiling. I want to meet him, I said to myself.

We talked of things I can't remember, and yet it was enough to keep my interest. So much so that after a couple of days of chatting (read: innocent flirting) in between meetings, I arranged it so we sat next to each other at the closing dinner. This time, we talked and talked about everything: his requisite rebellious phase as the son of a career diplomat, my multicultural upbringing, Paris, my grad school aspirations, his crisis of confidence at work. He ordered one last glass of white as they were kicking us out of the restaurant, and I turned to see he had had mine refilled. It's Hungarian custom never to leave a place without finishing your glass, he said, eyes twinkling.

The group of us spilled out into the street. I was charged with choosing the next venue, but how to please 10 wildly different, European personalities? At the helm, he accompanied me, darting into one place and then another, finally deciding on a lively if slightly unhip piano bar. Don't want to disturb the couple, the loud one said.

The next day was their last in Washington before embarking on their whirlwind trips through the States. Kisses on the cheek. Until New York, two weeks from now, we said.

Playing house

I hear the key and run (hobble?) to the door, sprained ankle and all. I get there just as he arrives. "Welcome home!!" He has brought flowers. I ask him about his day as I arrange the lilies in a vase. My roses in a little bowl. I have laid out tea. The little china tea cups, a dish of macarons. Didn't I do this with dolls once? I tell him about my day.

"What shall we do for dinner?" We walk to the grocery store. We buy a baguette. A bottle of wine, why not? We step on each other in our little kitchen. My hands smell like garlic. "Some more wine?" "I'll set the table" Spurts of conversation and a comfortable silence. I wash a spoon, feel the warm water trickle around my wrist. I read my book. I hear him moving around. I lie back on the slightly uncomfortable sofa. I look around. I close my eyes. Fragrance. Warmth. I hear him whistling a tune. I turn a page.

Le Sigh

He invited me to a party this weekend, telling me I would fit right in with his friends.

This past month, I have: traveled to three European countries and two major US cities; hosted dear friends at home; spent more money than intended; and struggled with a pesky cough on top of general exhaustion.

The party is in Boston, and despite all of the above, I looked up ticket prices.

We met in Berlin, he, about to end an internship in our office and me, passing through for work. On my last night, hours before my early morning flight to Paris, he took me back to my hostel aboard his bike. Laughing and laughing, we wound through deserted streets. When we got to my door, I hopped off and gave him a bear hug. He would be visiting his sister in The City of Lights just two days later, and I squeezed hoping I would see him again.

He called me when he got in, asking me to dinner with him, his sister, and one of her friends. After a lovely meal, this time, I led him (albeit on foot) through my city. In a crowded, touristy stretch, we fumbled for each others' hands. We grabbed a drink at my favorite bar and called it a night, but before going our separate ways on the metro, we shared a kiss.

The day after the next, we stuck our feet in the fountain by the Louvre and laid on the grass in the Tuileries gardens. He told me he wanted to visit a couple of bike shops, which happened to be nestled in my old neighborhood. At his urging, I typed in the code for my building, and we stood in the foyer for a minute or two, shaking our fists at those who now live in my former haven. Later, I met up with him and his sister for a Warhol exhibit before joining others for drinks. Abandoning the rest, arms around each other, we made our way to our favorite bar with minutes before closing. Somehow, I managed to convince the doorman to let us in for two glasses of white.

Kicked out of the bar, on the street on my last night in Paris, we gazed at each other and went in for the kiss. My right hand on his cheek, his right hand cradling my head. And then we parted, him thanking me for a fantastic couple of days and me commenting on how cliche it all was.

In the best possible way.

Connecting

I admit it.

I troll Craigslist Missed Connections every now and again. Not that I need to justify this behavior, but it is the single most interesting cross-section of humanity possibly ever. From the pathetic to the perverse, the hopeful to the hateful, it's really unbelievable what anonymity and technology provide. End of justification.

I never expected to read one about myself. Actually, that's only half true. Deep down I secretly wished that that adorable spectacled fellow at that cafe sipping that latte would write about that time we caught each others' eyes while reading those books. Or something of the sort. Realistically, I knew the chances were slim. And then I read one about myself.

Oh, here's one from the concert I took that dumb boy to! Girl was at show with boy who seemed bored out of his mind, we made eyes, you pick the next show, and I promise to have a good time. How funny, I think, this could've been me, though in all likelihood it's not me ... meh, I'm in a silly mood, I'll just reply anyway and ask what row.

We went on three dates. He was a great guy, but it wasn't really there, great story notwithstanding.

That was two and a half months ago. Haven't spoken to him since. Then I saw him last week at (where else?) another concert.

I grabbed his arm. Mutual surprise. He was with a girl. Exiting the venue, we chatted for a minute. And then, in the cold night, we looked at each other unblinkingly for a couple of seconds, bemused expressions on our faces.

How funny indeed.

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.