Boys and
Girls in
America
Have Such a Sad Time Together
#1
Whatever
would propel me forward, move me through the kiss, the clasp, and
the shudder. I jacked the volume and smoothed on the runny face
game.
These online
women are either unimportant, worthy of no more treatment than
guesswork; somewhat important, but still burdened by unimportant
elements that makes them unworthy of thorough treatment; or so
precociously important that one can do no more than nurse high hopes
sobered with caution.
I can smell
her Gardenia perfume, a scent I love. Personal scent is extremely
compelling on a woman.
#2
He’s nervous
as a turkey, and I want him slurring.
My sister is
like, “you need to date.”
She’s like,
“get a gym membership, pull it together.”
I'm too
hung-over.
I am drinking
alone at home, with the computer in my lap, and I find this message
board, and this guy "BigHeadRob" starts in, "hey working girl, did u
make it to the gym last night?"
He’s an
archivist for the Smithsonian. He’s got a dog.
He wears ties
in all of his photos. He's got a lot of photos online. He takes a
picture of his outfit every single day and puts it online. He writes
a little caption describing where each item of clothing comes from,
“vintage Store in Phoenix.”
Every
afternoon I go to the handicapped bathroom on the 4th floor and lock
the door. It is the only private place in the office, and it has a
big window. Every afternoon I floss my teeth for a long time with the
sun on my face. Then I go back to my desk.
#3
We have
spirits and ghosts and witches and downright devils among us and
they will make you suffer. But when I look into the littleness of
her fond eyes, I see that no harm is meant. She actually does want
to take me dancing!
We’re
sweating.
My sincerity
as a love maker comes from my belief in the truth-potential of any
relationship.
When we wake
up, she goes into the bathroom and I follow her in there and she is
naked before the sink, washing her face. I squeeze her.
“I have to
get a picture of you like this,” I say.
“Why do you
take pictures of your outfits every day?”
“Someone has
been doing a little Rob research.”
“But why?”
“It's just a
thing we do.”
She watches
me in this delightful and not delighted way.
#4
I was drunk.
He was an
archivist for the Smithsonian.
He knew how
to make basil ice-cream.
#5
The dog and I
walked her home. Her corduroy pants were covered in dog hair and
lint. She had to walk home in her high heels.
“Do you want
to hold the leash?” I asked.
“I don't feel
good.”
“Come on.”
She took the
leash and walked the dog. The sun was shining. We passed a Salvadoran
outdoor market. Things had been hard for me in
Washington
D.C.
We arrived at
her apartment building. “Can I have your number?” I produced a pen
and paper from my satchel. She wrote her number on the paper. Then I
produced my camera and said, “I am going to take a picture of you.”
“No,” she
said.
“You can keep
your sunglasses on.”
I called
after her, "Let’s get a beer sometime." Then I sat on a bench
outside her building and programmed her number into my phone.
#6
Whatever.
I’m done
trying to seem witty or pathetic or ingenious or naive or dull.
#7
She was the
last one to say my name, unless you count the women of the Grooming
lounge. They scream, “It’s Rob!” every time I come in for a haircut.
Is
thirty-seven a lot?
I'd say I've
done a lot of work on thirty-seven women in my life, but no more
work than was necessary to establish myself. The meaning of
relationship is always different for any two people.