Day 15: Hide and Go Seek

NYC Penn Station serves 600,000 people every day at a rate of 1,000 every 90 seconds.  Take that in.

I spent a lot of time there this afternoon, as I missed my train and chose to wait out the next one in a Starbucks on the lower level, in full-on prowl mode.  I *almost walked up to a man near the gate upstairs and just invited him to have a coffee with me, but that felt… intense.  I was under-caffienated and over-tired, not fast enough on my feet.  There was no… investment.

I sat down to catch up on some email and enjoy a big, dark coffee.  There was a big, dark man sitting next to me.  Heh.  He was on the phone, I was trying not to listen, just typing away and sipping happily.  I liked the way this man held his body, his modern and simple accessories; I liked that he jumped up to help when a woman spilled her latte; I liked the way he looked/not looked at me.  It would have been really easy to drop my new move right on him if he would just get off the phone.  His conversation was hard not to listen to, and I was waiting for it to END because there was a different conversation I was tryin to have.  Curious, he was processing a relationship issue and so I became less interested in him (because really, I don’t want to mess with that) and more interested in the issue.  Honestly I don’t remember now what it was, but it reminded me how difficult relationships can be and I felt very grateful that I was not in one.  Or not in THAT one…

I had a lovely conversation with the driver who brought me to the station and he said the secret to a long and happy marriage is just to make it work.  Oh.  Another driver told me last week that it is honesty and trust.  Ah-ha.  I talk to the drivers all the time about their families and relationships, it’s fascinating.  I’m not very good at small talk.  Actually, I ask everyone about their relationships, I want to hear their love story.  I learn a lot from this.  And people looooove to tell their stories.  I love mine too.  I find, that I even romance a story before a relationship germinates:  like how the architect and I met on Valentine’s Day, the first day of this project, how fucking cute would it be if we ended up together from there, hmmm?  Just saying.

I pay a lot of attention to people in relationships.  I study them, they fascinate me.  I mean, people in general fascinate me- but I am especially captivated by their intimate partnerships.  I’m sensitive to them, invested in them- I want to support them, be open to what they are and what they become.  Most of the people in my life have paired off and gotten on the Arc already.  Many of them are procreating.  Watching my brothers turn into husbands and fathers has blown me away.  Seeing my childhood girlfriends become mommies and step-mommies, wives; standing for some of the most important people on Earth as they make these commitments to each other; being in the room with a friend as she delivered her second baby at home at the break of day.  Holding steady as relationships are falling apart; watching years of resentment cause lovers to be snappy and impatient with each other, humorless and hovering for the attack.  Recently I was traveling with a couple that I care for deeply, and I was so touched to learn that he takes extra care to be helpful and patient in the morning because she is not a morning person, and she warmly and regularly expresses her appreciation for this.  In the company of another couple, as we were having fun and enjoying a meal together, I noticed that she was silly and lighthearted with me, but critical and condescending to him almost any time he spoke.  I often hear people speak of their partners as burdensome and tedious yet essential and irreplaceable.  I want one, I don’t want one at all.  It does not seem unreasonable to choose to have lovers, not boyfriends; to sexualize men and sexualize myself; to get freaked out and weird when someone is great and partner-worthy but to have sort of forgotten how to do that from doing too much of the other.

Good thing I trust God to handle all this shit.

I kept my eyes open while I moved through the station and made my way to the train.  I was wearing some double-take lipstick and my hair was extra large so I trusted they would see me if I saw them.  Lot’s of men waiting for women outside the restroom.  Not makin moves there.  Many Sunday afternoon couples in the station- I learned to keep an eye on the honey for a few minutes to see if he would be joined by a lady.  I turned around in line and a man looked at me, then my ass, then slowly back up to my eyes and I just turned around.  Noooo.

Where are you, lover?

Got on the train and sat next to a man who was tall and interesting looking- I didn’t initially feel that challenged or attracted but I was open to what might evolve over the next 2 hours.  Settling in, I notice the man diagonally across from me is very handsome and almost changed my seat but felt like that was awkward.  Handsome man gets up to let a woman into the window seat and I saw his butt crack, I didn’t know how to take that.  Then I noticed he had an eyebrow ring and thought what a pity.  Cunty, I know. Nothing happens the whole ride.  I got up and went all the way back to the cafe car, hoping to see someone, and not a single person struck me, except in the gross way.  Looks like it will be another night for me and the Match-bot.  Meh.

About 10 minutes before the ride ends, I start chatting with my seat mate, because I gotta make something happen.  He’s cute, interesting- works in a similar field.  There are little blips of possibility; he gives me his card and tells me to stay in touch, I suggest we have a drink sometime and that suits him enough.  When I stand up to get my bags, handsome diagonal gets up and says in a thick Italian accent ‘Please, let me get that for you’ as we are both reaching for it he gets close enough to me that his chest is in my face and I can smell him.  He is taller and more manly than I had observed, and my pheromones are responding to his in an unexpected way that is making me a little shy.  He hands me my bag and I thank him then exit the train and up the stairs.  He catches up to me quickly and insists on carrying my bag; he has those Italian brown eyes and a great nose, his facial hair and head hair all the same scruff length that makes me want to nuzzle him.  He’s sweet and handsome and his English is not great- is there anything sexier than an Italian man with a thick accent who smells like an Armani ad and is insistently chivalrous?  NO!  THERE IS NOT.  He is the Holy Grail of the Man Planet.  (I am wired to desire them; I can’t take those brown eyes and that soft oily skin and all that testosterone.  Big hands and deep voices, curly hair!  Often the exact right kind of crooked teeth!  Bravo, grazie, grazie, baci!) He lives in Italy but travels to NYC often for business, so I plainly asked him to have dinner with me the next time he is in the city and he accepted my invitation, gave me his card. I was so enamored with him I walked right past my friend who was picking me up, but she chased me down and broke the spell.  I forgave the eyebrow piercing for his Italianness.   What a day for a little hide and go seek to find my eccezionale quindici!

I emailed him to thank him for his help with my bag and state that I am looking forward to our dinner.  He quickly wrote back that he was so happy to meet me and that it is a pity he has to fly back to Italy on Tuesday.  Signed with ‘a kiss’, hubba hubba.  Such a pity, yesssss…

xxx