Saturday, January 19, 2008
The War
There are times when I'm attracted to a woman and I have no idea why. This one that I have specifically in mind is one of those times.
I met her the same way I've met many women - on the Internet. This time, however, it wasn't on a dating web site, and when we first crossed electronic paths, the idea of dating was the last thing on either of our minds. Still, though, we got together for coffee and felt the flare of interest at first warm sip.
We went out often together. We saw underground local bands at bars that made us feel out of place. We got drunk on the worst pina coladas that may have ever been made. She made me dinner at my home. I made her dinner at hers. We walked her dogs, we went for dinners, and we got drunk again.
She was the type of woman that was fun when she let herself go. An educated woman who was more impressed with herself than actually impressive; stubborn, impersonal, and didn't mind burping loudly in public. "It's natural!" she'd say defensively. "How can something naturally relieving possibly be impolite?" And of course she was correct; proving her wrong would require that she acknowledged that she was fallible. And this would never happen.
We kissed one night, when I was dropping her off. We stood in the middle of the dark street as big snowflakes brushed down around us, and after I hugged her goodnight, there was a tension pulling me closer. I told her that I was going to kiss her, and she stood there, unmoving; so I kissed her, and still she didn't move. She didn't move until I let go of her, and off she walked, saying goodnight casually over her shoulder, leaving me alone on that dark, snow-covered street.
She was the first one to mention the kiss a week later. We met for after-work drinks downtown with the rest of the city's business-class yuppies. She told me that was the best kiss she'd had in quite a while. And then she asked if it was for me, too. I told her it wasn't and, when pressed upon it, I told her that she just stood there the whole time, that she didn't kiss back. It was like I'd kissed a statue.
She smiled through rum-covered lips at me, said she was taken off-guard. She promised that the next kiss would be much, much more enjoyable. After drinks, after we'd reached her bus stop and my train station, the second kiss didn't thrill me any more than the first. I pulled back from her. Her eyes were closed, lips still full. Her best effort was no different than her worst.
She told me again how great the kiss was.
And I was honest.
We left each other standing there on the corner of the busy city street, still within arm's length but without the desire to reach. There was little else to say except goodbye, which she said over her shoulder as she walked towards the approaching bus. ¶ 8:00 PM
I met her the same way I've met many women - on the Internet. This time, however, it wasn't on a dating web site, and when we first crossed electronic paths, the idea of dating was the last thing on either of our minds. Still, though, we got together for coffee and felt the flare of interest at first warm sip.
We went out often together. We saw underground local bands at bars that made us feel out of place. We got drunk on the worst pina coladas that may have ever been made. She made me dinner at my home. I made her dinner at hers. We walked her dogs, we went for dinners, and we got drunk again.
She was the type of woman that was fun when she let herself go. An educated woman who was more impressed with herself than actually impressive; stubborn, impersonal, and didn't mind burping loudly in public. "It's natural!" she'd say defensively. "How can something naturally relieving possibly be impolite?" And of course she was correct; proving her wrong would require that she acknowledged that she was fallible. And this would never happen.
We kissed one night, when I was dropping her off. We stood in the middle of the dark street as big snowflakes brushed down around us, and after I hugged her goodnight, there was a tension pulling me closer. I told her that I was going to kiss her, and she stood there, unmoving; so I kissed her, and still she didn't move. She didn't move until I let go of her, and off she walked, saying goodnight casually over her shoulder, leaving me alone on that dark, snow-covered street.
She was the first one to mention the kiss a week later. We met for after-work drinks downtown with the rest of the city's business-class yuppies. She told me that was the best kiss she'd had in quite a while. And then she asked if it was for me, too. I told her it wasn't and, when pressed upon it, I told her that she just stood there the whole time, that she didn't kiss back. It was like I'd kissed a statue.
She smiled through rum-covered lips at me, said she was taken off-guard. She promised that the next kiss would be much, much more enjoyable. After drinks, after we'd reached her bus stop and my train station, the second kiss didn't thrill me any more than the first. I pulled back from her. Her eyes were closed, lips still full. Her best effort was no different than her worst.
She told me again how great the kiss was.
And I was honest.
We left each other standing there on the corner of the busy city street, still within arm's length but without the desire to reach. There was little else to say except goodbye, which she said over her shoulder as she walked towards the approaching bus. ¶ 8:00 PM
