waking up in someone else's bed this morning, it felt comfortably grown up.
it all began in this not so well lighted place in overhyped meat packing district. he was not particularly my type. hopelessly white and precariously getting to be there, paunchy and ring the death knell middle aged.
but then, he started whispering stuff to my besotted ears that sounded like lines from a haruki murakami novel and suddenly i remembered how necessary this was. the touching, this equally oversold event of putting two things, two kinetic forces, together with no space in between. not that I'm saying the sex was mind blowing.
he woke me up when he was already bundled in a substantial camel hair knee long coat. he mumbled indistinctly, saying something like don't hurry, stay, there are stuff in the fridge. then he left after trying to kiss me in my mouth, morning breath and all.
after I heard the door slammed shut, I realized I forgot to ask him how to get to the nearest subway station from his place. I turned on his plasma tv after I tried in vain to call my friend. the bitch's mobile was unattended.
after the local weather update, the news anchor, showing no attempt to suppress his smile, then chuckle, reported that a 4 year old boy in was it michigan or minnesota drove his mom's car in the middle of the night to a video store. and back.
although the tyke was unable to reach the accelerator, he apparently managed to put the car in gear while the idling engine provided enough power to take him slowly to the store, a quarter-mile away.
charlotte of sex and the city had this nifty mathematical solution to solve a particularly adult problem. she claimed it takes half the total time you went out with someone to get over them.
I went out with this balding guy, my last (what's the word?) meaningful (damn, am I forever chained to this word?) relationship for about a year. I should have gone back dating full throttle in say two years after him, right? but that was almost five years ago. and in the most stirring words of my neighbor's middle schooler son, no shame in my shit here.
just as soon as I slipped out as inconspicuously as I could, I hope, from my host's building, I could see even without the aid of my dorky glasses the dingy sign of the D train station just a block away.
as I fumbled for my fare card in my jacket, I felt something crisp and cardy. I tossed the guy's business card into the soggy trash bin in front of the station. the man's name and number quickly bled.
asked by reporters how her toddler could have managed to do this feat, the mother explained she taught him how to drive by letting him sit on her lap and steer at times. the traffic cop who intercepted the kid driver claimed that the wunderkind effortlessly knew how to go from reverse to forward.
at the train station, it took me four times swiping my fare card before the creaky turnstile allowed me in. the train was stuffed and the only seat empty was this strangely high bucket that faced backwards.
i took it and as the train chugged forward, my feet, barely grazing the floor, felt like being left behind while my head, my shoulders, the rest of my body aching for a warm shower were already miles ahead.