arm in arm

5/01/03

Did I mention that I have broken three dishes this week?

This has not been a relaxing week off. A few things that seemed secure professionally now seem unstable. My computer died and I spent a day dealing with that. And I have a slight feeling of anxiety, which has manifested itself physically in the aforementioned dish dropping. I also cut my finger twice this week.

Yes, I am anxious.

I had this moment yesterday where I watched a man and a woman walk up 42nd Street, from 6th to Broadway, and I mentally willed her to dump him. She was, I guess, a fashionista type: she had sharp, petite features, and was wearing a lot of makeup and a pulled-together outfit. Maybe she was a makeup counter girl. She had no ass, that's what threw me off. This impeccable outfit that was totally tight on her non-existent ass. It seemed a subpar move for a fashionista. Her boyfriend was the perfect accessory, however -- a rocker type: pomaded hair, white t-shirt, blue jeans, tats up and down his left sleeve. They were approximately the same height.

As I rounded the corner and first saw them, from behind, I noticed her hand swinging next to his, as if to tease his into holding hers. She tried that for a few seconds and got nothing from him. So then she raised her manicured hand and began gently touching his back, all over his upper back. I'm sure it felt like air to him, except...not quite. He had to feel the insistence of her hand even if there was little measurable pressure. Hell, I could feel it from twenty feet away.

Finally she slipped her arm in his.

He doesn't like that, I thought. Not one bit.

They walked like that for about fifteen seconds, and she seemed to be content with the connection. And then he pushed her arm away, fiercely, up in the air. I couldn't tell if it was a joke or not because I was behind them, but I was totally unsurprised that he would do that. He must have explained it away somehow, because soon enough, her arm was back in his.

Man, I thought. She is unrelenting.

I was sort of impressed at her willingness to submerge her pride in order to make a connection. She's the kind of girl who thinks about "landing a man." She's the kind of girl who will marry a man who will take care of her, once she gets these jerky rocker types out of her system. She's the kind of girl who can be made happy in very simple yet completely expensive ways.

I watched them cross the street, arm in arm. There was a car coming and instead of holding back and waiting for it to pass, he ran, dragging her with him. He zigged and zagged and she went with him, arm clenched tightly to his. If you're going to do this, he seemed to be saying, I am not going to make it easy for you.

Break up with him! I thought, my heart beating faster. He's no good for you. Can't you see that? And then I thought: Ah, maybe she deserves him if she's going to be so fucking stupid about the whole thing.