We sit in a deli, munching on chips and waiting for our sandwiches. I trace the black and white checks on the little table and glance around.
There’s a young couple to our right, good looking and likely aware of it, if their faces are any indication. It’s the look I wear when I’m made up – chin raised a bit higher, a slightly haughty, bored with it all expression. They stare silently at each other across the table and I’d be willing to wager that the only reason they aren’t speaking is because we’re within hearing distance.
To our left is an elderly couple, their bodies curved toward each other like weathered parentheses. I can only imagine what lies in the protected area between them, but that doesn’t really matter because, like most sentences, everything I really need to know is already out in the open. Further explanation would just ruin the effect of their shared side of the table, or the battered ring on his exposed left hand.
A group of teenagers sits, barely visible, around the corner of the counter. They’ve ordered their food to go, talking and laughing loudly amongst themselves while they wait. The crew making our sandwiches seems to find their exploits more interesting than the other patrons do.
And what about the two of us, this final pair? What, if anything, do these people notice about the way we sit and the way we speak to each other? I try to picture ourselves through a stranger’s eyes and it’s difficult.
She recently dyed her hair a dark, chestnut brown and I wonder if it dilutes our other physical similarities. I don’t think I look good as a brunette and prefer to keep as close to our original blonde as possible. Dark versus fair – she calls herself “the good twin”, but we have different opinions on what constitutes goodness. In fact, we have differing opinions on just about everything. Can they tell?
Our sandwiches arrive and, between bites, we continue our conversation. She lowers her voice, while my louder tone mingles with the laughs round the corner. We’re discussing a trip I’m taking soon and, though she isn’t angry as I expected her to be, she doesn’t understand my wanderlust. Everything she wants is right here in her own country, in her own backyard. She thinks everyone should be content with what they already have. It’s only one of the many ways we frustrate each other.
I complement her on the choice of restaurant and she smiles, offering me a taste of her sandwich. I don’t give compliments and she very rarely shares with me. She claims I always take what I want anyway, and perhaps that’s true. But we both seem to be trying harder today, and I wonder if our thoughtfulness seems as new to those around us as it does to me. Like the palpable awkwardness of a first date, can onlookers tell that we are more at home screaming at each other than having a normal conversation?
We’ve just finished wrapping up what’s left of our meal when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up and into the smiling face of the old woman, her husband waiting patiently behind her.
“You look just like your mother”, she says, patting me once.
“Thanks”, I reply.
I glance across the table expecting to see my own face, twenty years older, smirking back at me. But I don’t. This is the moment when she always says, without fail, “Actually, I’m the better looking one” or “She’s the evil twin”.
Instead she says nothing. And suddenly I wonder if what she, and everyone else, has been seeing, is my reluctance to be like her.
Showing posts with label sandwiches. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sandwiches. Show all posts
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Monday, February 28, 2011
The lunch date
Our first date happened almost seven years ago and I wasn’t attracted to him then. I was young, bored and I liked the way he complimented me with a serious expression, refusing any protests, feeble or otherwise. I let him take me out, I let him kiss me, and I let him buy me things to the point of being ridiculous.
But eventually I got tired of trying to like him “that way”, of letting him touch me when I didn’t really want him to, and stopped returning his calls. I found someone else and conveniently forgot about him, until his name would show up randomly on my phone or I ran into him in town.
Most of the time I ignored his texts and calls, saying only the bare minimum to be polite. I would wave and hurry away when I saw him out. But every now and then, he would catch me in a rough patch. Whether it was due to boredom, loneliness or deflated ego, he’d happily step in and boost me back up. And with an attitude that said I was clearly doing him a favor, I’d let him.
When I didn’t need him, he irritated me. I hated that he always seemed to show up everywhere I went. I felt like he was stalking me at times, but really, if I’m going to be honest (and this is all going to be brutally honest), he wasn’t doing anything that I didn’t allow him to. I never would have admitted it to myself, or anyone else, back then...but I wanted him on the back burner, just in case. Telling him off might have meant alienating him completely. And too, he was so fucking nice that I just couldn’t bring myself to really be mean to him.
Except now I realize that I was cruel to him all along. I knew he was crazy about me, possibly even in love with me. And instead of calling time of death, I let him repeatedly shock our relationship back to life. Let him hopefully watch a bunch of feeble lines on a monitor and wait for them to get bigger, all the while knowing what he didn’t – my heart would never work properly for him.
Seven months ago I made a stab at behaving like a decent human being. I had feelings for someone and, no matter how at odds their words and actions sometimes were, I knew they didn’t feel quite the same way about me. Because they never came right out and said “I don’t want you”, I kept thinking “it could happen”. But it didn’t, it won’t, and I knew there was a distinct possibility they were doing to me what I’d done to him, whether they realized it or not.
So when I received a message asking me to hang out and, as usual, telling me how wonderful I was...I finally said what should have been said ages ago. I told him that he wanted to be more than friends, he always had, and I didn’t. I told him that I couldn’t hang out with him unless he was prepared to accept that. I was proud of myself for not dicking around, for saying it in what I thought was a decent, but clear way. He responded that he was sorry for making me uncomfortable, which made me feel like an ass, and then he promptly disappeared.
I thought about him for awhile after that. I wondered how he was doing and if he would come back around and try to be my friend, or if maybe that was something he’d never be able to do. I crawled even farther up my own ass, and wondered how long it would take him to get over me. How much time was I worth? But after a few months without a word or a glimpse of him, I forgot to wonder.
Then a few weeks ago I was driving home. I’d had one of the toughest, most emotionally charged days of my life. I don’t cry that often, but when I do it’s...volatile. I’d been blubbering for most of the hour it takes me to drive home when my phone went off. It was a message from him. He’d passed me, seen what a spectacle I was, and wanted to make sure I was alright.
Of course that set me off more, but I replied that I was okay. Then he said, after seven months of silence, “I always hoped it would work out between us. I’m still crazy about you.” Etcetera, I’m gorgeous, etcetera, he misses me.
And instead of saying “don’t” or “I’m sorry”, I latched onto those words like a life raft. I said “thank you” and sent a smiley face, knowing it wasn’t a good idea.
“Why didn’t it work out?”, he asked.
“I don’t know”, I said, all the while hating myself. I was feeling rotten and I wanted someone to make me feel better and I knew that, with a few noncommittal responses, he’d do just that.
He comforted me, asked me out to lunch, and I accepted. I was back on the vicious cycle, attempting to justify my behavior like I always had before – by telling myself that maybe this was it for me, maybe I was supposed to be with someone that loved me more than I loved them. He was a great guy, with a lot of qualities just screaming “settling down material”. Maybe I’d read too many romance novels and was overlooking what was supposed to be my chance, while I waited for a passion that didn’t exist. But I knew better – even though I was stepping back into the ring, this time I was completely aware of what I was doing. I was going to sucker punch him, and apparently no amount of self-loathing was going to change that. If I was cruel before, I was downright sadistic now.
Two days ago he showed up right on time for our lunch date. Everyone else was gone when I let him in the front door and he followed me back to my office. I was nervous, but it wasn’t the fluttery nervousness of a normal date. It was a nervousness born of knowing I was doing something wrong, and wondering if he’d call me out.
“You look nice”, he said.
I was surprised by how relaxed and casual he was and I forced myself to calm down too. He didn’t reach for my hand or my arm as we walked to the café, like I thought he would. He didn’t touch me at all.
I’d made jokes about getting a free lunch out of him, because that’s what I do...make terrible jokes. But when we arrived I waved away his protests and paid. I couldn’t have that on my conscious too. And apparently, buying him a club sandwich was supposed to make me feel better.
We sat down at a table by the window and we talked – about our kids, our jobs, and all manner of things we’d missed out on in the months we hadn’t spoken. I found myself laughing with him and feeling comfortable. He didn’t question me or compliment me, he didn’t look at me like he wanted to peel my skin off and wear it like a wetsuit. It felt normal – like two friends having lunch.
On the walk back I looked at his face, relaxed and confident, and I wondered if he knew. I wondered if he thought he was “wearing me down” or if, like me, he simply couldn’t stop himself from gravitating to what he knew would never work, out of some unfulfilled need.
In the lobby of my building he hugged me goodbye and kissed me on the cheek. “That was nice”, he said. And I agreed, smiling and waving as he walked out the double doors and into the parking garage.
But my smile didn’t stick around very long. I’d no sooner sat down at my desk when I thought, “Wait...what just happened? Is he over me? He’s never that casual. What was wrong with him?” I knew I was being an egotistical asshole, but I couldn’t help wondering why he didn’t fawn all over me like he normally would.
Two hours later I received a text message that said, “Thanks for lunch, had a great time. You looked stunning, as always.”
That was more like what I’d come to expect. And because my vanity knows no bounds, I grinned like a Cheshire cat.
I’d be willing to wager that I’ll hear from him again soon, and I’m not really sure what will happen. After exploring every unflattering angle of my behavior, and branding myself with labels I hate, yet completely deserve (like needy and cruel), I know something has to give. I know that, no matter how many times I may try to pretend or convince myself otherwise, he isn’t what I’m looking for. Now I just have to figure out if I’m the kind of person that needs something so badly, they take what isn’t rightfully theirs. I hope not. I hope I can find the courage to push him away for good and learn how to be truly alone, because maybe that’s all fate, God, or whatever decides these matters, is waiting for.
But eventually I got tired of trying to like him “that way”, of letting him touch me when I didn’t really want him to, and stopped returning his calls. I found someone else and conveniently forgot about him, until his name would show up randomly on my phone or I ran into him in town.
Most of the time I ignored his texts and calls, saying only the bare minimum to be polite. I would wave and hurry away when I saw him out. But every now and then, he would catch me in a rough patch. Whether it was due to boredom, loneliness or deflated ego, he’d happily step in and boost me back up. And with an attitude that said I was clearly doing him a favor, I’d let him.
When I didn’t need him, he irritated me. I hated that he always seemed to show up everywhere I went. I felt like he was stalking me at times, but really, if I’m going to be honest (and this is all going to be brutally honest), he wasn’t doing anything that I didn’t allow him to. I never would have admitted it to myself, or anyone else, back then...but I wanted him on the back burner, just in case. Telling him off might have meant alienating him completely. And too, he was so fucking nice that I just couldn’t bring myself to really be mean to him.
Except now I realize that I was cruel to him all along. I knew he was crazy about me, possibly even in love with me. And instead of calling time of death, I let him repeatedly shock our relationship back to life. Let him hopefully watch a bunch of feeble lines on a monitor and wait for them to get bigger, all the while knowing what he didn’t – my heart would never work properly for him.
Seven months ago I made a stab at behaving like a decent human being. I had feelings for someone and, no matter how at odds their words and actions sometimes were, I knew they didn’t feel quite the same way about me. Because they never came right out and said “I don’t want you”, I kept thinking “it could happen”. But it didn’t, it won’t, and I knew there was a distinct possibility they were doing to me what I’d done to him, whether they realized it or not.
So when I received a message asking me to hang out and, as usual, telling me how wonderful I was...I finally said what should have been said ages ago. I told him that he wanted to be more than friends, he always had, and I didn’t. I told him that I couldn’t hang out with him unless he was prepared to accept that. I was proud of myself for not dicking around, for saying it in what I thought was a decent, but clear way. He responded that he was sorry for making me uncomfortable, which made me feel like an ass, and then he promptly disappeared.
I thought about him for awhile after that. I wondered how he was doing and if he would come back around and try to be my friend, or if maybe that was something he’d never be able to do. I crawled even farther up my own ass, and wondered how long it would take him to get over me. How much time was I worth? But after a few months without a word or a glimpse of him, I forgot to wonder.
Then a few weeks ago I was driving home. I’d had one of the toughest, most emotionally charged days of my life. I don’t cry that often, but when I do it’s...volatile. I’d been blubbering for most of the hour it takes me to drive home when my phone went off. It was a message from him. He’d passed me, seen what a spectacle I was, and wanted to make sure I was alright.
Of course that set me off more, but I replied that I was okay. Then he said, after seven months of silence, “I always hoped it would work out between us. I’m still crazy about you.” Etcetera, I’m gorgeous, etcetera, he misses me.
And instead of saying “don’t” or “I’m sorry”, I latched onto those words like a life raft. I said “thank you” and sent a smiley face, knowing it wasn’t a good idea.
“Why didn’t it work out?”, he asked.
“I don’t know”, I said, all the while hating myself. I was feeling rotten and I wanted someone to make me feel better and I knew that, with a few noncommittal responses, he’d do just that.
He comforted me, asked me out to lunch, and I accepted. I was back on the vicious cycle, attempting to justify my behavior like I always had before – by telling myself that maybe this was it for me, maybe I was supposed to be with someone that loved me more than I loved them. He was a great guy, with a lot of qualities just screaming “settling down material”. Maybe I’d read too many romance novels and was overlooking what was supposed to be my chance, while I waited for a passion that didn’t exist. But I knew better – even though I was stepping back into the ring, this time I was completely aware of what I was doing. I was going to sucker punch him, and apparently no amount of self-loathing was going to change that. If I was cruel before, I was downright sadistic now.
Two days ago he showed up right on time for our lunch date. Everyone else was gone when I let him in the front door and he followed me back to my office. I was nervous, but it wasn’t the fluttery nervousness of a normal date. It was a nervousness born of knowing I was doing something wrong, and wondering if he’d call me out.
“You look nice”, he said.
I was surprised by how relaxed and casual he was and I forced myself to calm down too. He didn’t reach for my hand or my arm as we walked to the café, like I thought he would. He didn’t touch me at all.
I’d made jokes about getting a free lunch out of him, because that’s what I do...make terrible jokes. But when we arrived I waved away his protests and paid. I couldn’t have that on my conscious too. And apparently, buying him a club sandwich was supposed to make me feel better.
We sat down at a table by the window and we talked – about our kids, our jobs, and all manner of things we’d missed out on in the months we hadn’t spoken. I found myself laughing with him and feeling comfortable. He didn’t question me or compliment me, he didn’t look at me like he wanted to peel my skin off and wear it like a wetsuit. It felt normal – like two friends having lunch.
On the walk back I looked at his face, relaxed and confident, and I wondered if he knew. I wondered if he thought he was “wearing me down” or if, like me, he simply couldn’t stop himself from gravitating to what he knew would never work, out of some unfulfilled need.
In the lobby of my building he hugged me goodbye and kissed me on the cheek. “That was nice”, he said. And I agreed, smiling and waving as he walked out the double doors and into the parking garage.
But my smile didn’t stick around very long. I’d no sooner sat down at my desk when I thought, “Wait...what just happened? Is he over me? He’s never that casual. What was wrong with him?” I knew I was being an egotistical asshole, but I couldn’t help wondering why he didn’t fawn all over me like he normally would.
Two hours later I received a text message that said, “Thanks for lunch, had a great time. You looked stunning, as always.”
That was more like what I’d come to expect. And because my vanity knows no bounds, I grinned like a Cheshire cat.
I’d be willing to wager that I’ll hear from him again soon, and I’m not really sure what will happen. After exploring every unflattering angle of my behavior, and branding myself with labels I hate, yet completely deserve (like needy and cruel), I know something has to give. I know that, no matter how many times I may try to pretend or convince myself otherwise, he isn’t what I’m looking for. Now I just have to figure out if I’m the kind of person that needs something so badly, they take what isn’t rightfully theirs. I hope not. I hope I can find the courage to push him away for good and learn how to be truly alone, because maybe that’s all fate, God, or whatever decides these matters, is waiting for.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Weekend conversations and split personalities
Friday, 4:30pm, driving home from work
Received following text message approximately seven times before responding late Saturday evening:
Fisher Price: I need to ask you a question. (x7)
Me: WHAT.
FP: Never mind now. Wanted you to meet my daughter.
Me: Weird.
Self: How in gawd’s name did he father a child? He practically has a vagina.
Self2: That wasn’t nice.
Self: Eye roll. Why don’t you go fuck him again then?
Self2: Why don’t YOU!
Self: Why am I splitting my personality?
Self2: Because you need material for therapy.
Friday, sometime at night, lying in bed not yet asleep, phone rings
Me: Hello?
Person I don’t know: What are you wearing?
Me: Old lady pants.
Person: What?
Me: Does your mother know you’re calling?
Person: Is this Stephanie?
Me: Does Stephanie wear old lady pants?
Person: Steph quit playing around.
Me: This conversation may be recorded for quality assurance.
Click.
Saturday 9:30am, sleeping peacefully, phone rings
Me: Uh.
Cousin K: Are you awake?
Me: Uh.
K: Great. Ok. So, we won’t make it to the church until around 10:30 – 11. We have a lot to do, but I’m running a little behind this morning.
Me: Uh.
K: So don’t rush...
Me: Mumble mumble, fuck off.
K: Thanks for offering to help! See you around 11!
Saturday, around 1pm, making and cutting sandwiches in church kitchen
Me: Why are we wasting all of this bread by cutting these sandwiches with stupid cookie cutters? There are starving cheerleaders at my house.
K: You can take all the bread scraps home if you want.
Me: I refuse to be THAT person...the bag lady...the one that loads up all of the leftovers and waddles away.
K: Ok. We can give them to Larry. (The goose)
Me: Fuck Larry.
K: We’re IN CHUCH. Could you not...
Me: Sorry.
5 minutes later, two big grocery bags are STUFFED with sandwich scraps
Aunt D: What’s in that bag?
Me: Your lunch.
Aunt D: What?
Me: Sandwich scraps. Wasted bread and turkey and pineapple and cream cheese....
Aunt D: I’ll take it. (Picks up bag and waddles away.)
K: (looking at me) Don’t say a word.
Me: Wasn’t gonna!
3 hours later, in kitchen cleaning up, scooping weenies into cup
K: Did you get any cake squares to take home for the kid?
Me: Yep.
K: What are you doing?
Me: Raiding the weenie pot.
K: But you wouldn’t raid the sandwich scraps?
Me: Nope. Weenies beat buns, hands down. (Grin)
K: Why do I even talk to you?
Me: (stuffing weenies in mouth) Dunno.
Monday, The Grandmother’s house, just arriving, walking up path to door
Me: There’s a baby squirrel in front of the steps! Look!
Mom: Squeal, squeal, annoying rabies rant.
The Kid: I wanna see! I wanna see!
TG: (looking through screen door) I’ll kill it! Nasty things!
Baby squirrel huddled against the bottom step staring at loud humans with wide, fearful eyes.
Me: Aw, no Grandma! You can’t kill it! It’s just a whittle baby!
Climbed stairs and faced TG.
TG: (mean face) Well, you can just take it home with you and cuddle it then!
Me: (eyes narrowed) Are you going to be nice today or do I have to leave?
TG: (looking sheepish) Yes! I’m going to be nice to you today! I even wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget!
Me: You had to write down....to remind yourself...to be nice to me?
TG: (entirely serious expression) Yes.
Me: Oooook.
Everyone else: laughing
Self2: Now THAT is a therapy moment.
Self: Exactly.
Received following text message approximately seven times before responding late Saturday evening:
Fisher Price: I need to ask you a question. (x7)
Me: WHAT.
FP: Never mind now. Wanted you to meet my daughter.
Me: Weird.
Self: How in gawd’s name did he father a child? He practically has a vagina.
Self2: That wasn’t nice.
Self: Eye roll. Why don’t you go fuck him again then?
Self2: Why don’t YOU!
Self: Why am I splitting my personality?
Self2: Because you need material for therapy.
Friday, sometime at night, lying in bed not yet asleep, phone rings
Me: Hello?
Person I don’t know: What are you wearing?
Me: Old lady pants.
Person: What?
Me: Does your mother know you’re calling?
Person: Is this Stephanie?
Me: Does Stephanie wear old lady pants?
Person: Steph quit playing around.
Me: This conversation may be recorded for quality assurance.
Click.
Saturday 9:30am, sleeping peacefully, phone rings
Me: Uh.
Cousin K: Are you awake?
Me: Uh.
K: Great. Ok. So, we won’t make it to the church until around 10:30 – 11. We have a lot to do, but I’m running a little behind this morning.
Me: Uh.
K: So don’t rush...
Me: Mumble mumble, fuck off.
K: Thanks for offering to help! See you around 11!
Saturday, around 1pm, making and cutting sandwiches in church kitchen
Me: Why are we wasting all of this bread by cutting these sandwiches with stupid cookie cutters? There are starving cheerleaders at my house.
K: You can take all the bread scraps home if you want.
Me: I refuse to be THAT person...the bag lady...the one that loads up all of the leftovers and waddles away.
K: Ok. We can give them to Larry. (The goose)
Me: Fuck Larry.
K: We’re IN CHUCH. Could you not...
Me: Sorry.
5 minutes later, two big grocery bags are STUFFED with sandwich scraps
Aunt D: What’s in that bag?
Me: Your lunch.
Aunt D: What?
Me: Sandwich scraps. Wasted bread and turkey and pineapple and cream cheese....
Aunt D: I’ll take it. (Picks up bag and waddles away.)
K: (looking at me) Don’t say a word.
Me: Wasn’t gonna!
3 hours later, in kitchen cleaning up, scooping weenies into cup
K: Did you get any cake squares to take home for the kid?
Me: Yep.
K: What are you doing?
Me: Raiding the weenie pot.
K: But you wouldn’t raid the sandwich scraps?
Me: Nope. Weenies beat buns, hands down. (Grin)
K: Why do I even talk to you?
Me: (stuffing weenies in mouth) Dunno.
Monday, The Grandmother’s house, just arriving, walking up path to door
Me: There’s a baby squirrel in front of the steps! Look!
Mom: Squeal, squeal, annoying rabies rant.
The Kid: I wanna see! I wanna see!
TG: (looking through screen door) I’ll kill it! Nasty things!
Baby squirrel huddled against the bottom step staring at loud humans with wide, fearful eyes.
Me: Aw, no Grandma! You can’t kill it! It’s just a whittle baby!
Climbed stairs and faced TG.
TG: (mean face) Well, you can just take it home with you and cuddle it then!
Me: (eyes narrowed) Are you going to be nice today or do I have to leave?
TG: (looking sheepish) Yes! I’m going to be nice to you today! I even wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget!
Me: You had to write down....to remind yourself...to be nice to me?
TG: (entirely serious expression) Yes.
Me: Oooook.
Everyone else: laughing
Self2: Now THAT is a therapy moment.
Self: Exactly.
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