Saturday, August 25, 2007
He had followed me out of the subway car to the platform, standing right behind me. His light blue eyes glowed. "Remember me?" he asked as I looked up into his face. It took me some time to register where I knew him from. The eyes were distinctively familiar, but the rest of his features so strange -- an unusual nose, which seemed chiseled and artificial, lips that struck me as unnaturally augmented; and still I could not place him. That registered, as I studied his face, he quickly broke the growing silence. "Time Life building," he said.
That had been where I had worked, before I left for Uzbekistan. He continued,"in the elevators. You would wear those thick black glasses." I often wore thick black glasses, especially through a difficult period, when I couldn't get contact lenses into my eyes, because of sleepless nights and uncontrollable crying. I'd shed the glasses in Uzbekistan; eyeglasses were a dead giveaway that you were a foreigner in Uzbekistan. And, I didn't have sleepless nights or cry anymore over anyone.
I recognized him from the bad old times; I had been through a breakup and would see these blue eyes in the corridors, in the elevators, in the lobby, curiously looking my way. They were some consolation at the time, making me feel able to be loved again when I thought that was impossible. I'd decided at that time that I would leave the country, despite all the advice of friends that after break-ups it's not a good idea to make big decisions at such a time, so I didn't start up with anyone new or challenge my innate hesitancy and shyness in responding to the glances of attractive blue-eyed strangers that seemed to beg some action on my part. As a result, we never said a word to each other, and our acquaintance until this moment consisted of nothing more than stolen glances on the peripheries of our office lives, that sometimes left me short of breath, but ultimately only drew out my shyest nature. I'd sometimes thought to say something to him, break the ice, but remember that nothing witty ever came to mind. Nothing much came to mind, back then, except that I was leaving New York behind, fancying myself as always being the one who got away.
From the distances at which we'd always seen each other, he'd always struck me as attractive. But now, for the first time up close, there was something arresting in his features, like he'd had plastic surgery or if he was having some of the disfiguring effects that some people on HIV therapies have. I wondered what it was that I had always found so attractive, besides, perhaps the way he made me feel by paying me attention. "I haven't seen you for a while around the office," he said. "Did you change jobs?"
"Yeah, pretty much," I said not wanting to get into the details. After all, could I really say that there was any kind of relationship between us in which it would be worth elaborating. "I'm working somewhere else. Are you still there?"
"Still on the 10th floor. Survived the last series of layoffs." I'd heard about the hit the industry had taken since I'd moved away. Many of my former colleagues were laid off, with generous severance packages, since 9-11 and the drop in the market. "We should really get a drink sometime."
"Sure," I said, trying to sound sincere. He handed me a business card. Another train was pulling into the station.
"I need to get back on," he said with a wink as the doors opened and he slipped back on to the car. "Call me," he mouthed through the glass of the closed door. And just as he had so long ago, he floated in and out of my life, providing me a pleasant respite from whatever problems it had been troubling my soul -- a break up, an argument with my mother. An assurance or reminder that there was always a possibility around every corner in New York. On the other hand, all of this pleasant distraction, perhaps clouded the thoughts, not allowing that purity of reflection that I had experienced in Tashkent.
That had been where I had worked, before I left for Uzbekistan. He continued,"in the elevators. You would wear those thick black glasses." I often wore thick black glasses, especially through a difficult period, when I couldn't get contact lenses into my eyes, because of sleepless nights and uncontrollable crying. I'd shed the glasses in Uzbekistan; eyeglasses were a dead giveaway that you were a foreigner in Uzbekistan. And, I didn't have sleepless nights or cry anymore over anyone.
I recognized him from the bad old times; I had been through a breakup and would see these blue eyes in the corridors, in the elevators, in the lobby, curiously looking my way. They were some consolation at the time, making me feel able to be loved again when I thought that was impossible. I'd decided at that time that I would leave the country, despite all the advice of friends that after break-ups it's not a good idea to make big decisions at such a time, so I didn't start up with anyone new or challenge my innate hesitancy and shyness in responding to the glances of attractive blue-eyed strangers that seemed to beg some action on my part. As a result, we never said a word to each other, and our acquaintance until this moment consisted of nothing more than stolen glances on the peripheries of our office lives, that sometimes left me short of breath, but ultimately only drew out my shyest nature. I'd sometimes thought to say something to him, break the ice, but remember that nothing witty ever came to mind. Nothing much came to mind, back then, except that I was leaving New York behind, fancying myself as always being the one who got away.
From the distances at which we'd always seen each other, he'd always struck me as attractive. But now, for the first time up close, there was something arresting in his features, like he'd had plastic surgery or if he was having some of the disfiguring effects that some people on HIV therapies have. I wondered what it was that I had always found so attractive, besides, perhaps the way he made me feel by paying me attention. "I haven't seen you for a while around the office," he said. "Did you change jobs?"
"Yeah, pretty much," I said not wanting to get into the details. After all, could I really say that there was any kind of relationship between us in which it would be worth elaborating. "I'm working somewhere else. Are you still there?"
"Still on the 10th floor. Survived the last series of layoffs." I'd heard about the hit the industry had taken since I'd moved away. Many of my former colleagues were laid off, with generous severance packages, since 9-11 and the drop in the market. "We should really get a drink sometime."
"Sure," I said, trying to sound sincere. He handed me a business card. Another train was pulling into the station.
"I need to get back on," he said with a wink as the doors opened and he slipped back on to the car. "Call me," he mouthed through the glass of the closed door. And just as he had so long ago, he floated in and out of my life, providing me a pleasant respite from whatever problems it had been troubling my soul -- a break up, an argument with my mother. An assurance or reminder that there was always a possibility around every corner in New York. On the other hand, all of this pleasant distraction, perhaps clouded the thoughts, not allowing that purity of reflection that I had experienced in Tashkent.
Labels: Blue Eyes
¶ 8:31 PM
