May 18, 2009
Hey guys,
I spoke to my mother for the first time in months today. She doesn’t call me much. I know she loves me but she hates phones. She refuses to get a cell phone and only uses her landline when absolutely necessary. The only exception is when she calls her sisters. With them, she can talk for hours. She lives a few hours away so we don’t see each other very frequently. I decided to take stock of what I have in my life, and my mother is someone I’ve been neglecting lately. She just turned 62 and has a bit of back trouble. Other than that, she is quite youthful and spry. We spoke from the time the sun was descending until it was dark out and it really improved my mood. Living like a virtual hermit for weeks, (except for my time at the store) I had a lot to say. We made a date to have dinner together in a few days. She is going to drive to town.
Steve was at the store when I returned, alternating between eating fistfuls of popcorn and multi-coloured cotton candy. He gave me a hug and stayed for a while chatting. He’d just watched Trial and Error with Jeff Daniels and Michael Richards. He reminded me of the premise and described his favourites scenes. When he was talking about the part when the Michael Richards character pretends to be a lawyer, he made himself laugh so much he choked a bit. He then looked me deep in the eyes, wished me a good shift and told me he was leaving. It was nice to talk to him, but I noticed he pretty much talked exclusively about himself. I don’t think he has many friends.
It was a slow evening at the store. I sat back and let my mind wander. I had a strong feeling that I should do something, but I didn’t know what. It was time to count myself among the living again! I looked through the contact list in my phone and tried calling a couple of friends, getting the answering machine both times. It was discouraging, and I had to settle for leaving messages seeing if they wanted to hang out. After the sun sets, I become a bit sad and listless. Tonight was no exception – that is until the door opened.
I looked up to a vision of loveliness. It took me barely a second to remember the woman entering was the same one I had a crush on from the coffee shop that used to be next door.
“Hello,” I blurted out.
“Hello,” She said as she looked up and smiled. She went behind the display wall to the new releases side – a place where I could not see her.
What was she doing here? My heart jumped into my throat in anticipation of her stepping up to the counter where I was standing. This was my chance.
“What do you need to become a member here?” she asked.
“Photo I.D.” I replied.
“Aw, I don’t have my I.D. on me now. I’ll have to come back,” she said, rounding the corner towards the door.
“Excuse me. I don’t mean to bother you, but didn’t you work at the coffee shop next door?”
“Oh yeah, I did. Until those money-hungry developers bought the building. They think it best to turn it into an upscale fish restaurant. Yeah. Yeah. I remember you, Dwayne right?”
“No.” I smiled at her serious expression. “Vic. And yours?” I extended my hand.
“Geneva. Nice to meet you.” Her handshake was firm and thorough. I respect a good handshake.
“Geneva. Wow! What a lovely name, just like the city in Switzerland, right?”
“Yeah. My parents told me that’s where I was conceived.”
“It must have been lovely. Overlooking the lake, at the foot of the Alps…” She gave me a perplexed look.
“Listen, Geneva.” I came right to it, “You’re beautiful and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I first saw you that time in the coffee shop.” She smiled, trying to conceal her eagerness.
“I was wondering if maybe you’d be free for supper one night or a coffee or a drink or something. Like how about Friday night?” She breathed in deeply.
“So?” I pressed.
“You know what?” She answered, “Friday works fine for me.”
“How’s the south exit of the 5th street subway for you, say seven?”
“Great, ok. South side. 5th street. I’ll see you then!” She took a few backwards steps, gave a half wave and turned around. I stared at her exposed legs as she walked out. They were incredible. Saliva was collecting in my mouth. I couldn’t wait to see her again.
The intervening days felt like agony. All I did was kill time, but the minutes refused to pass.
. . .
When the day finally arrived, I got to the subway station early and picked up a copy of the Mirror to pass the time, but I couldn’t focus. I set down the paper and gazed at the faces in the post-rush hour crowd trickling out of the station. My synapses were snapping like hungry turtles over thoughts of the lovely café princess, trying to think up clever conversation, grappling with the miracle of how she’d agreed to go out with me. I needed a drink, and fast. But when she arrived, her smile and the unmistakable scent of her vanilla perfume did more to settle my nerves than any alcohol.
It was that happy time of year when the sun stays out a little later, buds swell on the trees and the dandelions wave hello. It may have been that fresh springtime energy or the cool evening air which brought colour to her cheeks, but Geneva looked even lovelier than I remembered – effortlessly at ease in a blue jean jacket and a checkered scarf thrown loosely around her neck.
We strolled to a pub around the corner. It’s one of those places with walls covered by fake wood panelling, 70’s concert posters and a flashy computerized jukebox that silently swallows your quarters without playing your requests. But it’s okay. I’m comfortable with the music they play; relaxed motown classics at a reasonable volume, which makes the atmosphere conducive to good conversation. It’s not too dim either and the waitresses are coherent. The kind of down-to-earth ambience a girl like Geneva would definitely enjoy.
We sat down at a booth and I ordered a couple old-fashioneds. She told me about growing up in the suburbs and her disenchantment with her parents’ middle class values of tidiness and precaution. As an artist she felt trapped.
“They’re really good people, but not very creative. The people from the neighbourhood are even worse, they’ve barely heard of Picasso,” she lamented, “they think the pinnacle of art and expression is the latest model Mercedes.” But she was most dismayed by the way people compared her to Bob Ross, the only painter they knew because he was ON TELEVISION – the horror!
“I don’t even paint landscapes. Besides, he’s just a teacher of technique. A genuine guy, it’s just that he follows a formula, there’s no heart and soul in his art.”
She told me about how she dreams of moving to New Mexico, away from the prim lawns and supermarkets of her childhood. The desert and the mountains represent the ultimate place to explore her creativity. She romanticizes living in an adobe hut with the Navajo, planting a small kitchen garden and painting to her heart’s content.
We got a little tipsy and went over to the pool table. I always play pool with the girls I take out, it gives me a chance to check them out from different angles.
We flopped back into a booth and ordered another round. She described some of her friends on the art scene. “Lots of great stuff is happening. I just watched the movie Troglodyte City by Al Delaroche, which is a great take on the underground rave scene. And have you heard of The Scowls? They got this jazz-rock sound, really exciting.” That girl was dropping the hippest references I’d ever heard, she was electric.
“But I’m getting tired of hanging out with so many artists,” she sighed, “I feel more comfortable with you.” A shy smile. Her fingers graced my shoulder, her eyes staring into mine. “Tell me about yourself, what makes Vic tick?”
I told her about my PhD and that I’d worked for a few years in Macedonia. It turns out she knows a thing or two about archaeology.
“How old are you anyways?” She asked.
“I’m twenty-eight, what about you?”
“Twenty-one – taurus and lovin’ it!”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that so I jumped into my favourite anecdote about how I met Jerry Seinfeld on a tour of Universal Studios in LA. He told me I had a good voice for radio. A pause in our conversation. I leaned my leg against hers, she leaned back.
“I like you,” she blurted out. It hit me like a sack of onions. I wasn’t expecting things to move this fast. I moved closer and deepened my voice, “I like you too.”
“Last call,” the bartender loudly informed us. Geneva blinked, then pulled back. I looked around, we were the only ones left in the bar.
“What time is it? I can’t miss my bus,” she said, “We gotta go.”
We held hands as we stepped outside and down the block to the bus stop. The mechanical beast that would swallow my desert rose appeared from around the corner. Its headlights illuminating our faces with artificial moonlight.
“I wanna see you again,” Her eyes widened and she looked up. I brushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Our lips met and mingled for a brief, blissful moment.
“Bye,” she whispered, before she turned and climbed onto the bus. A rare flower indeed.
Comments:
SonofEbert: Aren’t you gonna talk about movies on this thing? Check out my blog where I only talk about movies.
videostorevic: Good luck with that man
Spliffany: I love romance, anyone else?
mulletar: i watch romance all night long, i do everyhing in 24 hours like in that movie
Sergei_the_mad_macedonian: There’s a popular romance in my country called The five maidens from Longaloovitchskov. If you truly love Macedonia you must see this film Victor.
videostorevic: I’d love to, but it’s out of circulation.
J-Babylon: Just go with the flow vic man, be chill. be steady. lets party this weekend, get your mind off the stress. I know this palce gives a buket of coldshots for 20 bucks
videostorevic: Stress? I’m not stressed I’m excited
J-Babylon: Ok fine but itll be fun. u should come this weekend
videostorevic: Do they have a pool table? How’s the music? Call me at the store.
doctorphyllys_MD: You’re such a nice boy, Vic. If you like her you should marry her, start a family, settle down. Buy a nice house. You remind me of my grandson. He’s a great guy, such a handsome boy, he has a wife and two kids. He’s a macher at some bank downtown, so he doesn’t have time for his bubby. Maybe on the holidays if I’m lucky, but his wife always wants to leave early. She doesn’t even eat my kishke.
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The Man Who Came to Rent 