Social Skills

He worked late and so he took a later bus. There was still sunlight and this was a consolation. He read his book and the bus filled with passengers he did not recognize and this always happened to him: the empty aisle seat adjoining his remained empty to the last. It never failed and he blamed it on his broad shoulders making the space appear too limiting. When the bus made its last stop before the freeway, a woman he recognized from the morning commute took the seat next to his and he appreciated her tiny frame because he never liked getting too cozy with strangers. This way, they maintained their own space. He had noticed this one before: an attractive woman a few years older than him. Her hair was big and had natural curl that made him think the weight might cause her neck a problem. She looked informed on the latest fashion, dressed expensively, and he wondered if she worked for a clothing store or had a rich husband. This was the first time he saw her on the evening commute. He only saw her mornings before, where they would have never sat together because there were more available seats to choose from. As every one settled in, she motioned to put in the ear plugs for her iPod then told him that she had read that book before and absolutely loved it, couldn’t get through it fast enough. He normally would not talk to people on the bus. He would normally use the book, and his attentions to the book, to create an imaginary wall between himself and others. But he talked about the book and where he was struggling with it and asked her when she read it because it was not a book one casually reads, it is a challenging read, did she read it in school? “I did, I had to write a paper on it. It was funny because the t.a. gave me an A for my in depth analysis and then wrote all these comments about what the author was really trying to say, it was stupid. I think those English teachers are just happy to have you in their class.” And pegging her as some sort of professional at what she does for a living, he asks her what she does and she tells him she is a clothing buyer. She shows equal interest and asks what he does and he tells her and they talk about their recent histories. She has lived here only a year, moving from Sacramento. He has always been here and went to college here and had the same experience with English teachers, though confesses the easy to come by grades almost made him want to get his degree in English. They compare hang-outs and haunts and are surprised they don’t run into each other more often, only on the bus and only on this rare occasion when it is evening do they finally get to talk to one another. He tells her this is nice, because it easily might not have happened, and they would never have met. He goes back to reading. He reads a page then thinks to ask her, how many bags does she own? Every morning she has a different handbag or purse. She tells him she owns two dozen but she borrows samples from work. Test drives them for a week; returns them. “It’s true, it is a big perk, and it isn’t just the handbags. The problem is, you are in this competitive world - you always have to maintain this edge and look this way to have any credibility. It takes forever for me to get ready in the morning.” “But you always look your most attractive, like a million bucks. It must feel like you’re always ready to be whisked away for a night on the town.” And she tells him how it is all surface, and they talk about impressions and wrong impressions and how funny it is – the way people think about you and the way you really are. They talk about quiet nights at home and the comfort they bring. He talks to her about more personal things, and he tells her about his divorce and how it was simply time to end and how he has come to appreciate being alone. She tells him how she feels the same, though the severity of her break up is what pushed her decision to move to the city to be closer to her family. He has to extricate himself from this honest talk and points to the window and a building being torn down, tells her how the grocery store they are building is the last thing the neighborhood needs and how traffic will be a nightmare once it is complete. She tells him she worries about all the neighborhood growth too. She wraps the earphones around her iPod and tucks it into her purse. He feels like he is losing her attention, the attention he did not ask for in the first place. He was doing fine with this day being like any other, and then she had to drum up all this talk. He does not always do well with casual conversations: it is a struggle for him and he relies heavily on being introduced or announced when meeting new people, or the good grace that the woman he is meeting loves to talk a lot, and in most cases this is not a problem. He begins to feel resentful that she is going to make him carry this when she asks him about independent films and he says he loves movies. They talk about their favorite directors and films and he talks at great length about Fellini, whose earlier films he loved, and he is so excited that she has seen Nights of Cabria and now he feels that they have this small connection because you have to get past the more obviously popular, avant-garde, later work to appreciate the overwhelming emotion in his lesser realized early films. She asks him to ring the bell and he does so. He tells her he was meaning to get off at the previous stop but that he had to respect his favorite director, and it is rare that he gets to meet someone who has seen even one of his films. “We can walk and talk”, she says to him. “My condo is a block away. And the weather is so nice. I love when the trees are blooming”. And he instantly replies yes, that would be nice, and he feels his heart quicken because this is new territory for him and he feels each moment that he doesn’t know what the next moment will bring.

They walk slowly and he is animated now. She laughs when he imitates Woody Allen, and he notes that for this entire little walk a smile has not left her face. Her building faces West and all of the windows are lit up rose hued by the setting sun. “Well, this is it.” And it sounds like a transition more than a closure to their conversation, he hears this in her voice, and without invitation or goodbye she unlocks the door to the entry way and steps in and he follows her. He feels like they are cohorts now, and questions are unnecessary. But he wants to ask her what she wants from him, how she could possibly trust him not to be some rapist or killer or even just a common purse-snatcher. He stops himself. He takes a deep breath. All this time she is talking, not missing a beat, and he can only take in half of her words as he follows her up the flight of stairs. “The maintenance fees...” “I hate that it’s so new, there’s no personality to it…” “it takes forever to warm up in the winter…” He tries to remain casual, and he does not ask her the questions nagging at him. And they reach her floor, and they walk down the hall, and when she reaches her door she again says nothing but lowers her head and unlocks it. His adrenaline and his heart are racing and he would just as soon she turn to him and tell him goodbye but she does it again, she just walks in and he thinks she expects him to follow so he does so, and he thinks to himself that she has to be as nervous as he is. He took a speech class once where he learned that public speakers are never as visibly nervous as they think they look from the podium: the physical manifestations – the shaking, the quavering voice – aren’t necessarily picked up by the audience. So it can go both ways, and he simply can’t see how nervous she is. He takes her shoulder and he kisses her. They stumble into her place together, and she takes his hair in her hand and twists his ear to her mouth and she tells him to not hold back. They tear at each others’ clothes; he pushes her to the wall. She is so small he can lift her, and he is thankful that from the first kiss all doubts have been alleviated and everything in suspension is broken free and he has stopped his own shaking and he can be deliberate and mechanical again. He can go forward in confidence and his assertiveness doesn’t have to be second-guessed. He pushes her to the sofa and completes the act with her bent over the arm of her sofa, one of her legs dangling over the side and her other ankle firmly in the grip of his right fist – his thumb rubbing back and forth over the flexor hallucis longus. He only knows this odd muscle name because his ex-wife was a nurse and she thought it was strange that he loved to do this, that this is how he finished, and she told him on more than one occasion that it was not an erogenous zone for her but he refused to believe it because it felt so right, so comforting to him, he could not imagine it being anything but. He fell back into a rattan chair and let out an audible sigh. She turned to look at him and smiled and said she’d never done anything like that, off the cuff, and she figured he couldn’t be that bad a guy and wasn’t going to just leave town and then joked about how easy he would be to track down anyways. She offers to make them tea and he says yes, he could use a glass of water too and he picks up his dress shirt and hands it to her to put on. They talk about what they will do next. They order Chinese take-out. They eat together, talk about families and their childhoods and their occupations. She has a movie she wants to share, and she starts the DVD and proceeds to talk through the movie, every once in awhile interrupting her own words to mention how she loves this part or what he should be paying attention to next or he will miss it, before continuing to talk some more. He watches her light a couple of scented candles and decides he will not tell her he loves candles but hates scented ones, he will not tell her this today. By the flickering light of the television and the candles they couple again, this time he is more attentive to her needs and there is more rhythm and their bellies are full, they are energized and it is less intense for him but he can tell that this time she may have climaxed and he feels like he could leave having made this impression, that he is not some selfish lover but can be very thorough and attentive and tender. He does this, and feels it is an okay time to leave. They exchange a nuzzling in the doorway. “I’ve never done anything like this either. I will be sure to call you, it would be great if we can go out.”

He waits a week to call her. He gets an answering service and he does not leave a message. Two days later he tries again and she answers. “Where have you been?” “It’s just a buyer’s convention silly, a group of us were flown back East to attend some conferences and a few of the showings. It’s a huge event.” “Okay, I’d love to hear all about it. It sounds exciting. Maybe we can grab a coffee. It’s funny we’re just five blocks apart, and I never saw you, and it just seemed like you dropped off the face of the earth or something. And you didn’t answer your landline, so I admit I was a little worried. I don’t know. Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” “I’m really tired. You just caught me getting in and getting settled, you can understand that, right?” “Sure, no problems, no pressure, I totally understand, maybe some other time.” And he looks for her at the bus stop all week but she is never there. Some days he takes a slightly earlier bus and on others he takes the later bus. He settles on showing up early one day, not getting on the bus at all, and just waiting for an hour for her to show up so he can surprise her on accident. She never shows up and there is no chance encounter. “I started driving to work. I finally broke down and bought a car, it was long overdue. I know, I should be more environmentally conscious and all that, but I occasionally have to drive out of downtown to one of our sites and I have to go through all these hoops to either borrow someone’s car or coordinate a ride. It just makes my work life so much easier.” “Oh, don’t think I’m accusing you or anything; just, I thought we would get together sometime after what happened. I think I made some assumptions, and I’ll just leave you be. The last thing I want to do is creep you out or anything. You have my number too, feel free to call me anytime you need a friend.” “I don’t think anything horrible like that about you! I think it’s totally natural. Look, I had a great night. You know I’d noticed you so long before that, how handsome you are and how studious you are. I thought you were pretty hot stuff, how does that sound?” “Well, I’m always reading, so I’m pretty oblivious to people. But thank you, that’s a kind thing to say. So really, when are we going to go out? I haven’t totally forgotten about you, you’re on my radar; I just never get to see you. Can we set a date to see each other some time? No pressure.” “Well, things are pretty hectic still, so I’ll call you in a week. I promise.” He cannot wait a week, and takes a circuitous route walking from his bus stop that goes by her condo building. Since she’s driving now, she should be around by the time he gets home. He imagines false excuses. This is the only Quickie Mart that carries his favorite beer. He just wanted to head by the park because the weather was so beautiful. He stopped in at the gym to join, something he’d been meaning to do for awhile. And he never saw her and only one night was there a light in her condo but he couldn’t bring himself to try the door, knock on the door or go home and call her because that would be too much coincidence. He sees her at the pet store one day and makes an ass of himself. “Oh, you have a pet also? I didn’t even notice when I was over.” “It’s been horrible – my friend had a terrible accident rock climbing, he’s going to be in traction for six weeks and I offered to watch his cat. So I’m picking up some little toys to keep the little guy entertained.” “I love cats, I have one myself. Look, was it that horrible? With me? I don’t get it. I thought we had a blast, I thought it could start or lead into something…I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable, but I feel like I deserve an answer. It would be nice if you gave me some answers.” “Well.” She clears her throat. “No, it has nothing to do with you, I thought it was great – I had a really, really great time, and I’m just not looking for anything like that in my life right now. Not a relationship. You’re a guy - I thought you would’ve gotten a kick out of it, no strings attached.” “It isn’t just that, I mean, we could have a relationship without it being a relationship you know.” “I know, but I’m truly busy at work. Really. I think we should just let it pass; I need to take care of a friend and I don’t want this to feel serious or add some new complication to my life. I feel like already it is going to be serious now, no matter what is said.” “How is that? Because I just wanted to know? I think it is perfectly natural to have the reaction I do. But if this is what you want, that is fine. Don’t call me for a hookup, I don’t want to hear from you.” “I’m sorry you feel that way, just don’t make a big deal of this to people we both know, we have some mutual friends and I don’t feel like it will reflect well on either of us if you complain about me to them. I feel like you are mad now.” “No. I’m over it. There’s nothing to get over. Don’t worry.” But when he sees friends who know her, he asks after her and about her. He lies to them and says that they had coffee once, seemed to have a great deal in common, and do they know if she is single. They tell him that as far as they know, she is. He asks them to put in a good word for him. Perhaps it will help. He hears back from them: “She really wants you to leave her alone.” “Really. She said that?” “Yes. She feels like you are stalking her. You frighten her. That must have been some weird coffee date to make an impression like that.” “Look, you don’t think I’m some creep or a jerk, right? Is she like crazy or something? This is really upsetting.” “Don’t stress over it; you just probably weren’t someone she was interested in. It’s as simple as that. Sometimes people will write you off with a first impression, then they have a vicious sense of humor about it. So you guys didn’t hit it off - no big deal. If it helps out at all, I do not think you are some stalker or a jerk or anything like that. And I don’t think you should be interested in anyone who would talk of you like that anyways. Cross her off your list.” “Sure, okay, that shouldn’t be a problem. You’re right. I was just curious, you know.”