the state of the union

shes waiting for him outside of the christopher street subway because shes taking him, on their first real date she supposes, to a party to watch george w. bush give his fifth state of the union address. shes impressed with herself, impressed that when he called this morning (this morning!) and asked what she was doing, she could say, "oh im going to a chinese new year state of the union party at a friends place. youre welcome to come." and now shes a little bit nervous, but in an awards show night kind of way- she already knows that no matter what, the night will be good. shes been nominated, thats the win that really matters.
they met because she had no interest in meeting anyone. she had, for the first real time, given up. the last boyfriend she had (they had broken up before christmas) was completely impotent, and after that she went on a crazed hunt for someone who would be, at the very least, hard when he saw her with no clothes on. but the next guy, a manic comedian who wasnt funny, made a grilled cheese naked in her kitchen and then never called again. and she decided that dating in new york wasnt going to work for her, and it didnt matter because her time here was limited, bounded, not going to be a long term relationship.
thats when it happens -- isnt that what everyone says? when youre done, when youve given up and you cant even muster a damn. thats when a dark haired guy with a vague hatchet scar (yes, a hatchet scar like the one her father had), jumps over the back of your booth and sits next to you, and you end up discussing books, which hes read, and you kiss all night and pass out on your couch together, like youve been dating for months.
as she stands by Yummy Shwarmy, waiting for him, she imagines all the possibilities. she does this, so as to prevent any of her worst cases from coming true. if shes imagined a scenario, it wont happen, because it would be foreshadowing, too obvious, not real life. when she was younger and neurotically worried about her mother's safety, she would imagine every bad thing that could happen, simply to eliminate those options. she imagines, of course, him standing her up. she imagines waiting until 8:30, letting herself cry for a 45 seconds, and then walking alone to the party, forcing herself to be angry but not sad. she imagines him emerging from the subway a different man from the other night -- not tangible and smart, but cold, critical. she imagines the night going well, but realizing in a week (or so) that hes impotent too, and she imagines having to endure what she had just survived- pretend it doesnt matter, but go to bed a seething nest of anger, disappointment and pity. she imagines him emerging from the subway a different man from the other night -- not attractive, not cool, but with oversized proportions,a face of strange shapes and a kiss that makes her cringe. but when a good image creeps in, like the image of him walking off the subway, tangible and cool, and kissing her before she can speak, holding her hand as they walk down 7th ave, she quickly silences it, sweeps it under the rug of worry, so that it still may have the chance to live.
shes staring at the subway stop. christopher street/ sheridan square. shes gotten there early, of course, but now its time. its 8:00. imagine him standing you up. imagine what it would feel like, imagine walking into the party without him, imagine having to listen to george bush in a state this vulnerable. imagine waking up tomorrow and re-remembering it. imagine. imagine imagine.
seventh avenue. one of her favorite lines, in what is probably her favorite song though she feels stale to admit it, is from the boxer:
"asking only workmans wages, ive coming looking for a job
but i get no offers.
just a come on from the whores on seventh avenue.
i do declare there were times when i was so lonesome
i took some comfort there."
she sings it to herself and it reassures her somehow -- isnt that why people listen to music? isnt that why people hear a line like that in a song they know as well as they know the shape of their own fingertips, and close their eyes and sing every word? it'll still be there, she thinks, and isnt ashamed to think it.
shes dreading telling her friends. about the fact that she was stood up. she was so arrogant, she must have been, calling them each individually to tell them that he called (at 11 am!) and that he was coming, and that yeah, well i dont know him that well obviously, but i really like him!
why would he call, why would be go through this trouble, only to not show up? she begins to think about the exact words he used, maybe she got the time wrong, maybe he took a nap and hasnt woken up, maybe she embarassed herself on the phone and he decided this was the best way to just end things. though there are no things between them to end.
its 8:15 and shes plotting the next 15 minutes. if in ten he hasnt arrived, she'll call him, and leave a casual message, and of course that will be the last time she ever calls him, she'll delete his number and go back to being done with trying. goddammit, she thinks. god fucking dammit. why did you let it happen again, you fucking knew, you fucking knew, shes almost crying.
she feels the tears, hot and acidic. shes about to walk down seventh avenue by herself and accpet that sometimes you cant beat the system; sometimes you think you dont care, and you realize the only reason you think that is because you havent had anyone to care about in months, and youre just the same, waiting, waiting, always waiting. and you realize that you cant beat the system; sometimes, you know the worst case scenario before you even try to imagine it, and sometimes foreshadowing happens in real life, just as sometimes you run through a sprinkler with all of your clothes on, like some awful scene in a movie, the scene that will be replayed in all of the trailers and promos. sometimes you can just hear the fucking soundtrack, starting off slowly and building into a tear-jerking crescendo as the camera pans out on the dishelved but still sweetly appealing girl as she makes her way down 7th avenue, alone.
shes about to start walking, shes not going to call him, and shes nearly amused by the situation. shes decided that this time its truly over, shes given her last damn until someone finally gives her one back.
and she hears her name, called out from across the street, and she sees him, looking both ways, even though its a one way street, before he runs across and as she waves to him she wipes the corner of her eyes, and she forces herself to take note of her heart beating, that she can really feel it, and when he hugs her his cheek is freezing and he smells like lakes, and before letting go he says,
i was waiting for you at the path station. i thought i was being stood up.
and the music swells as they walk with their arms around each other, to the party to hear the president speak.