Three Encounters

Encounter One

Navigating an unfamiliar street teeming with late to work, workers, in a city I just arrived in an hour before, throngs circle, dodge, jostle, wind, and whine pass. It's already a hectic day. 

Then, a roar more agonizing than proud, erupts.

I eye him about half a block down.

He stands over six feet, five inches tall.

Enormous. 

Brown skanky hair falls shoulder length onto clothes that barely hold their shape and a body which has seen too few showers.

Settling on his reflection in a store window, people are giving this man wide berth as the flow of pedestrian traffic shifts.

'This is just my luck'. I lower my head, take a half step onto the curb and walk along its edge. 'Figures'. Placing one foot in front of the other to ensure no misstep into traffic, my attention focuses on the task at hand.

Five feet of space separates us with a mass of grim-faced, elbowing pedestrians between. It would take a miracle for him to see me but, it would take a miracle for him not to see me.

It seems I have a unique magnetism that summons interesting characters into my orbit. I’ve had my breasts harmlessly fondled, now know all the ins and outs of living on Saturn with its’ outer rings to protect us, and have wiped a fair amount of spittle-spoke rap from my face. 

Not a big deal.

It's just a few of them - like the roarer up ahead - make me squirm.

"Stella! "Darling Stella!"

A mammoth hand lands on my shoulder. I follow the tattered arm sleeve of an old army jacket to this hulk of a man. His pleading features house a pair of eyes that search for recognition.

Given a line of passerby’s still twist between us, many duck under his arm. I'm amazed how far his reach extends.

"Stella, Stella where did you go to?"

"Um, I had to go see my folks. I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"I've missed ya, Stella."

"I've missed you too. Okay, see ya later."

The contact is brief. I hurried along propelled by an apprehension this chap might not let "Stella" go so easily and a small smile that once again I was chosen.

Not to be conceited, but it's nice to be considered approachable. I'll admit if it were dark with barely a soul around, the encounter would have had more bite to it, yet there was no harm done all and all.

And that is how the encounter gets chalked up.

No harm done.

All and all. 

All in all.

Encounter Two

It's 5:55pm, and he's where he has stood every night since I started taking the subway one year ago. Apparently, his job is to watch commuters swipe their rail passes, then hip check the waist high turnstiles. I did see him once chase down a turnstile jumper.

I smile and say hello, as I have every night for a year. If he responds, it’s merely an afterthought. A reflex reaction if you will. 

He just can't seem to find it in himself to talk to anyone who is not beautiful. 

I've seen him go out of his way to say "Hello" to women who barely give him notice. On one occasion, I extended a greeting only to have him reach across and grab the arm of a beautiful woman he had his eye on. "How ya doing?" he asked her.

He has never engaged me in conversation. And it's not as if a long, spirited discussion would take place should he return my greeting. I'm not looking for a long-term commitment, friendship, or a promise that we'll greet each other warmly every day. But how about a simple acknowledgment from one human being to another?

He can't provide it. 

I don't fit his requirements.

When I made this realization, I put him to the test a little more vigorously and each time came up empty. Each time I'd walk away from the turnstile with a little less appreciation for mankind and a lot more critical view of my physical self. Why his manner caused me to address my image problem is beyond me.

Is it the girl in me who for a brief time used to be noticed, or the lonely self who witnesses another act of isolation? Perhaps my common courtesy radar can't fathom his ill regard.

I was reminded of his behavior this morning. As I was entering the grocery store, a young, beautiful woman in a yellowy summery dress came walking out. Three men lining the park bench located mere feet from the door tried to engage her in conversation. She passed them by.

I walked by the invisible woman.

It's then I thought of the subway guy. 

Why do I care that each day he continues to ignore my "Good days?" And why should I bother to provide a greeting? It might be that a trigger mechanism kicks in. I see any person within a certain radius, especially someone I see daily, and the need to greet this individual with a certain molecule of respect and good cheer is in order.

Is the hope of a simple person-to-person, human-to-human contact required or needed?

I realize that my anger at his rude behavior and obvious lack of courtesy is partly in response to acknowledging I'm not beautiful. 

Yet I need to remember that there is nothing being sought, and I must remind myself that there is nothing being gained or lost.

Just a “Hey, there, I see you and wish you well."

You can treat me like the invisible woman, but I will not, and do not, step quietly through your world.

Good day.

Encounter Three

The waitress asked if I wanted another drink.

"Mmhmph, no."

"What about the gentleman with you?"

"He'll be back in a minute.”

This was torture. In this half-filled restaurant, I was trying desperately not to have any attention drawn to me. In particular, I didn't want to answer any questions.

Not that the questions themselves were hard.

The problem? The answers were coming out muffled. My answer to my date’s return came out something like "Hmm b ba n a mintut."

Why did I ever put this swizzle stick in my mouth?

It all started when I ordered a drink that came with a long, green swizzle stick with a green parrot head on the end. I was immediately warmed with a tropical feel. A few minutes after the drinks arrived, my date politely went outside to take a call on his cell phone.

As I looked around the restaurant, I was giddy. I had my nicest outfit on and it was two weeks after my last haircut. Feeling good.

Then my tongue found a piece of food stuck in one of my back teeth. Determined to release it before my date returned, I picked up the swizzle stick and started discreetly using it as a toothpick.

Soon, it became caught in my teeth. I couldn’t dislodge it.

No longer was I the discreet social butterfly, but the geek in the corner with a big green parrot head sticking out of her mouth.

With my date due back any minute, maybe I should leave him a coy note that the evening wasn't progressing as well as I thought and...oh that wouldn't do...he was coming back to the table. As he maneuvered his way around the other diners, he gave a little smile.

I smiled back with the parrot head bouncing up and down ("Aye, me bucko"). What a charming look. Should I pinch the top of the parrot head between two fingers and give the illusion I was twirling the stick? Not a very sensual move.

I fast-forwarded to leaving the restaurant; the ride in the car, the walk to the door, the separation of lips by a plastic green parrot head.

AGGGHHHH-POP!

At last.

I didn't smile much that evening and kept touching the sore spot with my tongue. Even with the swizzle stick dislodged, I still held onto it. I carried it in my head as surely as I had my teeth.

I mused all the way home that just when things seem to be going your way, life has a way of throwing you for a loop...or a swizzle stick...