I consider myself a risk-taker. Spontaneous. In spite of the fact that I was at the same Starbucks I always go to...for the second time that weekend...having passed at least 6 others on the way there.
So I did what anybody in my situation would do.
I waited for her to undo it herself. I waited as if my mere presence and the fact that I had gotten up to stand in front of her would somehow trigger her fine motor skills.
She just stared, shifting in her seat and disturbing the thick air then surrounding us both. I tried not to breathe.
I knew the moment of truth had come. I had to commit to the task, to this woman, in the face of [relative] danger.
.....................................................................................................
I remembered the conversation I'd had with my boyfriend on the way back from our day trip to SeaWorld the day before.
He'd said something about not being sure about the institution of marriage; something about not knowing how it would turn out.
So I told him.
"You don't even have to worry about it because I wont marry you!"
The words echoed in the car, in my head, expanding and heavy.
He said, "You might as well add 'even if you asked' to that."
I'd purposefully left that part out.
"I'm not the bad guy here", he shrugged.
"I didn't say you were. I just said I wouldn't marry you." I pointed at passing cars. "I wouldn't marry that guy either... or that guy...or him."
The unwittingly spared drivers whizzed by, probably on their way home to or away from irrational partners.
There was no such escape for my boyfriend. He was stuck with me, the woman who had just preemptively turned down his proposal.
I realized that this was probably what he'd meant about not knowing what would happen next. I can be pretty unpredictable.
Love is like that.
Love is like hovering over a strange woman at Starbucks, especially one who has just asked you to help her take something off. It's risky...for both parties really.
I could have been the crazy one, prone to random head-patting, lap-sitting or stabbing. But I'm not. Not really.
Although I might have responded to the woman by loudly refusing to marry her, and then turning to point at random passers-by, refusing each one of them marriage.
Clearly, this was well within the range of possibility. It's a good thing she didn't know that.
I unhooked the clasp of her necklace. My fingers grazed a fold under her neck and nothing significant happened. She was just a woman, a little off, but not a raving lunatic.
I went back to my chair to finish my phone call and read (and to watch other people read). A few minutes later, a young African woman came out of Starbucks, clutching her over-priced coffee. She, too, was on the phone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed her being beckoned over by Necklace Woman, who had been busying herself trying on other necklaces and bracelets pulled out of a wheeled carry-on suitcase by her feet.
I couldn't really hear what they were saying above the two men fervently smoking and arguing in Arabic at the next table. But I watched African Chick's eyebrows draw together as Necklace Woman gestured widely, pointing down the street, her eyes wide and jowls bouncing. She finished talking and the corners of her mouth sagged.
African Chick hesitated then said something to the person on the phone. I imagine it was something like "Hold on. This woman's about to stab me." Then she pressed the phone to her chest.
African Chick led Necklace Woman over to her car, opened the back door and hoisted the carry-on inside. Necklace Woman waddled around to the front passenger side and struggled to squeeze herself into the narrow space between the door and the adjacent car.
African Chick resumed her phone call, presumably to have a witness should she later be found head-patted to death in her car.
I laughed to myself. Bet she had no idea that would happen, I thought.
As the two pulled off in the car, I caught African Chick's eye and smiled, wishing her all the luck and unpredictability in the world.
So I did what anybody in my situation would do.
I waited for her to undo it herself. I waited as if my mere presence and the fact that I had gotten up to stand in front of her would somehow trigger her fine motor skills.
She just stared, shifting in her seat and disturbing the thick air then surrounding us both. I tried not to breathe.
I knew the moment of truth had come. I had to commit to the task, to this woman, in the face of [relative] danger.
..........................
I remembered the conversation I'd had with my boyfriend on the way back from our day trip to SeaWorld the day before.
He'd said something about not being sure about the institution of marriage; something about not knowing how it would turn out.
So I told him.
"You don't even have to worry about it because I wont marry you!"
The words echoed in the car, in my head, expanding and heavy.
He said, "You might as well add 'even if you asked' to that."
I'd purposefully left that part out.
"I'm not the bad guy here", he shrugged.
"I didn't say you were. I just said I wouldn't marry you." I pointed at passing cars. "I wouldn't marry that guy either... or that guy...or him."
The unwittingly spared drivers whizzed by, probably on their way home to or away from irrational partners.
There was no such escape for my boyfriend. He was stuck with me, the woman who had just preemptively turned down his proposal.
I realized that this was probably what he'd meant about not knowing what would happen next. I can be pretty unpredictable.
Love is like that.
Love is like hovering over a strange woman at Starbucks, especially one who has just asked you to help her take something off. It's risky...for both parties really.
I could have been the crazy one, prone to random head-patting, lap-sitting or stabbing. But I'm not. Not really.
Although I might have responded to the woman by loudly refusing to marry her, and then turning to point at random passers-by, refusing each one of them marriage.
Clearly, this was well within the range of possibility. It's a good thing she didn't know that.
I unhooked the clasp of her necklace. My fingers grazed a fold under her neck and nothing significant happened. She was just a woman, a little off, but not a raving lunatic.
I went back to my chair to finish my phone call and read (and to watch other people read). A few minutes later, a young African woman came out of Starbucks, clutching her over-priced coffee. She, too, was on the phone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed her being beckoned over by Necklace Woman, who had been busying herself trying on other necklaces and bracelets pulled out of a wheeled carry-on suitcase by her feet.
I couldn't really hear what they were saying above the two men fervently smoking and arguing in Arabic at the next table. But I watched African Chick's eyebrows draw together as Necklace Woman gestured widely, pointing down the street, her eyes wide and jowls bouncing. She finished talking and the corners of her mouth sagged.
African Chick hesitated then said something to the person on the phone. I imagine it was something like "Hold on. This woman's about to stab me." Then she pressed the phone to her chest.
African Chick led Necklace Woman over to her car, opened the back door and hoisted the carry-on inside. Necklace Woman waddled around to the front passenger side and struggled to squeeze herself into the narrow space between the door and the adjacent car.
African Chick resumed her phone call, presumably to have a witness should she later be found head-patted to death in her car.
I laughed to myself. Bet she had no idea that would happen, I thought.
As the two pulled off in the car, I caught African Chick's eye and smiled, wishing her all the luck and unpredictability in the world.
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