The Waiting Game

Ring.

Come on, damn you. Just ring.

I'm on the couch, by the phone. I'm near the phone, not by it. The phone is all the way over there on the other side of the couch and I'm all the way over here on this side of the couch. I'm not waiting for a call. I'm (looks around) reading this magazine. Yes, I am reading this magazine. I'm just flipping through the pages here, looking at the airbrushed photo spreads and the various advertisements for hair care products. There's also this insightful article on How To Have Sex Standing Up. Yes, provokative. Who would have thought that it was that easy?

Ring.

"Hello? (pause) Yes, she is. Hold on." (turns to roommate) "It's for you. It's Randy."

I didn't leap for the phone. No, I didn't. It rang and I answered it. That's all. I'm not waiting for anything. I'm just flipping through this magazine and (pause) going tomake some microwave popcorn. Yes, that's all. I'm going to make some microwave popcorn. Let's see here. Open the package. How long doe this go in? Hmm, 3 to 5 minutes. Let's just type in "3:30" and see how that works out. Good. Yes, light, fluffy and delicious. Just as I'd anticipated it would be. There is also a hint of buttery flavoring. See? I'm not waiting for anything. I am enjoying my magazine, as well as a bowl of microwave popcorn.

Ring.

"Hello? (pause) No, thank you. We're not interested."

Shit. I mean, I hate telemarketers. It's impossible to get off of those lists, isn't it? Well, no worries. They weren't really interrupting me. I'm not waiting for anything. Certainly not a phone call from a guy that I've recently met. All I'm doing is stitting on the couch (reaches for remote) watching TV. Who doesn't love the Discovery Channel with their remarkably well-researched documentaries on the origins of life or whatever it is they do over there? All right, screw this. I can't sit out here anymore. I'm going to sleep.

Ring.

I'm sure he'll call tomorrow.

Ring.

"Hello? (pause) Hey, Greg. How are you? No, it's not too late to call. I was just eating some popcorn and reading a magazine."

Dancing In The Dark

It's not dark out. It rarely is in the city, at least not like it was where I grew up, when I could go in the backyard and stare at the stars. All I had to do was look up after the sun went down and there they were, looking back at me. Some of them even winked at me, like they had a secret that they only wanted me to share in. It's a confidence that I wouldn't dream of betraying.

The streets of the city aren't dark. They have the lights from the street lamps and the lights from the stores and the lights from the doorways of the buildings. When you take all of those lights from every street and every block of the city, that's a whole lot of light. And it overwhlems the stars and keeps them hidden from us here on these city streets. When I look up at the sky here, there isn't anything. Just sky. Which I guess is something. When you think about it.

I'm walking home. I went out with some friends tonight. It was a Tuesday and like so many Tuesdays that start as dinner, it ended with drinks. It ended with more drinks than I usually like to have on a Tuesday night. I got drunk. It's a good drunk, a warm and fuzzy drunk. We had another laugh session, which I really needed after the weekend with the family. I forgot all about work. I forgot all about life and bills and my boss and everything that usually preoccupies me. I just sat back and had some fun. It felt good.

I'm walking home and I feel a hand touch my palm. I turn to my left and there's a boy there. His friend John knows my friend Julie. His name is Greg. He sat with us at the bar for a long time. We talked for a while. He's a nice boy. We all left around the same time and he asked me how I was getting home. I told him it was such a nice night that I was going to walk. He asked me if it would be all right if he walked me home. I said that I didn't think that would be a problem but that he may have to carry me at some point. He said that he couldn't think of a nicer thing to carry. I felt my face get warm.

I'm walking home with my hand holding another hand. It felt nice. And I felt my face get warm again when I thought about how nice it felt. I'm so drunk. All of the sudden I'm spun around and then spun back into him. I'm turned and dipped and I'm looking up now, at Greg, at the sky, the sky that is still just dark, no stars. My face is warm again. I'm back on my feet and gaining my balance again. What was that I said, pretending to be angry or at least disdainful but unable to contain the smile on my face. That, he said, just a little dancing in the dark.

I'm in front of my building now. With Greg. I'm on the second step of the landing in front of the building and he's on the sidewalk. He's looking at me and he smiles, then blushes and looks at his feet. I'm drunk and grinning stupidly, the way that I always do when I'm drunk. Well, good night, I say. You have my number, I say, call me. He nods and smiles again. I'm waiting for him to say something. Say something. Come on. You can do it.

"Good night, sweet girl."

That'll do it.

Commencement

Well, it happened. A Long Island High School has conferred upon my sister the title of graduate, with all rights and privileges thereof. It was, as usual, a gorgeous day in the New York City metropolitan area. It was overcast and gross, not to mention the stiff breeze that blew off the bay not only put a chill in my bones but also blew up my skirt in the parking lot in front of dozens of other people. As if four years of awkward puberty and embarrassing moments weren't enough, this Long Island High School had to kick me in the ass one more time before the last Grover girl left its hallowed halls forever. I turned around redfaced to see if anyone had caught this and was greeted by the leering stares of a couple of grandfathers behind me, one of whom winked and flashed the "A-OK" sign at me. Flush with embarrassment, I grinned at him and turned around. My father, ever the joker, said, "I can get his number for you if you want me to." Very cute, Dad. Very cute.

The halls of my high school seemed so much smaller than I remembered them and I found myself wondering if that was just because I was older or because I wasn't as intimidated by them anymore. I guess it's probably a little bit of both. We all filed into the gym and scored a bunch of seats, close enough to the stage so that we could see Abby. Then, all of the sudden, "Pomp and Circumstance" was being played by the band and the kids all walked in through the doors at the far end of the gym. Abby saw us and she waved and we all waved back. My mother started to cry. This was no surprise. I was only surprised she hadn't started earlier. She managed to hold herself together during breakfast this morning, but there she was weeping away. She took her seat in the middle of the alphabet (as we Grovers always do) and sat there giggling with Monica Goldman, whose older sister had a baby about 3 months ago.

And as with all events that involve the gathering of a large group of people, naturally we ran into all kinds of people that we knew. Folks from the neighborhood, friends of my parents, parents of Abby's friends. Thus commencement is the beginning of several things, not only the beginning of the end of my sister's high school tenure, but also the beginning of the propositioning of Lisa. It always starts innocently enough.

"So, Lisa, are you seeing anyone?"

And it always ends with, "Well, when are you and (enter stupid and/or ugly son's name here) going to get together and go out?"

I always tell them to give my parents the number. I know that people are just looking out for me and want me to be happy and I'm grateful to them, I really am. But enough is enough already. I want to make an announcement to the world. I will find someone when I find someone, when I'm ready. I'm sorry but I can not live on someone else's timetable. I have a hard enough time living on my own. I'm happy with my life and the way I live it. I promise you that when and if it happens, you'll be the first to know that I'm seeing someone or that I want to date your drooling idiot son, who if I remember correctly either made my life hell in high school by keeping me just on the outskirts of the popular crowd (I'm only human) and just insecure enough that I had layers of emotional issues to peel off in college or he was so socially inept he made Jeremiah Johnson look like Kirsten Dunst.

I'm so proud of Abby. I'm so happy (and jealous) that she's going off to college. And I can't get that music out of my head.

Daaaaaaaah, dah dah dah, daaaaah daaaaah. Daaaaah, dah dah, dah dah. (that's the "Pomp and Circumstance" song)