College promised to be the promised land of opportunity. All the movies displayed the copious amounts of interaction and sex that was guaranteed to lead to the commitment of a longterm relationship. For me the promise of the party held true without the ending of a desire fulfilled. Much like high school, the need to display a sense of masculinity took president and hoped to attract a mate through shear force. In college the sporting arena was replaced by the garage, rundown house or basement of the college party. Within these confines, card games provided the window for uncontrolled consumption. Nights became filled with noise. The other sex was viewed in glances of absence from falling clothing and the occasional saliva filled grope session. When reality returned from these booze soaked evenings, rejection through indifference usually followed.
For some college served as the proving ground. High school relationship were put to the test of distance and the numbing sensations of drugs and alcohol. Since I had no relationship to evaluate, I made only brief attempts to impress my objects of high school attention and/or try to lure the feminine half away from her suitor. For me, the break though of a kiss after much build up would lead not the onslaught of passion that I expected but rather a quick retreat of shame. Left on the many outdoor stairways, porches or stoops, beer and future vomit would be my solis.
Needless to say, I lived my life to the fullest but out the fulfillment of the relationship that absorbed many others. It was not that I was not looking but that I had not found. Reasoning and logic had defied all of my attempts to justify one girl over another and simply left me.
When I finished my degree in accounting, I headed south from my university town of Madison to the big city of Chicago. That is where I was when I saw my fixation for the first time. The small coffee shop was a often frequented out of pure connivence. Despite my dislike of the chain, it was hard to avoid a caffeine fix located in the bottom of my apartment building.
Lately, the coffee shop had become a place to escape. It was as if the walls of the apartment would shrink in the few waking hours that I would spend in the place that I was supposed to call home. Each morning, I would awake to her appearance. Despondent and devoid of the signs of life, Kristen would sleep on as I prepared and departed for my office job. In the evening, I would return to the minimal acknowledgment from her silhouette against the light of the lap top screen. Dinner was prepared and eaten in relative silence. Time on the internet or reading concluded the day.
It was the vacancy of passion that would drive us downstairs into the coffee shop. In this well lit and uniformly trendy designed environment at least life existed. Even if it was contained outside of the bubble that contained Kristen and myself. I would slowly sip my chai and watch the others from the outside.
For me the entertainment that I derived from watching others could be isolated to the analysis of the relationships that were shared. Why is she with him? Whoa! Look at the pomposity of that man-child and the self delusion that he must suffer from. She is so unattractive but it must work for him. All blanket judgements, I know. I find this to be my search for truth rather than judgement. When my peering eyes have left their world, it is they who return to each other arms and leave me stranded.
With a particularly happy couple who painlessly flaunt their pleasure, my focus becomes two part. First, I focus on their faces. I notice the joy and warmth that is conveyed solely with expression. A smile is all it takes to inspire a laugh. Eyebrows lift in anticipation. Little insignificant details in speech inspire such anticipation.
After my brief facial examination, my focus returns to the face of my companion. Brow furrowed with intensity. A scowl begins at the crest of the upper lip and cascades forth pulling her cheeks over there protruding ridges. Her expression is not one of anger. Anger would show too much emotion and betray her indifference to the world. Under her eyes shows the dark circles that indicate a lack of sleep even though she slumbers more than she is awake.
Active and in motion, my analysis returns to the hands of the couple. The woman's dominate hand always seems to venture out but return faithfully to her face. Here it rests. Delicacy in touch highlights the angle of the chin as she brushes it softly. The motion created to flip a stray hair behind her ear continues down the side of her face. The weight is transferred to her elbow as a sigh releases her to a closer examination of her desire. His dominate hand has been placed gently between her thighs with modesty. Here it is clinched by her in a way that could only display a desire to be closer. His other hand smoothly transitions from his drink to cradle her weight bearing hand.
Kristen's hands hold action but action that is far more brisk. Quick flips of her magazine pages allow for the only revelation of skin from bundle of clothing. Her hand is withdraw just as fast as it is revealed to the world. Where her hands return to within her cloak of warmth is a mystery. I can only assume that they caress and hold those parts of her body that she longs to have held. The habit of loneliness has left her to become self-reliant when it comes to touch.
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