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Thursday, January 31, 2008
Razbliuto: Chapter 2
And so our tale of romance gained and lost continues. Here's part one. There is one change. The person who is the basis for Lucille wanted her name changed to Lucy, which I felt was fair. Now get ready for heartbreak and loads of text with no graphics. I should let you know I do use an offensive term here but it is in effort to describing a particular way I was feeling and with no maliciousness behind it.
I sent an e-mail to Lola soon after the party. I asked her if she wanted to do something "arty" with me anytime soon. A few days later she replied saying she would love to only we'd have to wait a month. Law school finals were right ahead of her and she needed to concentrate on studying. I told her that this was a good idea as I was starting finals as well. No need to tell her that my finals for English Lit were a child's game compared to memorizing cases and precedents. This late in my academic career I was basically being asked "remember what we talked about a few weeks ago? How did you like it?" I would soon be given a diploma for the ability to fill ten pages of a Blue Book with my inflated opinions. With a law degree Lola would soon have the world open to her. With my credentials I could look forward to low paying (or more commonly non-paying) freelance work. Thus started my feelings of unworthiness towards the goddess Lola. A cadre of future Clarence Darrows were probably vying for her hand over on that campus. What was I? A little faggot who has more knowledge of Spider-Man's rogue gallery than social skills. Getting a date with a beautiful woman should by all means give me a more positive outlook. Instead I magnified all the ugly parts I saw in myself.
Thankfully I didn't let such gloom stop me from corresponding with Lola. I learned she wanted to be a lawyer who represents artists, perhaps finding herself working at a small boutique firm. She told me about submitting a film to the city's Jewish film festival while she was in high school (she even has an IMDb page). I mentioned the artist Mark Rothko and she wrote back this electrifying description of seeing one of his works and being devoured by the colors. Read that and her other messages I started falling real hard for the personality behind the pretty face. My opinion of her grew higher and higher. My absurd feelings about myself shrank even further.
I corresponded with Lucy about my feelings. She warned me against placing Lola on any pedestal. While Lucy loved Lola she admitted her friend could be narcissistic, impatient and elitist. A Russian upbringing had left her with little sense of humor. I tried to keep this in mind as the date grew near. Lola suggested the DeYoung Museum which was currently showing the touring Vivienne Westwood exhibit. As it happened I was reading Jon Savage's England's Dreaming, the wonderful book on English punk rock where Westwood plays an important role. She is Malcolm McLaren's friend, business partner and lover. She's the mentor to The Sex Pistol's mentor. I don't believe in fate but the idea gained some credence with me when the woman I was going mad over seemed to match me when it came to aesthetic preferences. Lucy's advice already being forgotten.
Standing outside the museum and seeing her walk towards me gave me such a warm feeling. While she was two inches tall in the distance her little hand exited her jacket pocket and waved to me while her head cocked and I could see her smile. I've seen a million smiles but the way her lips changed shape and her cheeks rose made her different than anyone else. I was put at ease and elated at the same time. She was smiling to me and only me. My low self-esteem was dissolving and I actually started to feel like a new, better person.
She stood before me and I realized that I've never seen her with sober eyes before today. I had also never seen her in the sunlight before. She was stunning, that wasn't an invention of my drunken infatuation. I saw her now as a real person, including imperfections. She had a gray birthmark on her upper lip. But that just told me all this alluring beauty was contained inside a real woman. It only made me go crazy for her in a new way.
While I was entering a dream state she apologized for being a little late. Like I cared. We entered the museum and walked through the permanent exhibits. She told me about her life and I told her about mine. She had a caustic view of her parents. She thought they should have gotten a divorce years ago. She caught herself and apologized, saying that she knew that might sound flippant to an actual child of divorce. I told her I didn't mind although I was a bit taken back by that statement. As we walked though the rooms she expressed her opinions on the paintings, not being excited by much of what we saw. She lit up when we got to the sculptures, telling me of how much she loved the process when she studied art in college. We talked about how the physical act of sculpting meant you would feel like a real accomplishment had been had. I wanted to liken it to the intimacy of sex but, in all my bashfulness, declined. It didn't feel right After all, she mentioned having a boyfriend
I was confused when I learned of this. If she was so dedicated to finals then when did she have the time for a boyfriend? Did she think of what we're doing now as a date with romantic interests behind it? She mentioned doing volunteer work at three different firms, hedging her bets in hopes that at least one would hire her. Perhaps she took a similar strategy towards men I wasn't uncomfortable with the idea.
Throughout the entire museum trip it bothered me. I didn't let it show. I still managed to give her a quick history lesson in English punk rock during the Westwood exhibit. Outside we found ourselves in a small concrete dome on the museum grounds. It was just us. Our voices echoed. I told her that I thought this was going to be something of a romantic enterprise. She said she was sorry if there was any confusion. She told me she loved Lucy but sometimes her friend says too much. I learned later that her boyfriend, Denny, was at the same party where she and I met. I still don't know why she developed a realtionship with him and not me. He was there first I suppose.
Lola asked me if I wanted to leave. I told her no. I was disappointed but I still felt a real connection here. I couldn't just turn my back on all this. Lola truly excited me. I suggested we get lunch.
At the restaurant she and I talked about family. She had a major struggle against her parents. She told me of how they needed to get used to the idea that their daughter wasn't going to just be the grandbaby-machine they thought she'd be at this age. Her fights for independence were often slapped down and decried by parents, especially in light of how traditional her older brother had been. I did a pretty good job of being the understanding and enlightened male during all this. She opened up in a way that I didn't expect on a first date. I did as well although I didn't have anything nearly as interesting to say.
We retired to a nearby bar. There she told me that even though she was in law school and appeared to have a bright future she had no idea what she wanted to do with herself. I realized that Lola grew up knowing exactly what she didn't want to be but she was still trying to find out what she does want to be. I no longer saw her as an angel from Heaven slumming with lowly humans like me. I saw her as a person with as many demons inside as any of us. At the time, invigorated by recently graduating, I was setting out to destroy all my insecurities. I want badly to help her on her fight as well.
We took a walk to, of all things, her therapist's office. During which I found out that she had never seen Citizen Kane. This would be our second "date." No person could live a full life without seeing that film. Outside her therapist's office we shared a nice long hug. The feeling it gave me was the more mature, wiser cousin to what I felt when I first saw her outside the museum. Walking back alone I saw some big writing in chalk on the ground: "You Will Die Happy."Labels: razbliuto
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