meantime, I’ll be reading Gone Girl . If that
isn’t ironic?
It’s odd, having
the whole day with nothing to do except read, a long neglected pleasure. In the
past couple of years I’ve been juggling my time between the café and the
university, squeezing in the occasional time out with family or friends, never
too long, often with my mind going in various directions.
There was always
something to remember, something to do, and I never seemed to get to the end of
it. This kind of living has come to a somewhat jarring halt. I’m still winded.
Part of me resents Carter for it, another…Against the odds I’m starting to feel
more relaxed. I have a roof over my head, somewhere far, surrounded by palm
trees, close to the ocean—which I haven’t seen yet up close, but still. I have
food. For the major part of time, the company of a beautiful mysterious woman
who has promised to make me feel things I’ve never felt before. I lay the book
aside for a moment, staring out at the ocean. Yes, I have reasons to be uneasy
with this arrangement, no kidding, but what if I stopped questioning it, trying
to find a way out and just go with it?
I wonder what it
will be like, between us, after sex.
I am curious,
about the woman underneath that confident, used to taking charge exterior. I
have dated, fallen in love, had relationships—a few anyway—with women who were
familiar, like me, lower middle class feminists trying to make sense of an
insane world. I’ve never met anyone like Carter, and once I’ve unlocked that
door, I can’t help imagining what will happen once we are naked together. Her
hands on my body. I can draw the sensation from memory, now, and it’s not hard
to go further than that.
My knee-jerk
reaction has always been to be the good responsible girl—quitting job and
studies like that, who does that? Certainly not me. My grades might not be
exceptional, but I kept them up. I get good tips, because I’m friendly and
efficient. This brings me back to the $1000 tip, the moment our eyes first met.
I feel hot and feverish in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature.
What if I want this to happen? I don’t have anyone to answer to, apparently not
even my boss or advisors. There’s no one I’m cheating on.
If she’s as good
as she says, I might not regret taking a year off after all. I go back to my
reading, though the thoughts and images keep playing at the back of my mind.
I’m changing to The Handmaid’s Tale for a moment, realizing that Haley
and Lara went with quite a few of my picks. I’m drawn back to my present, and
Carter, in a heartbeat.
I’m not caught
up in someone’s dystopian fantasy, am I? I don’t suppose she wants me to have a
child for her. Now I’m going a little crazy, but the stray idea provoked by my
dark reading material leads me to realize once more how little I know about
her. How long has she been out—or is she? Has she been married? Is there a
child, family? The list keeps growing. I’m no psychologist but, based on my
observations and the measures she has taken, I’d say experience made her this
cautious. Maybe this is crazy, but I want to know more. I want to know
what made her think that the only way something could happen between us
involved this much money. I want to understand her.
I want her to be
better than the fictional men I’ve been rolling my eyes about.
* * * *
I discover that
the stereo has a variety of channels, but nothing with news. Not being able to
go online is a relief and has me antsy at the same time. Finally, even though
this is technically still the scheduled vacation time, I go back to the library
and study the curriculum, check for books and articles I’ll need. Carter hasn’t
been kidding. The books are all there, plus an online subscription for the most
important journals, which I of course, can only access offline—I can’t help it,
my jaw drops. This is a student’s dream. It costs a fortune to get all of
those.
I try to
isn’t ironic?
It’s odd, having
the whole day with nothing to do except read, a long neglected pleasure. In the
past couple of years I’ve been juggling my time between the café and the
university, squeezing in the occasional time out with family or friends, never
too long, often with my mind going in various directions.
There was always
something to remember, something to do, and I never seemed to get to the end of
it. This kind of living has come to a somewhat jarring halt. I’m still winded.
Part of me resents Carter for it, another…Against the odds I’m starting to feel
more relaxed. I have a roof over my head, somewhere far, surrounded by palm
trees, close to the ocean—which I haven’t seen yet up close, but still. I have
food. For the major part of time, the company of a beautiful mysterious woman
who has promised to make me feel things I’ve never felt before. I lay the book
aside for a moment, staring out at the ocean. Yes, I have reasons to be uneasy
with this arrangement, no kidding, but what if I stopped questioning it, trying
to find a way out and just go with it?
I wonder what it
will be like, between us, after sex.
I am curious,
about the woman underneath that confident, used to taking charge exterior. I
have dated, fallen in love, had relationships—a few anyway—with women who were
familiar, like me, lower middle class feminists trying to make sense of an
insane world. I’ve never met anyone like Carter, and once I’ve unlocked that
door, I can’t help imagining what will happen once we are naked together. Her
hands on my body. I can draw the sensation from memory, now, and it’s not hard
to go further than that.
My knee-jerk
reaction has always been to be the good responsible girl—quitting job and
studies like that, who does that? Certainly not me. My grades might not be
exceptional, but I kept them up. I get good tips, because I’m friendly and
efficient. This brings me back to the $1000 tip, the moment our eyes first met.
I feel hot and feverish in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature.
What if I want this to happen? I don’t have anyone to answer to, apparently not
even my boss or advisors. There’s no one I’m cheating on.
If she’s as good
as she says, I might not regret taking a year off after all. I go back to my
reading, though the thoughts and images keep playing at the back of my mind.
I’m changing to The Handmaid’s Tale for a moment, realizing that Haley
and Lara went with quite a few of my picks. I’m drawn back to my present, and
Carter, in a heartbeat.
I’m not caught
up in someone’s dystopian fantasy, am I? I don’t suppose she wants me to have a
child for her. Now I’m going a little crazy, but the stray idea provoked by my
dark reading material leads me to realize once more how little I know about
her. How long has she been out—or is she? Has she been married? Is there a
child, family? The list keeps growing. I’m no psychologist but, based on my
observations and the measures she has taken, I’d say experience made her this
cautious. Maybe this is crazy, but I want to know more. I want to know
what made her think that the only way something could happen between us
involved this much money. I want to understand her.
I want her to be
better than the fictional men I’ve been rolling my eyes about.
* * * *
I discover that
the stereo has a variety of channels, but nothing with news. Not being able to
go online is a relief and has me antsy at the same time. Finally, even though
this is technically still the scheduled vacation time, I go back to the library
and study the curriculum, check for books and articles I’ll need. Carter hasn’t
been kidding. The books are all there, plus an online subscription for the most
important journals, which I of course, can only access offline—I can’t help it,
my jaw drops. This is a student’s dream. It costs a fortune to get all of
those.
I try to
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