Lucky

I'm gonna be honest, I don't care for the bands that perform where I work. Mostly its washed up old artists whose heyday has long passed or one-hit-wonders who disappeared into obscurity 10-15 years ago. So the other night when Teddy Thompson played a set of achingly honest songs about heartbreak that nearly brought me to tears, I was surprised. He was good. Really good. Sad but funny. A hard balance to strike, one that I sometimes try to pull off myself. I can always appreciate a depressed person with a wicked sense of humor!

At the end of the night my coworker and I were sent to clean out the green room (the artist's dressing room/lounge). Teddy was slumped on the cheap vinyl sofa by himself smoking a cigarette. Looking like the quintessential tortured rock star.

As I cleared two half full carafes of wine off the table, I joked, "Great, now I have something to drink." My coworker shot back, "There's probably spit in them." Teddy looked up and deadpanned in his British accent, "Yeah, I spit in them." "Then I will definitely drink them!" I said. We all laughed.
I hesitated and said awkwardly, "I normally don't talk to the artists here but I just wanted to say that your set was really wonderful. Just lovely. I think the best I've seen and I've been working here a year"
He looked at me sincerely, "Thanks that means a lot."
I should have left it at that but then I tried for a couple more laughs. Just to show that I was funny too. The thing about being funny is that you gotta know when to stop with a joke. Oh well...

Anyway, I went home and listened to a bunch of his songs. They were sad and sweet and addictive.

Times like these I feel genuinely lucky to be working where I do. Lucky to be in New York City. Lucky to be me. Life is full of surprises - some of them are even pleasant.

Just Another Night

Its 2am on a Monday. JR reared his head like a graceless spectacle from the past to collect his last paycheck tonight. Apparently things aren't going so well at his new executive chef job (I could have predicted this). But still, I say to him sincerely, "That's too bad I really wanted it to work out for you." "Thanks", he says, "I can see you did." But then I can't resist adding, "What, did you think I wanted you to crash and burn?!!" I laugh wryly. The truth, as ever, is ellusive. I both wanted him to succeed AND to fail. Why does everything in life have to be so complex?

As I observe him, his short dark hair, freshly shorn, tall and slightly awkward, I feel nothing. No hint of my previous desire. He seems young, dorky and lost. He asks for advice about how to handle an interview tomorrow. I'm tired and irritable. Earlier in the evening I had tripped at work and fallen. Everyone rushed over to me while I lay on the floor feeling the hot sting of tears. "I'm OK", I reassured them, getting up shakily. But the truth is I'm not OK. I feel delicate and crazy. A bad combination. Like I might suddenly shatter.

L and I go to a divey Irish bar for a 'nitecap'. The bar is practically empty. The bartender does several shots of Jameson with us. A strange thing about this city; I get free drinks where ever I go. Not that I'm complaining. The bartender is from Queens. I tell him I love native New Yorkers, that they are some of the most weirdly compassionate people I've ever met. He laughs and agrees. I'm suddenly anxious to go. L stays on to drink more whiskey with him.

Its snowing outside. Big feathery flakes. I turn my face up and let them fall on my cheeks and eyelids. Everything is soft and beautiful.

Then I'm waiting for the train at W 4th Street eating a pack of nuts. I secretly want to run into JR waiting for his train. I want to go back to those days when waiting for the train wasn't lonely and sad. The days when we were drunk and laughing, making out, heedless of everyone else's glances. He'd have his arms around me and I didn't care if it took an hour for the next train to come. I was just happy in those moments.

But I'm alone now and not young. The train comes and I'm as lost as ever, going home to somewhere that will never be home. I can't wait to lie in my bed and listen to love songs. I just want to cry and cry and cry until I feel pure and empty.

My heart, my mind - they've always been treacherous.

Same Old Story

I went out with my coworkers again tonight. I cannot seem to avoid it lately. I just can't bear to go home at night, I don't know how to be there. It was JR's last night, well perhaps tomorrow really will be but I was desperate to avoid him so I got my shift covered in order to miss the inevitable awkward goodbye. The fact is that everything has degenerated into utter crap between us. His ostentatious flirting in front of me makes me jealous and insecure. I'm pissed and disgusted with him and even more pissed and disgusted with myself that I was dumb enough to fall for someone so young. Those times of laughter, those fleeting moments of comfort, all those warm feelings have soured into to guilty glances and uncomfortable pauses. I am sad and I can't hide it.

I watched him working in the kitchen tonight, watched his back as he bent over the stove, watched his big, gentle hands as he assembled food on the plates. I still remember how nice it was to kiss him but now I can't even look him in the eye anymore. When I saw him leaning against the counter in his chef's coat at the end of his shift, it occurred to me that this will probably be the last time I ever see him. I am not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed.

Anyway, the bar was crowded and hot. We were jammed into a table in the middle of it all. Everyone clammering in conversation. Talking about men and women. The talk drifted to how hard it is to find love in New York. How there are just so many options. So many people to choose from.

We talked of fighting. I said I will fight for anyone I love, family or friend. I am not a pacifist. If it comes down to it, I'll fight. Then my coworker told me how she once broke someone's arm when she was nine. Her sharp cheekbones flashed in the dim light and I saw that she is like me, she would fight in defense if she had to. I like passionate people.

Suddenly I realize that there is nothing that I want more than to be home alone. I'm tired of being a fighter and a lover. Its exhausting and this loneliness is wearing me thin. Won't my luck ever change?