31 March 2001 ~ The downfall, the temptation, and the proposition...

The Downfall

As I suspected, I lost an entire week to the droning dysfunction of my newly made friend MaryJane. The weed's effect finally wore off completely on Thursday night; the comedown was unbearable...

I became snappish at everyone. Decided it would be best if I just shut my mouth and held the sadness inward for awhile. Left work feeling once again like throwing myself into the swollen Chenango River, and sat at my computer for hours, just playing solitaire and trying to convince myself I ought to be happy and stay safe. After all, nothing was actually wrong, exactly. Nobody'd said anything nasty to me. Nothing was going really wrong. Hadn't even done anything particularly shameful or embarrassing. Still, the feeling of despair and guilt and self-loathing struck hard. Only the realization that it was "only a chemical thing," as they say, kept me from losing a grip on myself and bursting into tears for no reason.

You know it's bad when the word "solitaire" makes you want to cry.

At 11 or so, I called Norman's house, but he didn't answer. Saw his light on just a few minutes later when I went to the gas station for snacks and cigarettes, and tiptoed up the stairs of his building. I could see his outline in the window, strumming on his guitar, and decided forlornly that he probably hated me, probably knew it was me calling, probably didn't want to see me, probably just wanted me to fucking leave him alone... Of course, there was no indication that he hadn't just been in the bathroom or something when I'd called, but I was sad and decided that everything unfortunate in the world was a direct result of me and my foolishness, though I couldn't immediately come up with any specific examples...

Walked home without having knocked on Norman's door. Figured I'd leave him alone. Figured I'd leave him out of my misery. Figured that even if I did knock, and even if he didn't mind me just showing up on his doorstep, I'd probably burst into tears and ask why he didn't want me around, which would just be dumb... Figured I'd spare him a melodramatic marijuana-comedown.

Went home instead and cried, still supposing I was the world's most abject example of pathetic failure.

Woke up feeling fine. Amazing how these things work. All hail the power of lots and lots of cranberry juice.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Temptation

A few weeks ago, maybe a month ago, I first laid eyes on Laurence. He asked for a coffee-drink, but didn't know what he wanted. So, with all my charms, I talked him into a "Racehorse": four shots of espresso. Impressively, he accepted, and actually finished it before coming over to say hello. Actually, he did more than say hello. He told me he was a photographer in his spare time, and asked if I would be interested in modeling.

[At this point, my co-workers were grinning at me, not knowing exactly what was going on, seeing only that Helena was having a friendly chat with a lovely GQ-ish-looking guy at the end of the counter...]

Would I be interested in MODELLING? Modeling? ME? Let me tell you, THAT is the way to flatter somebody. I'd never been asked to model for anything before, except once, when Mike was practicing drawing the human form and drew me while I was watching X-files. But photography? A medium with so little room for abstractions and cover-ups? ME? The subject of PHOTOGRAPHS? A skinny bespectacled, aproned chick behind the counter of a coffeeshop, who used to cry herself to sleep the night before school pictures because she thought she was ugly? Let me tell you how flabbergasted I was! Of course, I said yes. Laurence and I exchanged phone numbers, and he actually called me a week later.

We talked extensively on the phone. It started as a conversation about photography, gradually becoming a conversation about Germany and "Dancer in the Dark," and college and age (he's seven years my senior). I was impressed: an apparently-straight male who LIKED "Dancer in the Dark." Then again, he is in film and photography by trade... Still, I was impressed. And because I was impressed, I made a fatal mistake. I neglected to mention Norman.

I justified this easily. When you're first meeting somebody, the biggest way to kill a conversation, and certainly the biggest way to lose out BIGTIME on making a new friend is to defensively say, "Well, I DO have a boyfriend." I didn't want to lose that chance. So I didn't once mention Norman.

I realized my mistake quickly enough the next time Laurence and I spoke on the phone. I was well aware that he considered me "available," but HOW, after having a several-hour-long chat, do you explain why you neglected to correct this error?

Several times we spoke on the phone, until we finally made plans to spend some time together in person: a movie called "Aimée and Jaguar" playing at Cornell University in Ithaca. Well, fucking NOW what was I supposed to do? I wanted to have a nice evening with a new friend, wanted to see a German movie about lesbians in a town I haven't been to for a long time... And yeah, I still wanted to stay on the good side of a guy who promised me I was attractive enough to photograph. I did NOT want to ruin all of this by bursting out with something like, "You know... My boyfriend Norman really likes foreign and independent films as well..." Thus began Helena's descent into being a repeat-offender as a verybad girlfriend.

Last night was the "date." We didn't call it a date, but what the hell ELSE do you call it when a guy drives an HOUR out of his way to pick you up, bring you to another town, and see a movie and have dinner with you? If that's not a damned date, I don't know what is.

I was nervous all day. Laurence was expected at 5.30 at Java's, and I couldn't help wondering, "shit, what happens if Laurence comes in to pick me up and hugs me, and my co-workers are watching? What happens if he kisses me or something?" In Java's, news travels VERY fast, especially news about infidelity, so to speak. Would Laurence have the sense to treat this like a friendly get-together, even though he had no reason whatsoever to suspect that it WASN'T supposed to be a date?

And did I WANT it to be "just a friendly get-together"? I guess that's the hard part. It was complicated further by a nagging memory of the previous night's image behind Norman's window: Norman playing his guitar, blissfully ignoring my phone calls and unaware of my presence on his porch... Had Laurence been too tired to drive home after dropping me off in Binghamton, would I have asked him to stay at my place? And if he had, what would have happened? And what would I have WANTED to happen? I honestly didn't freaking know. I knew only that I was going out for the evening to a movie with a very attractive man -- with a GQ appearance, a working knowledge of art-films, pretty brown eyes, and (well, nobody's perfect) a lovely voice lightly inflected with a rancid City-Accent -- and that I didn't KNOW what I wanted, couldn't even be sure I WASN'T trying to set up some sort of romance with Laurence by neglecting to mention my boyfriend... I don't trust myself all that much to be a good girlfriend. Supposing something HAD happened, it wouldn't have been the first time I'd cheated on Norman in the almost-seven months we've been together. No, I don’t trust myself. I don't trust myself at all, and I readily admit I'm probably not ready for the relationship Norman and I have.

I'm almost ashamed to admit it... No, I AM ashamed to admit it -- I'm very ashamed, actually... On the way to Java's to meet Laurence, I stopped in the drugstore and bought a pack of condoms. JUST IN CASE. I can say with certainty that it wasn't a specific expectation, or even a vague hope... But who the hell knows what a movie can lead to!? The first movie I saw with Norman ("Chicken Run") led to QUITE a passionate night in his apartment, and come hell or high water, I'm not going to risk "something" happening with a cute stranger without adequate protection. Then again, I guess purchasing a pack of condoms immediately before going out with somebody sort of proved once and for all that I'm a repeat offender as a verybad girlfriend, even if nothing did happen...

Norman, Norman, Norman, WHY are you with me?

Luckily, Laurence had done a wonderful thing: invited one of his friends to come along with us to see the movie. Thus, it couldn't be properly called a "date," but was nothing more than a friendly get-together... A tension-filled friendly get-together...

The movie was good. It wouldn't make my top-ten list, but it was good. Accidentally brushing knees with Laurence in the movie theater was nice, too... Terrifying, but nice. What the fuck do I do if he makes a move? What the fuck do I do if he tries to take my hand, or kiss my goodnight, or... oh, fuck, Helena, WHAT have you gotten yourself into? We went to dinner afterwards, to a semi-upscale restaurant on the Ithaca Commons called Simeon's. Laurence paid my bill and his own. He'd also bought my movie ticket. I was painfully aware that this WAS, in fact, a date. Despite the awkward third-person, Laurence's friend Karl, this was a date. So, no, there would be no chance of him bringing me home and seducing me (dammit, it is SO easy to seduce me if you know what you're doing...), but regardless, this was a date, complete with chivalrous GQ-looking 27-year-old man, whom I was quite sure I’d be seducing if not for Norman…

The drive back home was even more painful. Ordinarily, this would be the point at which a move would be made. Unfortunately, I don’t know HOW to make a move that isn’t either a short walking tour of historic downtown Binghamton (shut up, David; I know it’s plagiarism, but it works) or something along the lines of foreplay… BUT! FORTUNATELY, good old Karl, who actually looked quite a bit like an Italian-Arabian terrorist, was present, thus stabilizing the tension with his sporadic backseat comments about “Silence of the Lambs.” Nothing happened… Until good old Karl-the-terrorist started dozing off and I made mention of the old drive-in movie theater near the Binghamton airport, shut down several years ago. “We could go there and make out,” teased Laurence. At that point, I knew I was in trouble. “Well, the drive-in’s been shut down for a couple of years now,” I repeated desperately… “Well, then we could drive to the airport and make out,” teased Laurence; “Pay no attention to the man in the backseat.” I think I stopped breathing. Ohhh, Helena, how do you get yourself into these things? “Well,” I replied easily, “we could…

“Huh? What?” sputtered Karl-the-terrorist, waking up a little. Thank you, Karl. Thank you SO much, Karl, for ruining the moment… I cannot deal with this moment! May the higher powers bless you and may your Italian-Arabian terrorist group bestow you with high honors. That was the end of THAT conversation, and when we reached my house, Laurence respected the presence of Karl-the-terrorist by merely kissing me on the cheek, European-style, although he spent a full thirty seconds staring into my eyes and presumably trying to remind himself of Karl’s presence. That was the end of the evening. It was a very nice evening. Although I suspect I’m a verybad girlfriend.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Proposition

*Censored for potentially drama-causing content*

I have to go.

Love,
~Helena*