Compared To What

I was hanging out with a buddy of mine last night who recently started dating a doctor.

"What kind of medicine does she practice?"

"Geriatrics."

"Well, that's different."

"Man, it is the greatest shit."

"What do you mean?"

"Like the other night. She was holding my hand, and began rubbing and saying, 'Your skin is so soft.' Then, she took my face and started going on and on about how smooth it was. Since she spends her whole day prodding, probing and touching leathery, wrinkled 80 year olds all day, it makes me seems fresher. "

I knew what he meant. When I lived in New York, I had a brief fling with a social worker. She dealt with abused and neglected kids. The first and last date, we were having drinks, and I had her in hysterics. About eight or nine times, she said, "You're so funny."

I'm not that funny. I mean that funny. She spent her days managing emotional pain and impossible situations. An overwhelming number of them. That night, by a fire place at Merchants, about two thirds of the way through her third merlot, it -- days, weeks, maybe months worth -- was all coming out through her mouth in throaty laugh.

It was bit too heavy though. I remember the moment I thought it was time to move on. About three hours later. Her dog was going absolutely nuts, biting at the door knob, tearing at the pine. Maybe he thought I was strangling her. "Ignore him. He's just really possessive." Then, she started laughing and laughing. Then crying. "I'm sorry." "No, its cool, really."

Some people get off on melancholy. At that time in my life, I was only in it for the kicks. I stood for an hour that night -- that magical time of the morning between 2 and 3 -- waiting for the 1 train going uptown, just breathing in and out and trying to keep it simple.