His/Hers

This is the way it works after you’ve been disappointed or broken or burned.

I mean–I suppose–that this is how it works.You test, and you attempt to conceal and you give away very little. You give, I suppose, just enough for her to be slightly confused. It is not a rejection. But not an acceptance either. You’re careful. Far more careful than you should be because this new person is new and so it stands to reason that she has no real power over you. Yet you’re still careful.

You spend all day preparing a glorious meal that will be enjoyed by your closest. You worry if there will be enough for all. You worry about the seating. The music. So, you spend all day preparing. You enjoy the preparation. Your voice bubbles over with excitement. But you still worry. You worry about the way you should introduce her. Then, in order for there to be no confusion, you call her and you inform her–matter of fact–that you will be introducing her by her first name. Done. Now what’s next? You spend all day preparing and when she arrives you’re so busy that you fail to introduce her to anybody.

But, she manages to make introductions all the same; without your help. You’re not aware of it completely but you imagine that she is smiling and making small talk. You worry when it comes to your attention that your friend knows her sister. You joke, “That is not good at all.” But your joke lands on three blank stares. Then, you realize that you have no idea what that meant. So, you laugh. The laugh that you know she likes in the hope that you’ll unnerve her into forgetting. Then, you’re off again. Executing. Controlling.

This is you. This is your life. And it needs to be perfect.

***

You try to avoid the slurred “I did not know Greek women were this beautiful” and you attempt to steal already stolen glances in his direction. He’s far too busy creating a perfect evening to notice. Jet lagged Out Of Towners hop from single girl to single girl and somewhere in the middle you realize that you are in the middle. Not yet wanted exclusively. But not rejected completely either.

So when when you meet a girl who knows your sister and this girl who knows your sister asks you, “So how do you know him?” you do not know the correct response. And because you haven’t been accepted (but not rejected either) you vaguely reply, “Oh, you know through so and so.”

You fight back by now redundant tears because you’re tired of this. You’re tired of drunk men that use flattery to pass the time at a party. You’re tired of not knowing where you stand. Not with this particular man, at this particular time, but the collective men that have gone in and out of your life. Can just one feel like it will stick? Just one time. Please let it be this time?

You look out into the midnight sky and find a star that you think is a star but its so bright that it could easily be a satellite. A silent satellite orbiting the earth capturing snap shots of disappointments that are so strong that you imagine scientists that study these images are sitting in offices wondering, “Did you see that? Did you see that pulse? There. And there. And there. What IS that?” you imagine them whispering; these scientists.

It is the collective rise of a breath filled with hope and that pulse? That is the collective intake of breath, as single woman after single woman is sucker punched in the gut. In that exact place where all her feelings of ‘certainty’, of female intuition come from. You wonder if any other single girls out there are accidentally wishing on satellites (instead of stars; in that case you’re not the only one fooled by brightness) and you wonder if this is the reason that you’re all still single.

Then, a soft–almost sad–giggle escapes your lips.

This is your life. This is you. And you’re nowhere near perfect.

–
Eleni Papaioannou
is here.

Tagged as: short story; looking for love; expectations