Project Projection
In conversation with the voyeur
11 Feb, trivia at twelve steps down
megan and gia ask what have i been up to? and i panic because the answer is like, nothing.
i’m approaching three months jobless, two weeks post-ptsd diagnosis, too nervous to eat anything close to a full meal in way too long.
the only thing i can do is write. and i’m trying to write what i know. so what i’m writing about right now is men.
i’m doing this by going on dates with them, which is weird to share with megan given that when we went out back in the fall i was referring to myself as a lesbian. these activities, of course, make me bisexual, which feels embarrassing if true. for a myriad of reasons.
but it’s what i have, so i offer.
they think it’s funny.
and we move on.
What I was looking for: Really anything
What I found: A Patrick Bateman-esque but otherwise nondescript rich asshole who seemed like he wouldn’t give a fuck about me. At least not in any real sense.
Which was perfect. I knew how to play that game.
And so I did.
We met at an incredibly inoffensive bar I later learned was two blocks from his apartment.
I got there before him, sat at a table.
When he walked in he said he was surprised I’d claimed a spot instead of waiting at the door. I said I’d never even considered it.
What I expected to be a few drinks, during which I’d Play The Part, make my observations, and leave with a See You Never turned out to be not nearly as much Part-Playing as I’d expected, of course some observations, and three months of Seeing Each Other Sometimes.
He was shockingly kind and made no mystery of being very into me. For a time. And it was fun. For a time.
But the time ended, and anyways- I was never looking for a boyfriend. I was looking for a story.
16 May, Rittenhouse Park, 2:14 PM
It’s been almost fifty minutes since I asked if he could please meet me here. Sitting on the fountain ledge is no longer pleasant. I have been ready for this to end since last week. I am on edge.
And then my phone buzzes. Finally, it’s him. He’s here.
Wearing blue basketball shorts and a red t-shirt, he walks slowly towards me. He’s fresh from the house of the friend he’s now staying with (woman, older, same profession), the same woman who’d earlier commented on a text conversation of ours “Exhausting”, adding at another time that I seemed “Pretty Directionless”. I’m sure any other comments unfortunately not shared with me were just as flattering. She seemed to take a real interest in me. Can’t imagine why.
When he finally makes his way to me he asks How was work? To which I say Bad, and when he asks Why? I say It doesn’t matter.
We walk in silence for a moment and then I ask What have you been up to today? He says Not much, given that he is hungover from the Adult Prom.
At this point I try to begin the Talk, but he says Can We Not Do This Where People Were Just Yelling and I say Sure so we walk a little further, sit on a bench facing Walnut. I sit on the inside, my bag firmly in my lap. The silence hangs a moment too long, and I don’t wanna drag this out, so I turn to him and say, finally, I am confused. To this he says I would really love to be your friend, but not… the other thing.
This is not surprising.
I say Okay, how long have you known?
Since last night, when you sent that text.
Oh.
After this I say nothing for a bit.
I try to find something to look at- go first to my left, but that is where he is, and I can see him trying to reach my eyes, so I move them away, switch to anywhere / everywhere else.
When I look up I move across the buildings, try to find something meaningful in the way they cut around the sky.
Nothing.
And then out of nowhere (my left), I hear:
Penny For Your Thoughts?
I almost roll my eyes; I almost gag.
But I don’t, and I say, I don’t have anything to say, really.
He nods, or something like it, and then out of his bag pulls the Aquaphor pot I haven’t seen in weeks. This followed by Dad’s old crewneck. I’d been looking for both- had no idea where either had been. He hadn’t bothered to let me know he had them.
I feel, in this moment, genuine sadness- because of course old habits die hard, and of course I did allow myself for a time to believe he genuinely cared about me, and with this reveal, of course, that time has officially, officially ended.
I sit with this for another moment before deciding there’s no more reason for me to be here. My questions are answered; my job is done. So I put my bag over my shoulder, stand up, and say
Okay, well, good luck in New York.
I turn to my right, begin to walk away. I take a step or two before he shouts No, Moira!
I turn around.
He looks at me, mouth open, shocked seemingly.
So, he stammers, We’re just never gonna talk to each other again?
I laugh. What are we gonna talk about?
I try to leave three times before I am successful. When I finally make it out, it is only after telling him that I do not want to be his friend.
This is shocking to him, which is sad. I’m not sure why the hell anyone would want to be friends with someone who treats them like a non-entity whenever it best suits them and then expects no consequences.
But that’s just me.
As I walk back through the park, past the fountain, I feel my body start to loosen; a sick little smile spreads across my face. The rigidity is leaving me; my body feels looser than it has in weeks.
The voyeur is gone. His eyes aren’t on me.
It’s over.
I’m free.