Not long ago, a young cute single girl mother of one moved in next door. Her window looks into my apartment living room, and I had no idea she existed until recently, about a few months back. She'd keep her curtains on, not a shadow to be detected from her ghostly place. And that was fine with me because at least that way I didn't have to deal with anyone blasting the stereo in the wee hours of morning. More than noisy parties and the wild outdoors, I seek silence and harmony, and both reigned supreme once this unknown of girl moved in. Don't get me wrong, I love music, I'm with the mad philosophy Nietzsche when he said that a world without music would have been a terrible mistake. Not a day in my life has passed that I've not played my tunes, as far back as I can remember music has truly been its etymological symbol: a muse. But my idea of enjoying it has nothing, if anything, to do with waking the neighbors up, and if I must indulge in the sporadic temptation of blasting the 1,000 watts off my Panasonic Surround Sound System, it has been at a proper and for a limited spam of time. Case closed.
The thing was, as I once was entering my tiny sanctuary, when I felt eyes burning on my back. It was the girl who had recently moved next door as she made it to her own place. I sort of glanced over my shoulder, just to make sure I stood tall in the face of danger, but there was none to be had since I saw it was a girl, accompanied by a little girl. I kind of saw the little one, since I could on the spot determine the woman behind such prodigious cute little thing. I remember thinking to myself, If things go well, one day my baby boy will enjoy this sight from a more personal space. I laughed at the idea, without even raising my eyes to her mother, whom I imagined to be quite something. I proceeded with my business, not one to stay for long at any given feminine venture, and made my way in the door. Next thing you know, the window curtains were raised, and the girl living by my side opened up. Little by little, I detected her unraveling before my very eyes. She'd wear nothing more than a pair of panties and a shirt two sizes smaller to show off her tatto right up her butt. Typical girl thing, I thought, and didn't give it a second thought. No, wait. First there was that time when I was entering the building and I saw her coming with her cute little daughter. I held the door for her, since she was just a few steps away, and as I held her open, she stared into my eyes. This is a delicate affair, one I am most familiar with. I didn't give her my usual predatory look with enough cool to melt a rock. I gave her my hurry-and-get-the-door-because-I-need-to-be-on-my-way, one I just invented right there. Okay, the look also said: "You're hot. And so what?" Not much a smiler, I've been told, not much emotion involved, you've seen it before in other guys. Except in them it comes off either sketchy or too brazed, mine is unique in the sense that is, well, sincere. It has three elements: serenity, curiosity, and something close to a well-guarded mystery. And if you look long enough, you may detect a trace of teenage rebelion, toppled with evolved masculitiny, and a thing or two about I see you, I really, really see you. And all this took just a fraction of a second, maybe two. She flashed a smile that read: "Hey, it's okay, I know deep down inside you want me like every other man that has come before you has." So, I kept it real: either you grab this door, so I can be on my way, or you're out, it was my look back. And so she did, rushed, still her eyes lingering, and when a girl gives you more than a nanosecond of play into her mirrored soul, it's on. I smiled, as if to say, "Don't take things too literally." As in, "Hey, that was arrogant of me but isn't cool to jerk things around?" Then I kept to myself, as I most usually do, and it was as if the world had turned on her. I didn't rush; I got the mail, and allow her to go up the stairs.
And it was.
She'd be sitting on her computer, just like she is right now, and I'd be sitting giving my back to the window like I am right now on mine. She'd still wear close to little, relaxed, composed, finally here was a man not drooling over the goods and yet, still a man. From her window to mine, my curiosity grew, and I'd just glance over my shoulder the angel standing there. "See, it's okay" I'd feel throughout my body and it'd emanate through the window and make it all the way to her place. Women, I envy this ability you possess very few men know of: the ability to read like an open book any gesture, any sudden shift of movement, the brief slight of hand, and so the alternative is to be completely comfortable with who you are. Isn't that what a man does best or should anyway? See your powers, acknowledge them, and simply move on. And if you're adventurous enough just follow, and let him lead the way. My stepson warned me: she has a boyfriend. That doesn't mean shit, I told him, and I warned him about the Madonna/Whore Complex, of which I will explain at another sitting. Not just a boyfriend, but an ex-husband who usually comes over. Guys, if you want a girl who is not seeing anyone other than you then move to mars on a perfect spaceship which is what I'll do one day with Shari. Of course, Elizabeth picked up on it quick. At one point, my step son's favorite friend, to whom I play mentor and intent to turn around and make invinsible not just with women but life. That's not a metaphor, it's life. Look, apparantly, women are here to stay, they're not going anywhere anytime soon, so you might as well learn to deal with it. The kid had made a mistake, you see. He caught her staring this way, standing on the window, and stupidly pointed out. "Hey, man. There's a woman across from here making gestures." I almost smacked him. Not only he chose the worst possible timing, when Elizabeth was over, but also what business of his was to telegraph his comment with inexperienced boyish charm. I banned him from the apartment for the rest of the afternoon and the girl went into hiding for a few days. Cock-sucker kid, I had to place him in reality and told him the short version: Look, a woman can be jumping up and down on a trampolin that your business is always to simply keep your cool. So, chill, I told him.
To make a long story short, since the night calls for me now, I'll say that a couple of days back her I caught her boy-toy looking over here. The guy is so insecure that instead of looking away, he crept and upped the staring context. I blew smoke and cracked my irresistible seductor smile. He backed down and said something to the girl, whom immediately closed her windows. That is, of course, until he left. And so, I opened mine until he was gone and then when she did open hers, I let the curtain fall. Which is exactly what I'll do right now: give her a little glimpse of me with my brand new cowboy hat, stylish pair of jeans, dreamy boots, spotless pink shirt, and then close it.
Let's leave it at that for now. No need to incriminate her further, in fact I'm cutting out entire passages, like her standing over staring this way, until I caught her eye and then smile before bringing the curtain down long enough to hide her face and well open to see the rest of her body. I got up, like I'm about to do right now, turned off the lights and brought the curtain down.
Until the next adventure, I shall play the part of someone who wants no part in this. Really, I don't. But what choice do I have? When a woman wants you, there is no God, to quote Márquez yet again.
The thing was, as I once was entering my tiny sanctuary, when I felt eyes burning on my back. It was the girl who had recently moved next door as she made it to her own place. I sort of glanced over my shoulder, just to make sure I stood tall in the face of danger, but there was none to be had since I saw it was a girl, accompanied by a little girl. I kind of saw the little one, since I could on the spot determine the woman behind such prodigious cute little thing. I remember thinking to myself, If things go well, one day my baby boy will enjoy this sight from a more personal space. I laughed at the idea, without even raising my eyes to her mother, whom I imagined to be quite something. I proceeded with my business, not one to stay for long at any given feminine venture, and made my way in the door. Next thing you know, the window curtains were raised, and the girl living by my side opened up. Little by little, I detected her unraveling before my very eyes. She'd wear nothing more than a pair of panties and a shirt two sizes smaller to show off her tatto right up her butt. Typical girl thing, I thought, and didn't give it a second thought. No, wait. First there was that time when I was entering the building and I saw her coming with her cute little daughter. I held the door for her, since she was just a few steps away, and as I held her open, she stared into my eyes. This is a delicate affair, one I am most familiar with. I didn't give her my usual predatory look with enough cool to melt a rock. I gave her my hurry-and-get-the-door-because-I-need-to-be-on-my-way, one I just invented right there. Okay, the look also said: "You're hot. And so what?" Not much a smiler, I've been told, not much emotion involved, you've seen it before in other guys. Except in them it comes off either sketchy or too brazed, mine is unique in the sense that is, well, sincere. It has three elements: serenity, curiosity, and something close to a well-guarded mystery. And if you look long enough, you may detect a trace of teenage rebelion, toppled with evolved masculitiny, and a thing or two about I see you, I really, really see you. And all this took just a fraction of a second, maybe two. She flashed a smile that read: "Hey, it's okay, I know deep down inside you want me like every other man that has come before you has." So, I kept it real: either you grab this door, so I can be on my way, or you're out, it was my look back. And so she did, rushed, still her eyes lingering, and when a girl gives you more than a nanosecond of play into her mirrored soul, it's on. I smiled, as if to say, "Don't take things too literally." As in, "Hey, that was arrogant of me but isn't cool to jerk things around?" Then I kept to myself, as I most usually do, and it was as if the world had turned on her. I didn't rush; I got the mail, and allow her to go up the stairs.
And it was.
She'd be sitting on her computer, just like she is right now, and I'd be sitting giving my back to the window like I am right now on mine. She'd still wear close to little, relaxed, composed, finally here was a man not drooling over the goods and yet, still a man. From her window to mine, my curiosity grew, and I'd just glance over my shoulder the angel standing there. "See, it's okay" I'd feel throughout my body and it'd emanate through the window and make it all the way to her place. Women, I envy this ability you possess very few men know of: the ability to read like an open book any gesture, any sudden shift of movement, the brief slight of hand, and so the alternative is to be completely comfortable with who you are. Isn't that what a man does best or should anyway? See your powers, acknowledge them, and simply move on. And if you're adventurous enough just follow, and let him lead the way. My stepson warned me: she has a boyfriend. That doesn't mean shit, I told him, and I warned him about the Madonna/Whore Complex, of which I will explain at another sitting. Not just a boyfriend, but an ex-husband who usually comes over. Guys, if you want a girl who is not seeing anyone other than you then move to mars on a perfect spaceship which is what I'll do one day with Shari. Of course, Elizabeth picked up on it quick. At one point, my step son's favorite friend, to whom I play mentor and intent to turn around and make invinsible not just with women but life. That's not a metaphor, it's life. Look, apparantly, women are here to stay, they're not going anywhere anytime soon, so you might as well learn to deal with it. The kid had made a mistake, you see. He caught her staring this way, standing on the window, and stupidly pointed out. "Hey, man. There's a woman across from here making gestures." I almost smacked him. Not only he chose the worst possible timing, when Elizabeth was over, but also what business of his was to telegraph his comment with inexperienced boyish charm. I banned him from the apartment for the rest of the afternoon and the girl went into hiding for a few days. Cock-sucker kid, I had to place him in reality and told him the short version: Look, a woman can be jumping up and down on a trampolin that your business is always to simply keep your cool. So, chill, I told him.
To make a long story short, since the night calls for me now, I'll say that a couple of days back her I caught her boy-toy looking over here. The guy is so insecure that instead of looking away, he crept and upped the staring context. I blew smoke and cracked my irresistible seductor smile. He backed down and said something to the girl, whom immediately closed her windows. That is, of course, until he left. And so, I opened mine until he was gone and then when she did open hers, I let the curtain fall. Which is exactly what I'll do right now: give her a little glimpse of me with my brand new cowboy hat, stylish pair of jeans, dreamy boots, spotless pink shirt, and then close it.
Let's leave it at that for now. No need to incriminate her further, in fact I'm cutting out entire passages, like her standing over staring this way, until I caught her eye and then smile before bringing the curtain down long enough to hide her face and well open to see the rest of her body. I got up, like I'm about to do right now, turned off the lights and brought the curtain down.
Until the next adventure, I shall play the part of someone who wants no part in this. Really, I don't. But what choice do I have? When a woman wants you, there is no God, to quote Márquez yet again.
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