Soundtrack of Our Lives: Everything But The Girl, Walking Wounded
Well before things had gotten to this stage, I'd thought about what would happen once things did get to that stage because I knew they would. Should I leave Victor? Could I? Wouldn't that be the wrong thing to do? I loved Victor and didn't want to abandon him when he so obviously needed something or someone, maybe even me. But I had plenty of things going on myself—school, work, my life. Being with him was starting to make me feel old. I didn't want to be his or anyone's caretaker. I decided to throw myself into work and school. I figured that the busier I was, the less time I had to worry about Victor. And the less time I had to worry about Victor, the happier I'd be. It was, obviously, by no means a solution to anything, but at that point, I was incapable of finding a solution. The best I could hope for was a distraction.
The distraction came in the form of one Matthew S. K_____. I had a work-study job in the _______ department and he was a GTA in that same department, but we didn't have any real reason to hang out with each other since we weren't working for the same professor. We'd bump into each other at the copier or getting a coffee, introductions, some small talk. So when he came over to me at the bulletin board one afternoon, I was having a difficult time trying to hide my excitement. The board was full of brochures for ______ programs at other universities. Those brochures made everything look so promising, with their glossy pictures and high design. Looking at them relaxed me. Everyone in the pictures seemed so happy and well adjusted. I made up little scenarios for the people: I imagined them sitting around in coffee shops, smoking cigarettes, and having deep and meaningful conversations. I'd walk over to them and they'd say, "Hey! Iseult! Come join us. We were just discussing Laura Mulvey and wondered what your take was." I'd offer some pithy analysis and they'd nod and agree and love me…
I'd been giving serious thought to transferring schools for many reasons, most of which were related to Victor. I was feeling shitty about how much I was fucking off in my classes and the thought was gnawing away at me: You are smarter than this. I'd casually broached the subject with Victor, but he almost had a meltdown. "I need you," he'd said. "You can't just up and leave. What about me?"
Yeah well, what about me? I thought. I rolled my eyes at the memory and bent down to tie my shoe.
"Hi."
I looked up, "Oh, hey." My face felt hot. Matthew had a pencil tucked behind his ear and was wearing tortoise-shell framed glasses. Kind of like Elvis Costello's, but smaller. "I almost didn't recognize you."
"I don't recognize me in them yet," he smiled. "You like them? They're new." I nodded and tried to focus my attention back on the board. He stood next to me and looked at it. "Working late?"
"Yeah. Professor Avery is getting ready for that conference next week."
"That's what I'd guessed. He's pretty great, isn't he?" He took off his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. I could see a flash of skin just above his waist. The waistband of his boxers stuck out a little—they were pink.
"Yeah. He's … been really good to me." The building was always cold, but I was sweating. What is your problem? I thought, He's just being nice.
He nodded toward the board. "So, are you thinking about trying one of these programs?"
I took a deep breath, "Well…have you ever felt like you weren't in the right place? Like, that somewhere else would be better even though you don't know where that somewhere else is? I don't know if that makes any sense—I just know that right now, I'm starting to feel like I'm a robot, and…well, yeah." I stopped, embarrassed that I'd rambled so much.
He looked thoughtful. "I think everyone feels that way sometimes." I noticed that he smelled like soap—clean. I liked that. "And I'm sure that you'll figure it out. You've got time. I can tell you that this is a really good program and you might want to stick it out. I mean, Professor Avery is very well respected. He's got clout. And tenure, which must be nice…" he chuckled.
"Yeah, I bet it is," I met his eyes for a second. He looked down at me expectantly. Cocked his head to the side and really looked at me. There was something vaguely sexual about it. Or maybe there wasn't and I just hoped there was. He was probably still getting used to the glasses. I felt warm all over. I looked down at my shoes. "Well, I'm only thinking about it, for now."
He looked at me again like he was expecting me to say something else, but my brain turned off. "Okay…So I guess I'll see you around?"
"Yeah. See you," I watched him walk away. When he got to the end of the hall, he turned around and waved.
A week or so later, I was getting ready to leave Professor Avery's office and was rummaging through my bag looking for my headphones. I'd been at the radio station earlier that day and Buddha gave me an advance copy of Everything But The Girl's Walking Wounded to play on my show. I wasn't a huge EBTG fan—they were a little too adult contemporary for me. Having loved the remixes I'd heard from their previous album, Amplified Heart, however, I was excited to listen to the new album because it was supposed to be more of the same and better. I was locking up and listening to and loving the hell out of "Before Today," when I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped.
"Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you," It was Matthew. I hadn't seen him since the bulletin board and I'd been looking.
"Oh, hey!" My heart raced.
"I was on my way out and I thought I'd stop and say hello. How are you? I was hoping I'd see you."
He was hoping he'd see me? "I'm…good. How are you?" I made a big show of adjusting my headphones and fiddling with my keys. I felt like I needed to have something to do with my hands. I really wanted a cigarette.
"I'm fine. Busy, though. This dissertation is killing me. Want to walk out?"
"Sure." We headed down the stairs and out to the Oval.
"Which way are you headed?"
"South campus."
"Me, too."
I pulled out a pack of Parliaments and offered him one. He took out a lighter from his backpack, lit mine, his. After the first drag, I felt more in control of my faculties and we ended up having a good conversation about school, his paper, my classes. We got to the corner of 12th and Neil and stopped. "I'm going this way," I pointed toward 12th.
"I'm going that way," he pointed down Neil. We stood there and looked at each other under the streetlight. I heard people laughing. Cars. Dogs barking. It was windy and there was a slight whistle in the trees. I could have stood there for hours. Finally he said, "Do you think you'd be interested in going to the bookstore with me this weekend? I need to get some things for class and I figured you might be the sort to like bookstores."
Victor's face flashed in front of my eyes. He'd made these big plans for us because it had been a while since we'd been on a real date. "I, uh, well, this weekend, it's not good—"
"Oh—You have plans."
"No," I lied, "It's just that, um, I have some things I need to do." A drop of sweat ran down my back, all the way to my waist, making me squirm. "I'm sorry…"
"Well, maybe sometime during the week?"
I spoke before I thought—it just came out, "I'm free on Wednesday."
"Great. I'll call you." He took an appointment book out of his bag and wrote down my number in the Wednesday block. He had one of those really good pens. A Parker. I could see on the Friday block, "Kate," and on Sunday, "Kate." Monday was "Lunch with Kathleen," Tuesday, "Dinner with A," whom I imagined was "Angie" or "Amanda." And now Wednesday was "Bookstore with Iseult." There appeared to be a lot of girls in that book. I wondered how many more there were. "Wednesday, it is."
"Great. Sounds good."
We said our goodbyes and I headed for my apartment, feeling more than a little guilty. Had it been Victor in this position, I would have been furious, felt betrayed—it wasn't like I wanted to be friends with Matthew. I had plenty of friends already. I lit another cigarette. He's just a colleague, I thought. A fellow employee of the ______ department. We both work there. We're coworkers. I'm going to the bookstore with a coworker. I ran my hand up the back of my shirt; my fingers were slick with sweat.
Everything But The Girl, Walking Wounded
Gift of Buddha, spring 1996
The distraction came in the form of one Matthew S. K_____. I had a work-study job in the _______ department and he was a GTA in that same department, but we didn't have any real reason to hang out with each other since we weren't working for the same professor. We'd bump into each other at the copier or getting a coffee, introductions, some small talk. So when he came over to me at the bulletin board one afternoon, I was having a difficult time trying to hide my excitement. The board was full of brochures for ______ programs at other universities. Those brochures made everything look so promising, with their glossy pictures and high design. Looking at them relaxed me. Everyone in the pictures seemed so happy and well adjusted. I made up little scenarios for the people: I imagined them sitting around in coffee shops, smoking cigarettes, and having deep and meaningful conversations. I'd walk over to them and they'd say, "Hey! Iseult! Come join us. We were just discussing Laura Mulvey and wondered what your take was." I'd offer some pithy analysis and they'd nod and agree and love me…
I'd been giving serious thought to transferring schools for many reasons, most of which were related to Victor. I was feeling shitty about how much I was fucking off in my classes and the thought was gnawing away at me: You are smarter than this. I'd casually broached the subject with Victor, but he almost had a meltdown. "I need you," he'd said. "You can't just up and leave. What about me?"
Yeah well, what about me? I thought. I rolled my eyes at the memory and bent down to tie my shoe.
"Hi."
I looked up, "Oh, hey." My face felt hot. Matthew had a pencil tucked behind his ear and was wearing tortoise-shell framed glasses. Kind of like Elvis Costello's, but smaller. "I almost didn't recognize you."
"I don't recognize me in them yet," he smiled. "You like them? They're new." I nodded and tried to focus my attention back on the board. He stood next to me and looked at it. "Working late?"
"Yeah. Professor Avery is getting ready for that conference next week."
"That's what I'd guessed. He's pretty great, isn't he?" He took off his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. I could see a flash of skin just above his waist. The waistband of his boxers stuck out a little—they were pink.
"Yeah. He's … been really good to me." The building was always cold, but I was sweating. What is your problem? I thought, He's just being nice.
He nodded toward the board. "So, are you thinking about trying one of these programs?"
I took a deep breath, "Well…have you ever felt like you weren't in the right place? Like, that somewhere else would be better even though you don't know where that somewhere else is? I don't know if that makes any sense—I just know that right now, I'm starting to feel like I'm a robot, and…well, yeah." I stopped, embarrassed that I'd rambled so much.
He looked thoughtful. "I think everyone feels that way sometimes." I noticed that he smelled like soap—clean. I liked that. "And I'm sure that you'll figure it out. You've got time. I can tell you that this is a really good program and you might want to stick it out. I mean, Professor Avery is very well respected. He's got clout. And tenure, which must be nice…" he chuckled.
"Yeah, I bet it is," I met his eyes for a second. He looked down at me expectantly. Cocked his head to the side and really looked at me. There was something vaguely sexual about it. Or maybe there wasn't and I just hoped there was. He was probably still getting used to the glasses. I felt warm all over. I looked down at my shoes. "Well, I'm only thinking about it, for now."
He looked at me again like he was expecting me to say something else, but my brain turned off. "Okay…So I guess I'll see you around?"
"Yeah. See you," I watched him walk away. When he got to the end of the hall, he turned around and waved.
A week or so later, I was getting ready to leave Professor Avery's office and was rummaging through my bag looking for my headphones. I'd been at the radio station earlier that day and Buddha gave me an advance copy of Everything But The Girl's Walking Wounded to play on my show. I wasn't a huge EBTG fan—they were a little too adult contemporary for me. Having loved the remixes I'd heard from their previous album, Amplified Heart, however, I was excited to listen to the new album because it was supposed to be more of the same and better. I was locking up and listening to and loving the hell out of "Before Today," when I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped.
"Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you," It was Matthew. I hadn't seen him since the bulletin board and I'd been looking.
"Oh, hey!" My heart raced.
"I was on my way out and I thought I'd stop and say hello. How are you? I was hoping I'd see you."
He was hoping he'd see me? "I'm…good. How are you?" I made a big show of adjusting my headphones and fiddling with my keys. I felt like I needed to have something to do with my hands. I really wanted a cigarette.
"I'm fine. Busy, though. This dissertation is killing me. Want to walk out?"
"Sure." We headed down the stairs and out to the Oval.
"Which way are you headed?"
"South campus."
"Me, too."
I pulled out a pack of Parliaments and offered him one. He took out a lighter from his backpack, lit mine, his. After the first drag, I felt more in control of my faculties and we ended up having a good conversation about school, his paper, my classes. We got to the corner of 12th and Neil and stopped. "I'm going this way," I pointed toward 12th.
"I'm going that way," he pointed down Neil. We stood there and looked at each other under the streetlight. I heard people laughing. Cars. Dogs barking. It was windy and there was a slight whistle in the trees. I could have stood there for hours. Finally he said, "Do you think you'd be interested in going to the bookstore with me this weekend? I need to get some things for class and I figured you might be the sort to like bookstores."
Victor's face flashed in front of my eyes. He'd made these big plans for us because it had been a while since we'd been on a real date. "I, uh, well, this weekend, it's not good—"
"Oh—You have plans."
"No," I lied, "It's just that, um, I have some things I need to do." A drop of sweat ran down my back, all the way to my waist, making me squirm. "I'm sorry…"
"Well, maybe sometime during the week?"
I spoke before I thought—it just came out, "I'm free on Wednesday."
"Great. I'll call you." He took an appointment book out of his bag and wrote down my number in the Wednesday block. He had one of those really good pens. A Parker. I could see on the Friday block, "Kate," and on Sunday, "Kate." Monday was "Lunch with Kathleen," Tuesday, "Dinner with A," whom I imagined was "Angie" or "Amanda." And now Wednesday was "Bookstore with Iseult." There appeared to be a lot of girls in that book. I wondered how many more there were. "Wednesday, it is."
"Great. Sounds good."
We said our goodbyes and I headed for my apartment, feeling more than a little guilty. Had it been Victor in this position, I would have been furious, felt betrayed—it wasn't like I wanted to be friends with Matthew. I had plenty of friends already. I lit another cigarette. He's just a colleague, I thought. A fellow employee of the ______ department. We both work there. We're coworkers. I'm going to the bookstore with a coworker. I ran my hand up the back of my shirt; my fingers were slick with sweat.
Everything But The Girl, Walking Wounded
Gift of Buddha, spring 1996
posted by Iseult at 4:04 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home