FAR BE IT FROM ME
There had been a lull in the conversation for a good minute and a half. It hadn’t been a comfortable minute and a half for me. The weight of her eyes on mine had burgled me of my wits. I didn’t know what to say. Clearly neither did she. The tension hung like wet cement around me. I was not attracted to anything about her so for me the silence was beginning to feel heavy, it was almost suffocating me. In the old days that kind of awkwardness would be the tool I would use to break open the doors of a woman’s sex. I’d known as soon as our eyes met that I didn’t want her, so what was there to say?
The restaurant was noisy. This was a blind date for me. Blinded by my memory. A breathless waiter had run out from his restaurant and stopped and asked me for my phone number as I was pushing myself down Campbell Parade. The waiter stood in front of my wheelchair to block my way and asked me if I remembered that last Tuesday I had been looking back to see if a woman was looking back to see and she was. He went on to say that she worked as a chef at a café that I had just passed on the way to my gym. First the waiter asked my age to which I mistakenly falsified, he continued to question and asked what I did, nothing I had told him and then finally he asked if I was seeing anyone to which I said no. Then the waiter claimed to be taking a liberty but asked for my telephone number to pass on to her. I retorted the questioning by asking if she was hot and was told yes. Then the waiter rephrased and said that if he were single he would go for her.
What the hell? I thought to myself. Not many women had expressed much interest since I lost the use of my legs. I had nothing to lose. I was alone. I was lonely. I was alone and lonely. I gave him my mobile number and then spun around to continue on to the gym. I started beaming as I thought of all the women that I had turned around to get a second glimpse of. As hard as I tried I could not think of her. I couldn’t even remember turning around for a second glimpse at anyone in the recent past. I know that it is not done for a guy to turn back for a glimpse at the arse, but if I have ever, I can’t help it, I’m only a man.
I tried as hard as I could to think of a stunner that had made me turn back but couldn’t. All I could think of were the models that strut throughout Bondi. I knew better than to turn around for a second look at them. I thought about them and the hot waitresses on Campbell Parade that often give me the smallest of smiles. I can feel something happening to my heart palpitations when they smile back. I love beautiful women.
And so when she finally arrived at the restaurant I was surprised to find that she had none of the physical attributes that would have instinctively draw me to a woman. I am far from perfect in physical appearance myself so I would not like her race, height, weight or breast size to be mentioned. But when I looked at her there was nothing. Like flat Coke. It hit me there and then, I had obviously turned back to look at a waitress at her restaurant and she had seen and thought I was looking back at her. As I kissed the top of her hand I made myself an oath to never look back at another woman. I started thinking of all the ways I was going to change my life as the one question I had asked her spouted into an eruption of answers.
I had come on this date looking forward to meeting someone who was obviously interested in me. That was how most of my relationships had started. It was always easy. I never had to try. I have never asked a woman out in my life. Women picked me up. As I aged in life I found the types of women attracted to me differing. As a young man I had attracted sweet women that I was attracted too also. Now as an older man in a wheelchair the women who were instantly attracted to me also have scars that no one else can see. The sweet young things tease me with conversations on the road to nowhere while their older sisters sniff on my sweaty balls. Maybe they can smell the testosterone emanating from my crotch? Maybe it’s a pheromone? Maybe it’s sorrow? Tonight I knew exactly what she wanted and where she had staggered out from. She was drunk with lust. She wanted a man. Not just any man but a man and she thought that she had smelled him and thought that he had looked back to see if she was looking back to see.
She ordered a calzone and I ordered a pizza. She ate her meal before I did. That could mean something but it probably doesn’t. I had picked the restaurant hoping that it would be quite on a Saturday night. It wasn’t. I’m profoundly deaf in my left ear and wear a hearing aide in my right so spent the entire night drowning in a sea of other people’s mumbled conversations, only picking up bits of what she was saying to stay afloat on. I ordered one beer while we dined. She had one glass of white wine. I kept asking her question after question which she clearly enjoyed. A smile would broaden her face before she would answer each. The restaurant was getting louder by the minute. I spun my chair so she was closer to my good ear but there were too many conversations to hear a word she was saying. To me it sounds like the teacher in the old Charlie Brown cartoons. I just kept asking questions and then smiling to her every response. My pizza was cold by the last two slices but I ate it all. As I chewed the last bite of dough I felt a pang of guilt. I had asked all about her life and had not been able to hear any of what she had said. The last piece of dough suddenly blocked my throat but was quickly aided down by the last third of my beer.
Not being attracted to her had made it hard for me to generate conversation. What would you say to the crew as the ship’s sinking? I was running out of generic questions to ask her. Not being able to hear any of her responses hadn’t helped any. Not being able to hear the things I could see she was physically excited by made me feel dumb. The more she talked the more dead I became. Every time I stared into her eyes I had trouble. My eyes couldn’t focus on hers properly. It made me feel dizzy. If I had liked something about her I would have been brazen and put my arm around her waist and pulled her closer. But I didn’t want to get close. I could smell her and I could smell lonely, need and urge. That smell wasn’t attractive to me. The women who love just for the sake of love hate just for the sake of hate the same.
When it was time to pay the bill it came to seventy dollars. I placed a fifty down on top of the chequebook wallet expecting her to do the same. I smiled at the maitre de as she pissed and farted through her handbag looking for something. She held a small fabric coin purse in her right hand. There were people waiting to pay behind me but I didn’t mind. I was waiting for her to put down her share. I had come on this date because she had approached me. A quiz crinkled my brow as I looked upon her. My brow straightened as I figured her out. She was waiting to see. Bartering time. For her it was a meaning, an indication of how much does this guy want to see me again? The meaning was a question. How big’s your dowry?
I got out my phone to take it off silent as she jangled around her purse. She eventually opened the tattered embroidery change purse and placed a ten-dollar note down. The ten looked sad and lonely. I stared at her. I stared at the money. The maitre de stared down at me. I stared at the maitre de. The maitre de stared smugly back at me. I went back to staring at her. An indignant stare. A stare that said, I can stay all night. I’ll wait while you have to scrub dishes. She knew the stare and reluctantly pulled out another ten and placed it down. I knew that waiting for her to go Dutch could take all night so I took it at that. Pay more of the bill to do less of the time.
The date had been a total fizzer for me despite her obvious excitement. Not one thing had attracted me to her. Having not dated in a while when I decided it time for a kiss goodnight I went in expecting a pursed lip kiss. It’s strange to be taller than most women but to be lower than them most of the time. I had aimed flush for her bottom lip. I aimed for her bottom lip but was greeted with her tongue sweeping up over my top right lip up in to the rim of my nostril. I went in again for a second try with my lips pursed slightly wider to be greeted by her tongue once again sweeping across both of my lips. At least we were getting closer. I opened my eyes to see hers winced shut. Seeing a woman wanting before me my genetics took over. My left arm shot out and pulled her head down towards mine, mashing into hers where my lips and tongue made a hard advance into her mouth as her head suddenly lulled to follow mine. She moaned as only a woman can. My eyes closed to not see her as my tongue rolled around hers. I couldn’t believe I had believed someone else’s idea of hot. I couldn’t believe I was in the mouth of a complete stranger that I wasn’t attracted to. I opened my eyes to orientate finding hers affix on my face with a broad smile stretched across hers. My fist clenched as I realised that by the mere fact that she was a woman and I am a man she was able to pash me. Pashed me like in high school. My face greyed as I realised that a woman had beaten me again. I had kissed a woman with a face that reminded me of an overcast day. My balls had won again. The selfish gene trying to find one more hole to plug.
Back at home I thought of texting someone but thought better of it. I already knew what he would tell me. He would have told me that I should have rooted her. As I reached for a clean sheet to replace the one I had been laying on for the past few weeks I started to chuckle. I wheeled up to the table and reached down and got my pen out of the bum bag that sits below the cushion of my wheelchair. I got an A4 out of the packet and positioned myself at the table with it where I started to write. And this is what I wrote-
Loneliness breeds absolute love. Despair leads to happiness.
Far be it from me. The branch broke while waiting for you
Andrew Stuart Buchanan
NOTES FROM THE EDGE 