this is my seventh chapter

So I knocked on her door.

It was Tuesday night and kind of rainy out and I started wondering what Eleanor could possibly be doing on this ordinary night in that apartment, in her place across the hall. Maybe she was also ordering in Thai food and watching mindless television. Or maybe she was cooking dinner or painting in her underwear. So I figured I’d find out.

After changing my shirt and putting on jeans, I knocked on her door. I heard some rummaging noises from inside, like the sound a mouse makes when it’s just discovered your garbage. I almost walked away until I heard a voice say “coming” and she opened the door.

I really think she was painting in her underwear before I knocked. It took a while for her to open the door. When she did, she was standing there wearing black leggings and a flowy shirt and looking kind of flushed. I tried not to check her out or look amused, but like I said before, it’s strange how you never know what your face looks like.

Me: Hi.

Eleanor: Hey. How’s it going?

Me: It’s going well. I thought I’d say hi and see how you’re doing.

Eleanor: Yeah, I’m doing well, just got off the phone with a friend. How are you?

Me: I’m good. Just got back from work, ordered Thai food.

Eleanor: What is it with guys and Thai?

Huh?

Me: What do you mean?

Eleanor: Guys always order Thai.

Me: Because it’s good.

Because it’s filling and cheap and good.

Eleanor: Is it the large portions of noodles and meat or something?

Me: Maybe. I like to get the pork pad thai and the spring rolls, and sometimes I order the noodle soup.

Eleanor: That sounds delicious.

Me: It is.

How did my attempt to see Eleanor transform into my food order at Go Go Thai?

Eleanor: Come inside.

Me: Okay.

I like to think of myself as a somewhat neat but moderate slob, but she really takes the cake. Her TV stand was cluttered with candles and paper clips and old magazines, and t-shirts and towels were lying all over her couches and chairs. Maybe she heard me knock and changed outfits several times before she opened the door, I thought. That would be nice.

Eleanor: Sorry, I did laundry tonight. My clothes are drying.

Alright, then.

Me: How was the abandoned warehouse party?

Eleanor: Trash.

Me: Really.

Eleanor: College students showed up. They were idiots.

Me: Did they drink all the alcohol?

Eleanor: No, they just bumped into it and spilled it all.

Me: Typical.

I tried to play it off like I remember parties in college, but I don’t really. That was a while ago for me, but not for her.

Eleanor: Did you have a good weekend?

Me: Yeah. My parents visited. They thought I was an alcoholic.

Eleanor: Are you?

Me: No.

Eleanor: Then why did they think that?

Me: They saw our two wine glasses in the sink and needed something to worry about.

Eleanor: Oh. That’s funny.

Me: Yeah.

Eleanor: Maybe it’s because you haven’t given them enough to worry about?

Me: What do you mean?

Eleanor: You have this great job, live in the West Village, wear a suit, make a good living. Parents would love a son like that.

When she said this, I started recalling those records my mom used to play in the kitchen that had the A-side and B-side. I felt like I was being turned over in a record player, to the B-side, and it felt so strange. Like the 40 tracks on the “40 Years of Doug” album were behind me.

And the way she described my life now, it made me feel like a glossy ad in a magazine. Or maybe a figure in a Monet landscape, and I couldn’t help but laugh. She really is a painter.

my sixth chapter

So after Eleanor left, I rinsed the wine glasses and worked out.

The gym I go to is on a corner, and the front of it is all windows, facing a busy avenue full of traffic and dimly-lit restaurants. Sometimes, when I’m lifting weights at night, I like to look out the window at the couples sitting in the restaurants, drinking cocktails and laughing over dishes of guacamole or bruschetta. I wonder how long they’ve known each other, what they’re talking about, if they’ve had sex, if they’re happy. And then, when I start to worry that they can see me watching, I turn and face the other way.

Yesterday, my mom and dad visited. They saw the wine glasses in the sink and asked if I’ve become an alcoholic. When I told them I had a friend over, they were skeptical. Sometimes my mom likes to rub it in that most of my friends are married with kids and, thereby, too busy to spend time with me. This was one of those times.

I debated telling them about Eleanor. About how nice and attractive I think she is. How she’s a graphic designer but also a painter, and how she takes the stairs on weekends.

But then I’d have to tell them that she lives across the hall, and then they’d probably call me ‘lazy.’ Because only the laziest person in the world dates the girl across the hall.

I’m really not lazy, though. I keep my eyes open for someone new. I like to observe people when I’m out to eat with friends, and when I’m at a party or other social function, I do talk to women. Sometimes they talk back.

When people ask why I haven’t met someone yet, I used to say that I’m too busy pursuing The Arts and living at home with my parents. But now that I’ve moved out and gotten a job, I think I’ve got to think of a new response.

Maybe I’ll say ‘chemistry.’

Chemistry is one of the hardest things to find. There’s a warmth to it, you know? I really believe the temperature rises between two people when they’re talking and have chemistry. It’s like all the molecules in the room sense what’s happening between these two people, and so they zoom over to witness and marvel at what’s taking place.

When I see couples embracing in the street, I smile, because I remember that warm feeling. Sometimes I want to tap them on the shoulder and tell them that this is what they’ll never forget. But that would be intrusive.

Most of all, I think I’d like to thank them. Because when they’re standing there together, I swear that, for a moment, that feeling that they feel passes along to me, and I feel it, too. It comes rushing back. And just when I’ve had a moment to savor it and let it really warm me up, it quickly disappears, and I keep on walking.

chapter five

She knocked on my door yesterday.

I had just gotten home from work and was putting my socks away when she arrived.

Eleanor: Hi.

Me: Hi.

Eleanor: How’s it going?

Me: You look really good.

She looked really good. She was wearing shoes with heels and a pair of jeans and it just came out. I felt really stupid, but then she started to laugh.

Eleanor: Thanks. I’m going out to a party with some friends. You look nice, too.

Me: Me?

Eleanor: Yeah, you’ve got a suit and a nice tie. Snazzy.

I forget that I’m now dressing the role of someone who looks put together, all the time. Like he has his life in order.

Me: Do you want to come in? For some wine?

Eleanor: No, I’ll be drinking enough tonight. Probably shouldn’t start too early.

Me: Okay.

But I guess I looked sad or something, because then she said:

Eleanor: Well, sure. Why not.

Which was good because I had bought a bottle of red wine the other day for moments like this. She showed up.

Me: So where is the party?

Eleanor: In an abandoned warehouse.

Me: That sounds artsy. Or like the beginning of a horror film.

Eleanor: Both?

Me: Where is it?

Eleanor: Brooklyn.

Me: Are you going there by yourself?

Eleanor: No, no, with friends.

Me: How are you getting there?

Eleanor: The subway.

Me: Oh.

A part of me wanted to pull a flashy “let me order you a car” comment because the man she knew would do that. But the person I’ve been for the past 40 years would laugh in his face, so I drank some wine and didn’t say anything more.

Eleanor: What are you doing tonight?

Me: Probably going to work out.

Eleanor: Do you work out a lot?

Me: Not a ton, but I try.

I know she couldn’t see my body or anything since I was wearing the suit, but I was kind of hoping she’d have assumed I work out a lot. Because I do. I don’t have much else to do, really.

Eleanor: Good for you. Sometimes I take the stairs.

Me: Yeah?

Eleanor: Yeah.

Me: Up or down?

Eleanor: Up, on weekends.

We sat like this for a little while, drinking red wine and talking about the building’s old age and the hefty landlord and the rooftop where, supposedly, people get caught having sex. It was all surface, but it was good surface. It was the best small talk I’ve had in a while.

And then her phone rang.

Eleanor: Sorry. Hold on.

She picked up the phone and I watched her laugh and talk in that way you do when you know you’re being watched, where you slightly suppress every expression for fear you won’t look good to the person watching. But she looked good.

Eleanor: Sorry, that was my friend. She’s on her way so I better get ready and go.

Me: Okay.

She handed me her half-finished glass, and I tried not to look her in the eye. I didn’t want to run the risk of looking disappointed like perhaps I did earlier, when I offered her the wine. It’s strange how you never know what your face looks like.

As we walked to the door, I noticed her behind in her jeans. I don’t think she saw.

Eleanor: Thanks again for the wine. It was really good.

Me: I’m glad you liked it.

Eleanor: It’ll be better than everything I drink tonight.

Me: Stay safe at that abandoned warehouse.

Eleanor: Famous last words.

Me: Goodnight.

Eleanor: Goodnight.

As she walked out, I shut the door and turned out toward the view. I saw myself in the window reflection, standing there in my suit and tie, holding a finished glass of red wine. And I thought about how she showed up tonight. How she knocked on my door unannounced, yet again. And I laughed, because this time, she didn’t even say why.