Siobhan and I are sitting in a wine bar. Despite almost a year elapsing since we got together last, she is still the same --- tall, slim, classy.
“So Gee, what is new?” she asks. “I moved,” I reply. “I know. I am so happy for you. It was so distressing that you were living way up there – and I know you think it was safe, but I didn’t like you living there. You were so isolated. But now – you are in a real New York neighborhood.”
I know what she means. But I find this funny. I had no issues with that Washington Heights neighborhood – plus I could afford it. But for the same reason I am glad I grew up brown in a homogenous state. I think living in two worlds, straddling two cultures, seeing both sides, gives you a different view of the world. And I like it. I like that I lived on the fringes, and now live in a “real New York neighborhood”. I like that I can go back and forth, that I don't have one rigid view of the world. That I can see and appreciate perspective, even if I don't agree - at least I understand.
She tells me about work and a co-worker who really disappointed her. It is amazing how much New Yorkers work. I am not saying that folks in other parts of the country are sitting around doing nothing, I am just saying that the pace and the competition in New York is brazen, it is survival of the fittest and I don’t know – you have got to be careful when you make friends at work. You really, really do. Because sometimes friends are frenemies.
“What about love?” I ask. She has her own version of Town and Country in her life. “I stopped talking to him. I just needed to. He sends me emails and texts and writes me all this shit I want to hear – but he doesn’t mean it. We don’t want the same thing. We just don’t," Siohban says.
“And you? Please tell me you aren’t speaking to Town and Country,” she says. “I am working on his house.” “What?” she asks incredulously. “He is doing renovations. He has been all professional. There has been no sign of his penis.” She rolls her eyes and sips her wine. Ooo, she is NOT happy with me. “I don’t like him,” she finally says. “I know. No one does,” I reply. “And that doesn’t signal something for you?” she asks. She is right. I know she is right. My attraction to him has to be more than attraction.I just don't know what - and until I figure that out - I am stuck in this self-made quicksand, where Desi Girl slowly sinks.