Strangers.
A poem about a tryst.
Strangers.
What’s the first thing you remember? You’re not one for small talk. I am not. Burning my hand with my mother’s curling iron. Is that why you always wear your hair straight? Not always. Mostly. How would you know? I’ve seen your Instagram. Shameless, I see. Some would say honest. Next time you’re there, consider following me. What’s the last thing you remember? That’s a ridiculous question. No. It’s not. This morning. What specifically? Need I say? You were in attendance. Fair. Why do you ask so many questions? Is this beginning to feel like an interview? Yes. I’ll slow down. Please don’t. Just answer mine. I suppose I find people interesting. That’s not a very interesting answer. I don’t like talking about myself. Clearly. Perhaps the questions keep the subject off of me. Now we’re getting somewhere. Don’t psychoanalyze me. You’re psychoanalyzing yourself. How do you feel about Jung? I’m not familiar. Are you familiar with synchronicities? Enlighten me. It’s this idea of meaningful coincidences. They say there are no coincidences. Precisely. And you believe this? Fully. Give me an example. When we first connected, I met a woman on the train. Did you fuck her, too? No. Like you, she had just returned from London. So that’s why you’re here? I suppose. It wasn’t because you fancy me? That too. I get the impression you fancy many. Many faces. Few souls. Why aren’t you married? It depends on who you ask. I’m asking you. I make for a better lover than a partner. Elaborate. I find it easier to fall in love than to stay in love. Should I be worried? Not yet. Did you ever come close? Twice. A ring? Once. Why did it end? I’ve realized something interesting about endings as of late. Go on. The reason why changes every time. What is the reason today? I felt as though she wanted to control me. You don’t strike me as someone who is easily controlled. Hence why I jumped the fence. All relationships are the same. In what way? One person is scared of losing the other. And the other is scared of losing themselves. I see you're familiar with Esther Perel. Intimately. If I were to gather your exes in a room, what would they say? I don’t like to think about that. It’s this or the weather, darling. Build a taller fence. Mine would suggest a wall. Do you believe in monogamy? Mostly. Say more. I like how the French do it. Ménage à trois? They enjoy the occasional tryst. You wouldn’t be upset? About what? Your partner having an affair? It’s not an affair. It’s a tryst. Semantics. You know what I mean. I would only be upset if I found out about it. You wouldn’t like to know? Why would I like to know something that would hurt me? Perhaps I'm a masochist, but I would like to know. Infidelity is like a tree falling in a forest. In what way? If you aren’t there to hear it, it doesn’t make a sound. What’s your type? You, but with a full head of hair. Ruthless. Some would say honest. Touché. How do you feel about gossip? I love it. That surprises me. If you like art, you like gossip. How so? All art is gossip. I would argue it’s drama. Gossip and drama are one and the same. So, you like reality television? I consider Tiger King high art. Which do you prefer—New York or Nashville? I don’t. That’s why I spend half the year in both. But if you had to pick one. New York. But I get to bring all my people from Nashville with me. What do you think heaven is like? A residency at The Chelsea Hotel. For me, it’s the Cotswolds. Why do you keep looking away? Eye contact is intimate. And sex is not? Eye contact is more intimate than sex. I disagree. Count the number of women you’ve had sex with. Twen— Don’t tell me. Why? I don't want to know. Okay. Now, count the number of women you’ve looked in the eyes, truly. Six. Maybe seven. You see. No. You contradicted yourself. How so? You stopped me from saying the first number. Not the second. Hmm. Are you always this way? Which way is that? Incessantly contemplating everything, all the time. Yes. You’re far better at thinking than feeling. So I’ve heard. Perhaps that’s why I’m here. And why is that? To show you how to feel. I know how to feel, darling. Show me. Call us a cab.
By Cole Schafer.