love and terror

I’m thinking about asking New York City to marry me. I’ve admired it from afar for quite some time. I pretty much kept my distance, only stopping by once or twice a year to say hello, to see if there was any interest on New York’s part. It was always cordial but never showed any preference toward me…except last summer, actually. I felt like, at that time, it was unusually warm, had itself looking exceptionally good. But that was six months ago, and things have probably changed. It’s no doubt been meeting lots of other people.

Nevertheless, I’m thinking about taking the plunge. What could it hurt? I’ve been wondering so long, it would be good to have closure. Healthy, just to clear my system of the infatuation once and for all.

I confess I was always hoping that maybe New York would come around, and make the first move. It’s not like I sat by the phone or something lame. I will confess, however, that sometimes when the phone would ring, in the second or two before my hand reached the receiver, I would think, maybe this is the moment where I find out it wants me there, it’s wanted me all along but just didn’t realize it was me, until now…now everything is clear that we should be together… It never was that moment, by the way. I would never have turned New York down, not for a moment. I wouldn’t have played any games, not even on the phone. I wouldn’t have prolonged New York’s anxiety or toyed with its confessed vulnerability. I love New York partly for its well-concealed fragility. You’ve noticed it, I’m sure. Can anybody be that schmaltzy at Christmas, or appear in that many old movies, without being a romantic and an idealist deep down?

You can probably tell I’ve already made up my mind. It was made up a long time ago, the question was only when would I do it? I’ve realized I’ve got to do it quick, before I lose my nerve.

Ugh…the problem is that I’ve already lost it.

Sometimes the place where we belong is the place where we feel the least comfortable. The place of discontented comfort is dangerous, like sitting on the couch all day in front of the t.v. is dangerous.

Finding where you belong involves knowing yourself pretty well. Staying where you belong requires you to be yourself pretty consistently. Have you ever noticed how hard that is to do? What if you can’t sing on pitch? What if you’re only a mediocre athlete? What if your teeth are crooked? It takes some kind of guts to be you in the face of those odds.

Of course, with the right kind of money you can take singing lessons, hire a coach, and get orthodontics—some can fix your teeth in as little as six months, I think. I always thought I’d wait to propose to New York until after I had a solid amount of money in the bank. It’s been approached unsuccessfully by people with a lot more than I’m ever likely to have. I thought, how can I hope to succeed with less than the mean?

In truth, it seems to me that money makes everything in life easier except making people like you. Maybe because most people don’t have money, they tend to like you better if you don’t seem to have much more than they do. Your strained soprano, your lousy pitch and your smile like a poker hand, as much as they embarrass you, proportionately endear you to the other poor schmucks who only sing in the shower and smile with their lips closed.

I have nothing, and it’s going fast. I’m not getting any younger, though, so I’m going to ask New York to marry me quick. I don’t ‘expect even the dignity of a response. It probably doesn’t even remember me, or that moment we shared last summer. But I’m not going to live on that memory all my life without following it up, seeing if there might be something there. Even if I’m unsuccessful, it will be a cool story to tell—the time I proposed to New York. No way, people will say. How did you have the nerve? I don’t know, I’ll smile. I just had to take the chance…it was so beautiful, especially that summer. At least I won’t have to hear the triumphant stories of the people whose suit was successful—they’re not my crowd. It’s not that I don’t like them, even if they do have money. I like them just fine. Me and my types, we joke at their expense as they drive by in their limousines, laughing, exposing our crooked teeth.

first published 12/27/07, 1:31pm