“I’ve never been a girl’s girl,” she said one day, as if to explain something about herself. He had no idea what would have prompted her to say this. “High school… even college…just never been one to take crap you know? And girls feed you a lot of crap. My mother always said to be existential,” he looked at her blankly. “She was a child of the 60’s,” Aviva explained. He wondered what the hell she was talking about. “I looked it up once, ‘cause who actually knows what existential means, you know? It means your own idiosyncrasies determine who you actually are, that we’re responsible for the authenticity of our own choices.” Jarod wondered for a week whether or not that was what existentialism really meant, but he never looked it up in his collector’s edition Webster’s English Dictionary.
He followed her movies, museum openings, and art auctions, but she never seemed to buy anything. When Jarod asked her what she did, she told him she was a highly-intelligent underachiever with debt. He didn’t press the matter. He found himself completely intoxicated by her, but searched his brain for what exactly it was about her that made him like her. If he was honest with himself, he would have admitted to himself that most of the things about her drove him nuts. She would leave dishes by the door in his bedroom because she didn’t want to get up and walk to the kitchen. She would lean up against his floor to ceiling windows and stare down at 34th street 19 floors below leaving smudges and fingerprints all over the glass. He would find half empty water bottles all across the apartment. He had fallen in love with her the day she proclaimed she was going green, and it never occurred to him that wasting all that plastic was probably not on Al Gore’s top 10 things you can do to help the environment, but then again, going green wasn’t conducive to Jarod’s lifestyle either.
Despite his frustration with her, small moments between the two of them kept him hanging on. They were in a cab one night leaving a show and her head, lazy with too many martinis, fell upon his shoulder. When he put his hand on her thigh and she actually moved into his body, Jarod felt like shouting from the rooftops. He didn’t know it then, but she had fallen asleep against his arm.
Showing posts with label Going Green. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Going Green. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Going Green...
“Ah CHOO! “ A girl somewhere in his vicinity sneezed. “Oh thanks,” and before he knew it a tall skinny man with bad breath and a woman with peeling sunburn exited the train and gave way to the germ-infested one. She snatched the tissue out of his hands and wiped her nose with it, stuffing it in her coat pocket. She grabbed the pole with both hands through the crowd and smiled at Jarod.
He looked at her celery green eyes and her long wavy brown hair. It flowed down her back like something wild and divine, and suddenly, he didn’t know why, he was overwhelmed with the need to touch it.
She pulled a sport bottle out of her bag and took a swig of light green liquid. He stared at it hard, debating what might be inside but he knew he would never know unless he asked. He wasn’t exactly one to try new things and nothing about that green liquid was appealing to him.
“I’m going green,” the girl said, looking at her water bottle then looking at him.
“That ….turns you green?”
“No….you know….go green… save the planet,…no plastic…fossil fuels… dead Iraqi children….” she rambled on, pointing at her reusable water bottle and studying a piece of graffiti on the inside of the train. He stared at her, taking her all in. He wondered if she was really environmentally conscious or if she was just being trendy.
“I’m Aviva,” she said, extending an arm. Her wrist was covered in colorful bracelets, winding up her forearm, and as she shook his hand, they jingled together in such a way that Jarod almost didn’t want to let go. As Jarod exited the train, his travel size bottle of anti-bacterial lotion stayed firmly nestled in the front coat pocket, right next to a stack of business cards.
Their relationship developed casually, and as they bumped into each other periodically over the next few months on the subway, Jarod found himself thinking about her more and more. On a Wednesday in November they found each other, he looking prim and proper as usual, and her looking a little worse for wear.
“Hungover,” she said matter of factly as she sat down next to him, pulling her things up on her lap. She always had different bags and boxes and packages, and it killed Jarod to know what was inside them but he never asked, for fear of what her answer might actually hold. The last thing Jarod wanted was to know there was a live snake in a box on her lap, or human ear in a bag around her neck. Not a lot of things surprised Jarod, as he had programmed his life to avoid them, which in actuality meant most things outside his one bedroom apartment shocked him.
“People must see me partying and think ‘wow this girl should be in rehab’….but I’m just like ‘hey it’s a Tuesday!..” she talked to no one in particular, but he never exactly responded anyways. She gulped down her bottle of liquid, which Jarod had learned was in fact green tea. One day, Jarod politely asked for her number, and she of course obliged, being the free spirit she was.
He looked at her celery green eyes and her long wavy brown hair. It flowed down her back like something wild and divine, and suddenly, he didn’t know why, he was overwhelmed with the need to touch it.
She pulled a sport bottle out of her bag and took a swig of light green liquid. He stared at it hard, debating what might be inside but he knew he would never know unless he asked. He wasn’t exactly one to try new things and nothing about that green liquid was appealing to him.
“I’m going green,” the girl said, looking at her water bottle then looking at him.
“That ….turns you green?”
“No….you know….go green… save the planet,…no plastic…fossil fuels… dead Iraqi children….” she rambled on, pointing at her reusable water bottle and studying a piece of graffiti on the inside of the train. He stared at her, taking her all in. He wondered if she was really environmentally conscious or if she was just being trendy.
“I’m Aviva,” she said, extending an arm. Her wrist was covered in colorful bracelets, winding up her forearm, and as she shook his hand, they jingled together in such a way that Jarod almost didn’t want to let go. As Jarod exited the train, his travel size bottle of anti-bacterial lotion stayed firmly nestled in the front coat pocket, right next to a stack of business cards.
Their relationship developed casually, and as they bumped into each other periodically over the next few months on the subway, Jarod found himself thinking about her more and more. On a Wednesday in November they found each other, he looking prim and proper as usual, and her looking a little worse for wear.
“Hungover,” she said matter of factly as she sat down next to him, pulling her things up on her lap. She always had different bags and boxes and packages, and it killed Jarod to know what was inside them but he never asked, for fear of what her answer might actually hold. The last thing Jarod wanted was to know there was a live snake in a box on her lap, or human ear in a bag around her neck. Not a lot of things surprised Jarod, as he had programmed his life to avoid them, which in actuality meant most things outside his one bedroom apartment shocked him.
“People must see me partying and think ‘wow this girl should be in rehab’….but I’m just like ‘hey it’s a Tuesday!..” she talked to no one in particular, but he never exactly responded anyways. She gulped down her bottle of liquid, which Jarod had learned was in fact green tea. One day, Jarod politely asked for her number, and she of course obliged, being the free spirit she was.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Going Green
Under Jarod’s sink was a scary place. Generally, the cabinets under sinks aren’t all that intimidating or menacing. You might find yourself a particularly derelict space once in a while, but for the most part the worst in terms of bathroom sinks is mold and underused cleaning products. But no, no, the underneath of Jarod’s sink was nothing like this.
Placed three inches from the right and 6 inches from the back were two economy sized packages of blue q-tips. Next to them, in perfect alignment stacked from back to front were two and a half bottles of economy sized spearmint mouthwash. Next to them were two six packs of Mach 5 shaving blades, and behind those were 6 bars of Dove unscented soap. Everything was individually wrapped.
Jarod didn’t know why he kept his sink like this. No one kept their sink like this. When he would do his weekly cleaning, he would take out everything in their proper piles, line them up on a clean bath towel in the tub and spray the inside of the cabinet with 409 multi-surface spray cleaner with bleach (unscented). Then he would put all the items back one by one. Every day Jarod woke up, washed, ate breakfast, and went to work. Then he came back, he ate, he showered, and went to bed.
And so Jarod woke up today, just like he did every other day, at 6:20 in the morning. The beeps of his extra loud alarm clock filled the perfectly purified air and bounced off the perfectly painted white semi-gloss walls of his apartment. As he lifted the beige comforter, from the left to right, at a perfect angle, up and across his body, he felt the tiny bones in the deep of his shoulder crick. He wondered why he never felt the same pains in the other shoulder. He lowered his feet to the floor immediately; he never just lay in bed. Jarod had read an article somewhere sometime about how your body develops muscle memory and associations with the bed and sleeping, and reading and doing things other than sleeping would only make it harder to fall asleep. So Jarod only slept in bed. In between the moments when Jarod would lay down and when he would fall asleep, Jarod would count forwards and backwards to and from 100.
Jarod rushed to work, well rushed as much as Jarod would ever rush. He more like hastened, as the subway door opened he stepped forward, then stepped back every time another commuter rushed by him to get on. He did this dance with no one in particular, apologizing in his head to people as they bumped him from side to side until he was finally the last one left to get on. He knew he was going to have to hold the bar in between two people that he most definitely knew he didn’t want to be standing next to. He began feel exasperated as he dug in his shoulder bag for a tissue that would work as a barrier between his Dove fresh skin and the plagued bars of New York City public transportation.
Stay tuned....
Placed three inches from the right and 6 inches from the back were two economy sized packages of blue q-tips. Next to them, in perfect alignment stacked from back to front were two and a half bottles of economy sized spearmint mouthwash. Next to them were two six packs of Mach 5 shaving blades, and behind those were 6 bars of Dove unscented soap. Everything was individually wrapped.
Jarod didn’t know why he kept his sink like this. No one kept their sink like this. When he would do his weekly cleaning, he would take out everything in their proper piles, line them up on a clean bath towel in the tub and spray the inside of the cabinet with 409 multi-surface spray cleaner with bleach (unscented). Then he would put all the items back one by one. Every day Jarod woke up, washed, ate breakfast, and went to work. Then he came back, he ate, he showered, and went to bed.
And so Jarod woke up today, just like he did every other day, at 6:20 in the morning. The beeps of his extra loud alarm clock filled the perfectly purified air and bounced off the perfectly painted white semi-gloss walls of his apartment. As he lifted the beige comforter, from the left to right, at a perfect angle, up and across his body, he felt the tiny bones in the deep of his shoulder crick. He wondered why he never felt the same pains in the other shoulder. He lowered his feet to the floor immediately; he never just lay in bed. Jarod had read an article somewhere sometime about how your body develops muscle memory and associations with the bed and sleeping, and reading and doing things other than sleeping would only make it harder to fall asleep. So Jarod only slept in bed. In between the moments when Jarod would lay down and when he would fall asleep, Jarod would count forwards and backwards to and from 100.
Jarod rushed to work, well rushed as much as Jarod would ever rush. He more like hastened, as the subway door opened he stepped forward, then stepped back every time another commuter rushed by him to get on. He did this dance with no one in particular, apologizing in his head to people as they bumped him from side to side until he was finally the last one left to get on. He knew he was going to have to hold the bar in between two people that he most definitely knew he didn’t want to be standing next to. He began feel exasperated as he dug in his shoulder bag for a tissue that would work as a barrier between his Dove fresh skin and the plagued bars of New York City public transportation.
Stay tuned....
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