Late Night Curtains

June 6, 2004

She told me over the phone that she wanted to hang curtains in her new apartment, but that she lacked the proper tools.

"I do have a toolbox," she assured me, "I just don't have a drill."

"I'll lend you mine," I said.

All symbolism aside, it was an innocent offer. I simply owned a drill that I wasn't using and offhandedly told her she could borrow it.

"I can bring it over now if you want."

She laughed and said it was raining.

It was already nine PM, and I was at least half an hour away in Brooklyn. "I don't care," I told her, "I'm not doing anything. The rain doesn't bother me. Let's hang your curtains."

"I'm not going to ask you to hang my curtains," she said.

"You didn't ask me. I offered."

Seduced by the impulsive absurdity of it all, she finally said. okay. I tossed the drill into a white plastic garbage bag and ducked through the rain to the subway. Thirty minutes later, I was ringing her bell. At the top of the stairs, she peered through her open door and said hello. With a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek, I said hello back. I put the drill on the floor and took off my wet hat and jacket.

"I don't have much to offer you,” she said, plucking a nearly empty bottle of wine off the counter. A few drops of red danced at the bottom as she swung it by the neck. “Want some of this?”

"Sure."

She poured what was left of the wine into a couple of jelly jars, and we sat down. It didn't take long to finish our drinks, and a little while later, I offered to go out in the rain to get another bottle. "Are you hungry?" I asked. "Why don't we get some crackers and cheese to go along with it?"

She said it was a nice idea and decided to come with me. The rain was light, more like a mist, but we moved quickly. A few minutes later, we were at her apartment, shaking off the damp.

The couch was small but inviting, and we sank into it. It was something the previous tenant had left behind. “It’s not bad. I kind of like it,” she said. The chair, also left behind, hadn’t earned the same affection. She made sure I knew the apartment’s décor wasn’t hers. Then she told me about the changes she wanted to make so that it would be. The curtains, of course, but other things as well. For instance, she couldn't wait to paint the walls. The previous tenant had painted wide stripes in delicate shades of white, like a Lord and Taylor hat box.

As we continued to drink and talk, we decided the whole curtain idea was misguided. Neither of us felt like getting involved in the project. I told her to keep the drill, and I'd help her another day.

The conversation that followed wasn't particularly awkward, but there were quite a few long silences. When we did speak, however, we talked about everything imaginable. I even got her to share embarrassing photos from her scrapbook.

"I can't believe I'm showing you this," she said, "It's so boring."

A few hours passed before I finally met her gaze. I’d noticed her eyes before — they were impossible to miss — but until that moment, I’d never truly looked into them. I’d been afraid. And when I finally did, I understood why: they were deep.

Suddenly, my entire soul struggled to pour out from my own sad eyes in an attempt to fill them. But they were too dark, too bottomless. Like the drops of wine in the bottle, whatever I had to share wasn’t enough and never would be. I offered what I could until my head was hollow, and there was nothing else to do but kiss her.

We made vague plans to see each other another time, which we did. But we never kissed again.