Red Wine and Green Velvet

I’m a mess leaving the Tufts campus. Strapping on my helmet, it takes me three tries to get the combo right on my bicycle lock. The cherry blossoms overhead don’t put a dent in my misery. Why didn’t I just get her damn number? Why do I always screw things up? Am I really that much of a loser? Then an idea rises to the surface through the muck of my despair. I could at least ride past her school. Maybe I’ll see her. What are the odds? But still. I check the map, plot a course and start pedaling.

Making a decision sparks a resurgence of energy. The self-flagellation lessens. I glide easily through familiar working class neighborhoods before veering onto Mass Ave towards Cambridge.

“Half an hour,” I send a mental message to Sylvie. “I’ll be riding through Kenmore Square in half an hour. Look for me.” Along with the words I visualize myself on specific streets with their landmark buildings, billboards and train crossings. It’s the spring of 1990 - no internet, no social media, no cell phones. And no one taught me how to locate someone telepathically. I didn’t read about it. I didn’t really even think about it. I just started doing it.

Waiting for a light to change, I turn and scan three lanes of cars about to rush around me in their frantic flow. I make eye contact with the driver behind and feel better knowing my bicycle is acknowledged. I’m on a mission to find a girl! I met her two nights ago at a party but was too shy or too cool or probably just too much of an idiot to ask for her number. I’ve been berating myself ever since. She studies music at B.U. so that’s where I’m headed. “Twenty five minutes, Sylvie.” I project an image of myself coasting past the bookstore.

We struck up a conversation easily and found we had a lot in common. I’m studying painting but I always wanted to be a musician. She’s studying classical voice and always wanted to paint. We talked easily and laughed a lot. I couldn’t believe I was so relaxed with someone so attractive. We were both genuinely interested in what the other was saying. She had a funny way of saying, “yeah,” especially when she was laughing. I liked the way she said it.

It was only when we hugged goodbye that I started getting nervous, knowing it was time to ask her out. Her friends were rushing her to go to another party. They were loud and drunk and I couldn’t seem to get a word in. What the hell was the matter with me? “Fifteen minutes, Sylvie. I’m on my way.”

Weaving in and out of cars always makes me feel alive. So many visuals continuously. I take it all in, while staying completely focused on the road and traffic. I’m in a dance, maintaining a delicate balance and my life depends on it. So many images. So many paintings. A man half in shadow smoking a cigarette looking for the bus, the full glory of a magnolia in bloom, momentary blindness from a shaft of sunlight streaming between buildings, elegant script on a hand painted sign: Arsenic and Old Lace, why is that so familiar? Something my old roommate Tara told me about, this really cool vintage clothing store that also sells occult stuff: books, candles, scented oils. That’s right! She tried on a green velvet dress and it felt incredible but it was $100! Tara is beautiful and I never guessed that she was self conscious about her weight, but she said It was hard to find clothes that make her feel good about her body.

I see a pothole and swerve just in time. Bringing myself back to the mission, I visualize Sylvie. She’s perfect - slender but not skinny, athletic, not hard. “Twenty minutes, Sylvie, look for me.”

I leave Mass Ave for a while, riding on some small connecting streets. There’s no traffic and I slow my pace, passing a club where I danced once, a seedy bar, a sidewalk construction zone. My mind travels back to Arsenic and Old Lace. I keep wondering if they still have that green velvet dress. Not that I can afford to drop a hundred bucks but I really want her to have it. Giving Tara a present like that would be too weird anyway. It would be like saying I was in love with her.

I got an apartment with Tara and her boyfriend, Matt two years ago. It was our first year in art school and we found each other on the student resource housing list. They were from Maine and I grew up in Vermont. Landing in the big city was intense and the three of us stuck together. We bought groceries together and even cooked together some nights. Matt and I both got jobs at the school gallery. We were a good team and worked our asses off before each art show opened.

I liked Tara from the start but I never thought about coming between her and Matt. Plus Matt was always around. Except for the time he went on a field trip to Storm King.

I forgot he was away until I got home from school, then I really sensed his absence. There was a whole new dynamic and Tara seemed to feel it too, a timidness mixed with curiosity. For the first time I consciously noticed the scent she always wore, which I later learned was Egyptian musk. She said she was about to open some wine and would I like a glass? I said sure and that I was going to make some pasta if she was hungry.

The wine was rich and velvety. The bottle was mysterious and the label had a hawk with outstretched wings. Tara lit candles. We sipped and talked while I chopped veggies. I made the sauce extra special with browned mushrooms, olives and bell peppers. It was worth it because she kept saying how delicious it was. The wine made me free and Tara was a good listener. I spilled my doubts about not knowing what I was doing with my life. I was good at painting but craved the magical space of a live audience. Music never came naturally to me but I wanted to be a performer. I worked hard at learning guitar and teaching myself to sing. I wanted to see how my art affected people in the moment.

Tara didn’t give me an answer but I felt better anyway. She just said that I would know when it was time to make a change. If I paid attention, the universe would show me signs. She’s like that, never wondering if she’s doing the right thing. I envy her.

Then she asked if I liked the wine. I said I did and she wanted to know what I liked about it. I know nothing about wine and was at a total loss for words. She said to take a sip and just listen.

I took a sip, held it on my tongue for a moment, then swallowed. “It’s like a bell,” I said, “You hit it and there’s that first sound, then it goes on resonating for a long time.”

“Yes, that’s it! Exactly!” She was gleeful. “Which part of the resonating do you like best?”

“I like all of it! I like how each part is completely different and how it gradually dissolves into nothingness.”

She said her favorite part was the finish because it reminds her of rain.

After our first year living together, Matt and Tara decided they could afford their own place. We gave up the apartment on James St. and I moved into a big house with five other roommates. I didn’t see Matt and Tara much until last week when Tara told me they broke up. He had moved to New York and she was looking for a place to live. I told her we had a couch downstairs and that a room might open up soon. She brightened and brought a sleeping bag over the next day.

Now I’m coasting over the Mass Ave Bridge at the 200 Smoot mark, 190 Smoots, 180… Apparently some guy at MIT (named Smoot) got drunk and used spray paint and the length of his prone form to divide the bridge into segments. When he got too tired to lie down and stand up, his buddies carried him. Thus a new unit of measure was invented.

The Charles River is shimmering below. A gentle wind carries cool moist air from the water. In a few minutes I’ll turn right towards Kenmore Square. It’s nuts but I feel hopeful and excited that this crazy scheme will actually work, that I will actually see her. I focus all my concentration and send a powerful image of me gliding slowly through the square on my bike. “Five minutes!”

The closer I get to the square, the more boisterous and celebratory it becomes. Throngs of people flood the sidewalks in tee shirts and music wafts from cafes and bars. Streets are lined with blossoming trees. It’s intoxicating and I let myself get swept up in the chaos, scanning the faces and then there she is! Sylvie with her golden ringlets bouncing around her shoulders. I pull up beside her just like in my visualization. “Hey Sylvie!” She turns around and seems happy to see me. The guys she was walking with takes one look at me and says, “see you later, Sylvie.”

I brush at my hair with my fingers. It always looks ridiculous when I take my helmet off. In all the time I’d been sending messages, I never thought about what I’d say if I actually found her and I’m a little bit in shock. “How’s everything going?” I finally ask.

“It’s good. It’s so funny to see you here. That was a fun party.”

All I need to do right now is get her number, I tell myself, what the hell is the matter with me? But I’m freezing up again. “It was fun. It was good talking with you there. I had a good time.” There’s a long silence. She’s waiting for me to say something. I catch a glimpse of our reflection in a shop window. Sylvie looks amazing. I look awkward. On the other side of the glass I see a display of wine bottles. It’s a liquor store. Then I see the outstretched wings of a hawk. I can’t believe it, Tara’s favorite Merlot! By this time Sylvie looks bored. “I was actually gonna pop in here to get some wine.” I say, “It’s great bumping into you! I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I quickly lock up my bike, and duck into the store.

Ten minutes later I’m racing back to Cambridge, crossing the bridge in the opposite direction, 50 Smoots, 60, 70. I picture opening the front door of our house. Tara is drinking tea in the kitchen. I walk in trying not to grin too foolishly. I’m carrying a bottle of her favorite wine and the green velvet dress. God, I hope they didn’t sell that dress.