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Sept 2, 2003 "Did you get my message?" the Boston-flirt asks me. The Boston-flirt is the guy I met on the internet...my e-harmony guy. The dangerously cool guy who is armed with the perfect voice. And dreamy ideas. I have taken care of a lot of details quickly today, so that I can visit him at his beach front home with the fireplace in Massachusetts. I've rushed through my reporting of a Labor Day parade.......interviewing uniformed, well-groomed cops with tough names, mounted on well-groomed horses with endearing names. As quickly as a drive-thru conversation, I interviewed an elderly woman dressed as Lady Liberty...carrying a sign of "bring me your tired and weary." Returning to my car, I smiled at policemen who guided me out of the parade traffic, even while red white and blue floats with jazz bands were kept waiting for me... And, now I am in my blue Kia, with my arm relaxed out the window, and with the press passes of a smiling me drapped over my rear view mirror....on my way to Boston...looking forward to my fireside date..... Ah..the warm, strong breeze in the car...on this clear, clear sunshiney day. The up-beat, fast, loud music on the radio gets me even more pumped. I'm happy driving to see my dangerous-flirt guy. He has character. How often do you run across that? A fun guy who also does the right thing, even when no one is looking. A guy who is dangerous only because he dares to delve into feelings..to walk right up to the edge of a figurative steep cliff of emotion ...who can look down to the figurative abyss below...and not be afraid........a guy who can feel for you ...and tell you exactly what he feels...despite the risk. "Chris? So...did you get my message?" the Boston- flirt asks me again. "Nope," I say to him. "Uh......Oh. Okay. Well...I changed my mind," he says. "Changed your mind? As in...you've decided you'd like to order out steamed dumplings instead of fried..when I get there? I ask laughing. "I don't know," he says, without laughing. "I have to think." The radio suddenly seems obnoxiously loud. I turn it down. I suggest I turn around and head back home. I say it just as a test. But... he agrees that maybe I should. "Let's postpone it. Just for two weeks. It's not what you think. It's okay. I just need some time," he tells me. I find myself roadside. Eating a giant chocolate and vanilla twist cone at a kiddie table with a yellow and blue umbrella that is making me bow my head. I am mid-way through my cone when I look at it as if it's a sudden intruder...and I say out loud... "What am I doing?" I throw the intruder ice cream cone into an overly stuffed garbage can. Back in the car, driving with the warm breeze again, I dial my cousin. "Jane? Remember I said I couldn't come to your party today cause I had a date with the Boston- flirt? Well...change of plans..can I still come over?" Two hours later, I step into my artsy, Long Island cousin's ample back yard, with the cool, blue water pool and incredible gardens. I can feel by their looks, that everyone knows that I have been stood up. But I make the best of it, by walking right up to the table where most of them are gathered and take a huge portion of what I think are enchiladas, but it turns out to be only dip..but in my agitated state, I don't know it. I see their eyes grow big as I get a large knife and slice the dip as if it is one big pizza. It takes my having a huge bite of creamy dip to realize what I have done. They politely turn away and squelsh their smiles as I excuse myself to the kitchen. At the counter, surrounded by mobiles and beautiful hand drawn sketches, a sweet blond woman tries to make converstaion with me. To ease me into the party. "I'm Marita.." she says. "Hi, Marita..." I say... "What's your opinion of the 9/11 transcripts being made public?" she says, pulling a random topic out of the thin air to help me think of something other than having been stood up. I balk. I don't have an answer, though I try. So, she looks in the air...as if for help of what to say, and sweetly, randomly, says there was one particular account that moved her. She tells me about the 9/11 transcript she read in the newspaper. "The woman was so sweet, it made me cry. I mean, there was this woman, actually asking permission to break a window so that the other people with her could breathe. She said to him, "I mean, I'm not kidding you, it's getting really hard to breathe...is it okay if we break a window?"...She was at Windows of the World.." This does take my mind off what happened...but I am still having trouble concentrating..a group has started gathering around us, listeninng to Marita..crunching on chips and drinking fruity drinks..the music as stopped and it is temporarily silent. In the sudden silence, I absent mindedly say..."Windows of the World. Yes. I know someone who was there. That morning. She was there that morning...because she was a meeting planner. And she happened to have a meeting there that day, of all places." Only thing is...no one in the room answers me. Or responds in any way. They are just looking at me and I am feeling very self-consious. The party is suddenly on pause. "Chris...what was her name?" Marita asks me, gently. I think to myself how silly that she is asking me this name out of the thousands of people that were there that day. But I tell her the name. No one moves. "Chris, it was her." It feels as if I have been given a drug. "Her last moments are on the tapes, Chris. In the transcripts, in the newspaper. She asks an EMT permission to break a window. It's so sweet because even in an emergency, she is asking and showing concern of doing the right thing." After a long silence, I say,"Do you have the newspaper here?" They don't. I have the urge to run without even saying good bye...I have had a heavy dose of private things made public....But it feels like I am being stared at for an eternity and I turn to go outside on the patio again. I can hear the kitchen group talking about me as I shut the sliding glass door behind me. On the patio, I meet my cousin's internet boyfriend..He's nice. Funny. Very different from her previous boyfriends in look. He introduces me to his friends. There is music again. The younger kids are on various comical floats in the pool...and a large man is trying to throw a small man into the pool...and a wave of teenagers pass through laughing and all wearing black... A little, dark, heavy boy is running and falling on the patio..run...fall...run...fall...and he's giggling as he falls. In between, he is throwing Doritos at his mother. A large, bald man in sneakers and a Hawaiian shirt comes over to me and says something I can't believe... But, you know what? I am in the newsroom as I write this... and I really need to get back to work..I will tell you more tomorrow. ------------ About the author: Chrissa Falcon is a newspaper reporter in the New York Metropolitan Area. Chrissa may be reached at ChrisFalconColumn@hotmail.com Comment on this column in the forum. Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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