4` A Cold Door
The automatic doors slid open -- coldly, almost beguilingly. "What am I doing here?" she thought.
Elena's pale head, and the thin, well-sculpted rest of her, elegantly fidgeted to and fro in the stylishly minimalist lobby of the Park Hyatt of bustling Shinjuku. It was a beautiful place to match a purportedly beautiful occassion. But now that the splendid hour, or belated third hour, had arrived, the beauty was chafed and mildly beaten.
She'd just finished work and he was three hours late. It had been over three months since they'd seen each other, and she was hardly in the mood for any kind of awkward embrace. Should she be loud like he's used to, or quiet like he knows she can be? Should she run up to him and hug him until he chokes enough to find the nerves to request she back off? Should she give him a peck on the cheek? How long should she hold the peck? What's he going to do if she holds it for ten seconds? The questions kept spontaneously usurping one another, and she was in no mood at all to watch their militant games -- let alone answer them. She had digested these same questions over and over again for the past week, and now that they needed answers, she found them floating somewhere in oblivion, clear and crisp and decidedly untouchable. Like the sun or the moon, the questions were there, but there was nothing she could do about them. There were not even potential answers fighting amidst the questions. It was simply sky up in her head, cloudy and stormy and completely and wholly invariable.
So instead of fishing for answers somewhere beneath that dark sky, she decided to float in her nondescript boat. Back pushed firmly against a beautiful but uncomfortable minimalist chair, she narrowed her eyes until, eventually, whatever dim light existed in the lobby disappeared. It was a comfortable boat she was in, and a gentle lake breeze brushed soothingly past her face. No, no thoughts were necessary now. This was natural-bred thoughtlessness. That is, until she looked at the pool of water on which the boat kept afloat, her reflection glaring fixedly at her sky-blue eyes.
She looked within her fair eyes, over her wavering emotions toward him, and hated herself for them. "His trip is expensive, his heart steady. I have no right to be so whimsical, to act the part of this stupid capricious girl. I'm tired, but at least I didn't spend twenty-four hours to see him." And yet, all the while, she was thinking how utterly inconvenient the entire situation was -- tonight, anyway. Why couldn't he pick a day when she was less tired, why couldn't the flight be delayed 'till a weekend? Now she'll have to entertain him, too. "Damn him!" And, having opened her eyes and jumped to her feet in indignation, the climax of her internal war passed. She slumped back into the uncomfortable seat, only to find herself once again in a comfortable boat. She was floating in a lake of Elena, under a weather-torn sky. She was floating. The dim light disappeared altogether. Floating. Floa...
Elena's pale head, and the thin, well-sculpted rest of her, elegantly fidgeted to and fro in the stylishly minimalist lobby of the Park Hyatt of bustling Shinjuku. It was a beautiful place to match a purportedly beautiful occassion. But now that the splendid hour, or belated third hour, had arrived, the beauty was chafed and mildly beaten.
She'd just finished work and he was three hours late. It had been over three months since they'd seen each other, and she was hardly in the mood for any kind of awkward embrace. Should she be loud like he's used to, or quiet like he knows she can be? Should she run up to him and hug him until he chokes enough to find the nerves to request she back off? Should she give him a peck on the cheek? How long should she hold the peck? What's he going to do if she holds it for ten seconds? The questions kept spontaneously usurping one another, and she was in no mood at all to watch their militant games -- let alone answer them. She had digested these same questions over and over again for the past week, and now that they needed answers, she found them floating somewhere in oblivion, clear and crisp and decidedly untouchable. Like the sun or the moon, the questions were there, but there was nothing she could do about them. There were not even potential answers fighting amidst the questions. It was simply sky up in her head, cloudy and stormy and completely and wholly invariable.
So instead of fishing for answers somewhere beneath that dark sky, she decided to float in her nondescript boat. Back pushed firmly against a beautiful but uncomfortable minimalist chair, she narrowed her eyes until, eventually, whatever dim light existed in the lobby disappeared. It was a comfortable boat she was in, and a gentle lake breeze brushed soothingly past her face. No, no thoughts were necessary now. This was natural-bred thoughtlessness. That is, until she looked at the pool of water on which the boat kept afloat, her reflection glaring fixedly at her sky-blue eyes.
She looked within her fair eyes, over her wavering emotions toward him, and hated herself for them. "His trip is expensive, his heart steady. I have no right to be so whimsical, to act the part of this stupid capricious girl. I'm tired, but at least I didn't spend twenty-four hours to see him." And yet, all the while, she was thinking how utterly inconvenient the entire situation was -- tonight, anyway. Why couldn't he pick a day when she was less tired, why couldn't the flight be delayed 'till a weekend? Now she'll have to entertain him, too. "Damn him!" And, having opened her eyes and jumped to her feet in indignation, the climax of her internal war passed. She slumped back into the uncomfortable seat, only to find herself once again in a comfortable boat. She was floating in a lake of Elena, under a weather-torn sky. She was floating. The dim light disappeared altogether. Floating. Floa...
posted by Anton at 11:31 PM
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