Performance Anxiety

Performance Anxiety

I wore my ecru lace dress with a burnout velvet evening coat and my lace Jimmy Choos. I wandered around my favorite park until offices started closing and rumpled people started pouring out onto the sidewalks.

Then it was on to my favorite park bench near the oak grove, before the drones arrived. The human hive kind. I felt a few casual glances, and I'll fight anyone who says you can't feel someone looking at you. Call it what you want. Supersensory tentacles, ectoplasm, psychic antennae.

But I'm waiting for a certain . . . flavor of realism. If there's no contact, the show can go on until at least the squirrels are satisfied or bored.

I took the bag of acorns from my purse, slipped out of my right Jimmy Choo and poured the acorns into it for the squirrels.

Some people changed their minds about the relaxing nature of the park. But. One set of grass-muffled steps moved closer, a tentative rear-guard action.

Now here's my confession. I really don't have time for messy machinations of human liking, the l-word or romance. I like the very first quantum moments of possibilities. That's it. I try to set up a performance that delivers that for me. I hope the responding party is at best mildly entertained by my Jane Austin on peyote routine and at least not offended. My perfect outcome is amusement and acknowledgement in kind of a remote fashion. There's a discreet ending point to the routine and if it's ignored, I turn up the weird. Or just book it.

The squirrels were suspicious of my shoes today. They are more used to the second hand Louboutins. I sat back to wait and surveil.

My cell doubled as a black mirror. The footsteps belonged to a him. About my age, dressed well, haircut a little high and tight for my taste. But he's got a little smile on his face, sort of a "Jimmy Stewart joins Harvey at the bar" kind of smile. Extra points.

I tilted my head back, eyes closed, pepper spray at hand. A stunning and rare fall day for the city. Clear cerulean sky, lamb-like clouds. The sun cupping my face. I feel a shadow slide across me and open my eyes to an upside down face leaning over me.

The face said, "That's awfully nice of you." I froze. The squirrels froze.

The face continued ,"To offer food to the wildlife using vintage Jimmy Choos. Late 80s, I'm thinking."

He was right. I blinked and took my finger off the pepper spray button. I thought I heard a squirrel choking but it was him. Laughing. Not a mean laugh. The sort I'd been looking for, yea verily, as in amusement.

He stepped around the bench but didn't sit down.

Thank God. I hadn't surrendered all my faculties.

But I noticed his clean fingernails. And cufflinks. Cufflinks!

"Oh," he said. "I've gone and spooked you. And the show was just getting started. But you've put no hat out. We're not being filmed, are we?" He looked around.

I tried to speak, but my tongue was made of inflated flannel. Anyway, one does not break down and spill one's guts to a stranger. Admittedly nice-looking. Admittedly urbane. Admittedly enjoying himself.

Then he sat down on the bench at the farthest remove. "I'm really sorry," he said. "I seem to have messed up . . . what you were doing."

I managed, "I wear a kitten heel for people like you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"For the rapid conclusion of a performance."

"Exiting on the quick you mean? So it is a performance. I proffer my ticket."

He picked up an oak leaf, tore it in two, and presented me with half.

I snatched it. I actually did feel a little better. More in control of things. I broadcast the acorns out onto the green, using my shoe like a sling. Poor squirrels. Dinner or missiles?

"I really want to be able to come back here, so there's usually only a prologue," I confessed.

He seemed genuinely shocked. "Are you one of the indolent rich I hear so much about?"

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "No. I thought you were."

"Observe my wrinkled tie and sweaty collar."

"Yes, but cufflinks."

"Graduation present from my gram." He would say 'gram.'

In less than five minutes, we're now talking about grandmothers. "I too had a grandmother," I offered.

"Dear Lord," he said. "Ths is all moving too fast. I'm having palpitations."

I made a squink. It's when you're trying really hard to keep your lips so tightly closed that you end up making a sound like a throttled mountain hyrax.

We bellowed like walruses.

The park became even less populous.

By now I had my shoe back on and he had his necktie off. What is even happening?

We watched the trees swallow the sun. No talking.

But then, " What do you want. Really. Out of the world, I mean," he asked.

Deep breath. "Prepare for deep uncoolness, but . . . peace. Beauty. Freedom." Reluctantly, "Some version of affection."

"Do you have that?"

"No."

"Neither do I."

"Have you figured out a way to have it?" he asked.

"Not really. I get bits of it. Random patches. It'll have to do."

Why not tell the truth? "I also think we want too much, maybe, of the wrong things that we mistake for right things."

"What would be the right things?"

I sat silent for a small forever.

"Sharing beautiful experiences. Fortifying each other through the difficult ones. Notice what the other person needs. Try to give it to them, to whatever degree makes sense to you. To be honest. Right from the beginning."

He spreads his hands out. "But this performance?"

I smooth my dress over my knees. "I'm putting my hand in a puppet. But it's an honest puppet." He gives me a dubious look. "Then I get to run away when I've had enough."

"I think I understand. Sometimes I think we just say yes too soon. To other people."

I nod, not daring to say yes.

"Is there a script for this?" he asked.

"There is no script for this," I said

"I'm glad," he said. "I think that's a good thing."

"A week from now, here, maybe?" I asked. "Sans squirrels?"

"But I like the squirrels," he said.

I laughed. My real me, laughing.