Innocence
May 1st, 2006
I hung with G—— quite a bit this weekend, what with both of us showing at the art walk this weekend. On Sunday, during some downtime, G——‘s friend A—— came over and hung out for a bit. She was in the back when I went to grab some chicken off the BBQ and we had a surprising conversation, at least for me.
She stood with her head and hip cocked to the side, pulling on a cigarette slowly. She was analyzing me, but smiling, trying to figure out just a little bit more about me. “I’m so glad you’re here, I didn’t know if G—— was going to be alone all weekend.”
I wasn’t sure if she knew I was presenting as well, or was trying to elicit more information with the vagueness of the question. And, well, we’ve have been hanging out beyond the art circuit as well.
Cue the sufficiently vague answer: “Yeah, it’s been a pretty crazy weekend, we need all the support we can get.” Besides, I don’t know if G—— wants it out about the art scene. Last thing I want is for people to think I’m getting gigs, and I’m recommending her for fashion shows, just because, well, you know. (Particularly since that isn’t the case – I think she’s a good designer – I’m not a big fan of her art, but her clothes and fashion I think is wonderful, I would say her strong suit – and I believe she thinks the some of my photography is reasonably good.)
She continues: “You two,” I can already see there’ll be pause before the end of the sentence, “make such a great” and here, letting just enough time elapse to let both of us know she doesn’t know what to label us, is the break. I fill it for her, honestly, but without resolution: “I don’t know what we are.”
She smiles. “You’re a good guy. She talks about you.”
“Reaallly?” There’s a playful, descending tone to the interrogative.
“Good things.”
“Interesting.”
She pulls another drag off her smoke and smiles coyly from a three-quarter profile. “You’re good together. Sweet. You’re so … innocent.”
I smile back, thinking. “Even more interesting.”
She stubs out her cigarette. “Well, I’ll see you out front.”
In that twilight of wakefulness and sleep, before I fall completely into a deep slumber, I find myself skipping non-linear through a review of the day, taking tangents and what-ifs and introspections just two steps from lucid dreaming. I run into the conversation again: am I just that innocent? Or perhaps she was just complimenting me? Maybe giving me a hint? Do I hide my the scars of my past indiscretions that well? Are my indiscretions so minor compared to her environment that they truly qualify as a relative innocence? Is she just obtuse?
Or do I realize that dark side of me is something I have, and will always have, but that it is not what I want right now, and that when I turn it off, it is off completely; it doesn’t seep through into the rest of me? That my innocence is just a reflection of a lack of malcontent, an appreciation of what I was and what I am? That the two are not dissimilar but not the same, that there is a trajectory between the my past self and my current incarnation, though my coordinates are no longer rooted to my old propulsions?
Probably a little of each.
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