I’ve named her Devi because she closely resembles a woman I knew in college. Her hair is jet black and the kind of wavy I admire-frizz free and giving off curling iron feels. I know she didn’t though, use a hair tool. It’s just her hair. I know that in the subconscious way she keeps running her fingers through it and then gathering it in her fist and allowing it to tumble down her shoulders. She’s not interested in maintaining a style that she painstakingly created. Rather, she’s wholly unaware of how lovely her hair is in its natural state.
Her skin almost exactly matches the color of my airport Starbucks latte, and her eyes are strikingly dark. She resembles a Disney princess in a way that almost immediately humbles me. And yet, she has this celebrity flying under the radar style. Her pale pink ankle banded sweatpants and heavy weight t-shirt are both unbranded but unquestionably expensive. I could say the same for her nearly floor length camel colored coat. I’m certain, even from this distance, that it’s cashmere or at least some kind of blend that does not involve artificial fibers.
The tie of her coat is loosely knotted by her midsection enough, so she exudes that kind of casual cool-girl confidence and reveals that her t-shirt falls at that unattainable (by me) perfect length that’s just at her waistline. I would assuredly look like I was sporting a potato sack in that same outerwear, but somehow, she looks comfortable and incredibly chic.
Her long, slender fingers boast perfectly manicured nails (Essie Ballet Slippers, I imagine) and are dotted with delicate gold rings. I can’t see her ear lobes due entirely to her luscious locks, but I know she has curated a perfect stack of teeny earrings to match the barely there chain around her neck, only visible because of the way the diamond hanging in the middle reflects the fluorescent lighting favored by most airports.
Her footwear is the only part of her look that feels off brand to me, but still, seems incredibly fashionable based what I know of women in their 20s and 30s, today. I’m sure they’re higher-end than they look, but they resemble the white dad-vibe Reebok kicks that I was familiar with in my younger years. They’re clunky and pretty filthy looking and still, she wears them with ease.
One of her free hands is wrapped around a Starbucks cup, like mine, and the other is clearly being used to social media scroll.
I’m staring, I’ve been staring, but she doesn’t know or if she does, hasn’t acknowledged. I suppose I feel much like the other people watchers settled uncomfortably into oft used airport seats, awaiting updates on their rarely on time flights. In fact, I’m so tuned into her, that I barely notice the man standing beside her. Well, until I do. Until he makes it so that it’s impossible not to notice him.
With one hand remaining on the handle of a piece of pine green, shiny luggage, he leans his body towards her, and moves his lips close to her ear. His movement is unnaturally efforted, but she barely moves in response. It feels like he fears letting go of his trendy luggage, as if some airport cretin could swoop in and steal it out from under him. His posture is awkward and she, Devi, does nothing to make things easier. Or more comfortable.
I’ve just named him Scott. He reminds me of that leech that the Kardashians picked up years ago. Thick, slicked back hair, a trimmed but full beard, and completely opaque aviators. Inside. He is wearing sunglasses indoors. I’m just as offended as anyone else by the outrageous lighting here, and still, I’d never aspire to the level of douchebaggery that would incite me to wear an outdoor accessory inside. Truly, never.
His attire is not unlike Devi’s, save the gray On Cloud sneakers on his feet. Well, and the fact that the rest of his outfit is black. Black sweatsuit, black overcoat, black mood. I’m surprised at the wonderment that passes through my brain as to why he isn’t wearing a cap of some sort- perhaps some overpriced designer one, or the Knicks. Maybe it’s all that hair.
Devi doesn’t move, at all. She’s incredibly still but I see the storm that passes over her face. It’s brief, barely noticeable, save my practiced eye. I’ve felt that way, made that face, and so, it feels familiar in that way you wish something didn’t, not really.
I know he’s said something vile to her, something critical or harmful, or both. He’s frustrated by the delay they’ve been subjected to and that’s become her fault, or at least, her problem. She planned this trip and for that reason, she should be punished for this inconvenience, this annoyance. Devi experiences anger in response to Scott’s inappropriate and misplaced rage, but she’ll never express it. She’ll only punish herself for making all the decisions that got her here.
Staying with Scott.
Planning this trip.
Never standing up for herself, ever.
It’s romantic to go away for Valentine’s Day. It’s unique. Why eat some overpriced meal at a subpar restaurant when you can spend the holiday in Paris? Or lounging on an island, enjoying fruity cocktails and warmer weather?
Because you’ll go with Scott and he’ll ruin everything, Devi. Even once you land and everything sorts itself out, the way that things usually do, he’ll carry on for a bit. Just enough that once he calms down, you’ll not be able to do the same. You’ll feel despondent and helpless. You’ll not be able to enjoy anything and what’s worse is that you’ll have to fake it. You’ll have to pretend, Devi, that this is the best idea you’ve ever had and this whole overreaction was an explainable and understandable hiccup.
Better to be involved than single, Devi. Better to have Scott than no one. Better to be someone with someone than someone with no one.
Right, Devi?
Happy Galantine’s Day from a gal who thought for a long time that something was better than nothing. You know what’s way sweeter than something? The thing that brings you joy. The thing that fulfills you. The thing that brings you pleasure. The thing that you carry around like a gift, rather than a burden.
Whatever that looks like for you- I wish you that thing, and only that thing, today and tomorrow and always. That thing and nothing less.
X
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 