Where does politeness stop and intimacy begin? Is there a starter telling us to go?
What does it mean when we touch someone? Maybe we want them to know they are valued. Do we want to connect to that person in a way that our conversation cannot carry on its own? Not all touches are redolent. If we touch someone we don’t know, what does that say? When its between a man and woman, do they cross a threshold, however briefly, of other possibilities? A frisson of excitement, the bling of newness. Heady. How easily it can overshadow the familiar and offer escape. Escape what though? The complacency of our normal lives, familiarity? In those spirituous moments, intoxication is quick and we lose our sense of boundary…
The Cafe
I have been going to a new cafe. It is unlike anything else in the the area I live. I’m naturally drawn to it and its friendly atmosphere. The owner has become a social friend. We chat about local issues, common concerns. There is a Waitress who works there, American, skinny (bit of a theme developing with me here and very against type); she is lovely, vibrant, empathetic. She works two days a week (helping the owner – not for the money); and every time I go in when she is there, we talk. There has been a connection, a correspondence if only verbal. Smiles and chatter, a genuine warmth. She is easy to like. Very.
Last week, trying to stop thinking about Helen, I went in for coffee. The Waitress spotted me immediately and came over. She asked about my week. Emotional, I said. She looked concerned and ushered me to a seat. Instantly, we begin a conversation that is NOT the chatter of someone being polite. We talk for 15 minute straight and she finally takes my order. The conversation is below the surface of social interaction. It gets deep and meaningful straight away.
It makes me slightly nervous. I’m still vulnerable about Helen. We haven’t spoken and only met in others’ company. This is what she wants. Behind this facade, I have questioned the foundations of my emotional life. Is it possible to turn the emotional and sexual dustbowl of my marriage into some kind of verdant desire again? Can Ali even begin to think about this herself? Too many questions and not enough answers. Complacency is hard to overcome especially when hinged to familiarity.
She takes my order and returns for another 15 mins of chat. The cafe isn’t super busy but it isn’t empty either. My coffee goes cold and I order another. More chat – she has just returned from California and is concerned that wherever she goes, people seem unhappy, getting divorced etc.
This talk triggers an unexpected emotional connection. I also feel VERY vulnerable. She vibrates empathy and warmth. I must be careful. The Waitress has talked about her children regularly. I feel confused but also, it feels like an invitation to continue the discussion over a longer period. Someone said to me that maybe she ‘got the sense that you desire her’. My head (and my eyes) never took that route. We had always clicked and that was all.
We talk about Rick Rubin’s book on Creativity. She has a copy and will bring it in next week. There is noticeable touching and we speak about how English men can misinterpret the Californian’s tactile natures (I mention Helen and her propensity for this too). I say that this is important to me. She continues and touches my arm, my shoulder. I reciprocate when making her smile or apologising. There is an intimacy about the conversation that is definitely not waitress / customer (as some people have suggested to me – I’m not that naive).
She was pre-occupied and felt as though being a parent is to feel in a persistent state of failure. I wondered too if she argued with her husband. Had the experience of visiting California and seeing friends in complicated emotional states over their lives affected her? Was she reflecting her inner state to me seeking some form of recognition?
I leave in a state of some shock. I message a friend:
“What have you done now?” she says.
I explain what just happened.
“Is she having doubts about her marriage?”
“I have no idea”, I respond.
She can’t be interested in this damaged older man. She is 22 years younger than I am. But I think about her all week. Helen is seriously annoying me and a fight is brewing – more on that when it happens.
A week later
After a frustrating morning of back to back meetings (and 3 changes of clothes later), I get to the cafe. It is rammed! She sees me immediately and comes over. I sit squeezed in the window. She has the book, brings it to me. There is so little time to chat and I ask if she will get a break – not til later. Damn. I give her a copy of Rachel Grimes’ CD, Book of Leaves (never arrive empty handed). She asks if she can keep it – of course. But I feel a different vibe. She is guarded.
I eat my lunch, egg-mayo on focaccia – a whole boiled egg in the middle. The Waitress brings a coffee and we chat briefly, small talk, smiles, the occasional touch again. Did she feel that last time she had been too open, maybe flashed signals, trailed breadcrumbs?
Frustrated by the busy cafe, I ask if I can connect in another way. She smiles and says of course and gives me the name of her Instagram account. It’s private so I request access. People are waiting outside so I finish the coffee and pay. She thanks me and apologises that it is so busy. I leave and say I might see her next week.
In the car, I feel a fool. An old fool. What the hell was I thinking? This beautiful woman with a husband and two children. I’m not vain enough to think she was obviously attracted to me. I’m 22 years older than her FFS! Last week’s conversation had been of the kind that, had I had it with a single woman, I would have known that we were going to see each other again and see what happens. But neither of us are and I am too emotionally vulnerable entirely to trust what is going through my mind right now.
The work reveals itself as you go.
Rick Rubin, The Creative Art: A Way of Being
I leave with an ache in my heart. I anticipated a repeat emotional connection but it couldn’t and maybe wouldn’t happen. I had no expectations beyond that on the day. A moment in time.
I check Instagram every 5 minutes for the next 8 hours!!
I wake up at 4am and, of course, check the damned phone and see she has accepted my request. Her account is full of pictures of her children and the odd picture of her and her husband. There are multiple declarations of a deep love for him. He’s a lucky man. She is lovely and heartfelt.
I have been messaging the owner of the cafe on Instagram regularly. It is a lovely place and being such a large person(ality), I am never anonymous. So, I always make the best of it to make connections with people. She mentions the Waitress and a local initiative that she and her husband are involved with that I may be able to help through my political connections.
Later, I message the Waitress about this and offer to help and mention our other mutual connections (who knew London could be so small). I am very clear with her about how highly conscious I am of boundaries! Our lives are meshed in unexpected ways and I cannot be inappropriate in any way (not that I would, but…). She responds after a while. It is all about the husband and quietly sets some clear but entirely implicit boundaries.
I am relieved that she seems happy with her situation. Whilst she didn’t say she wasn’t, it was an impression on the day. Maybe it is too soon for her to experience the complacency that gnaws away at intimacy. I hope so. We must all work out how our relationships are valued, how happiness is measured and how to help desire reject the familiar.
I’m happy to have her as an acquaintance and some kind of social friendship. Just for a moment though, it felt like something more…
Messages to Nowhere: A diary of limerence 
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