From My Side Of The TV

I watch you from a distance. I can tell that the cold bothers you by the way you adjust your jacket, pulling it closer around your shoulders and bringing your chin into your chest, attempting to hide your face from winter’s fingertips. You remind me of someone struggling with a blanket that doesn’t cover their toes- no matter how hard they try their efforts come up short (pun intended). I flirt with the idea of giving you my scarf, or lending you my gloves, or maybe my hat so that at least your ears are warm. I figure warmth is a fair trade for a second of your time. I’ll give your protection from the cold, and in return, you give me your name or some other bridge that can link our separate worlds. Before I make up my mind to approach you, a group of your friends turn the corner and surround you.  I hear the tall girl with the model build from across the street. She says, “Tammy you look so cold! Here take my gloves.”  I see you reach out and grab them out of the tall girl’s hands. I imagine your teeth chattering relentlessly as you try to mouth the words, “Thank You.”

Part of me is happy that you found warmth in the cold, but I can not deny the other part of me that wishes your tall skinny friend stayed in whatever hole she crawled out of. I think to myself that nothing has really changed . You’re still on the corner waiting for your bus, only now there are three other girls waiting alongside you. But there is something daunting about approaching a group of strangers no matter how pure your intentions. Even if I come to you with the hope of meeting someone new, to begin the process of building a foundation of friendship, the awkwardness of being scrutinized by those who claim to know you is overpowering. The saying, “There is strength in numbers” is completely true, especially when dealing with a group of girls who couldn’t distinguish you from any other statistic from the US Census Bureau. Suddenly I hear a low screeching noise. The 60 pulls up at the corner, you and your friends pay your bus fare as you board. Just like that my chance to find happiness rode off on public transportation, sitting comfortably in warmed seats, surrounded by friends and inside jokes, and safe from the lustful gaze of a stranger hoping to find companionship in the girl at the bus stop.

In a split second you became like one of those stars on the other side of the TV screen. From my point of view you’re eye catching like a burgundy dress in a funeral procession, or a diamond ring glistening in the moonlight. From your point of view I’m shrouded in darkness; hidden behind a wall of oblivion and radio signals. I reside in a dimension outside the reach of your perception, I am the blind spot in your peripheral vision, unknown because unseen, and a cause for caution on your part. Tomorrow while I wait the bus to take me home I’ll look for you. I’ll gaze on my end of the screen and marvel at your design unseen, after all,  you can’t see me from your side of the TV.