Captive Association

Just got home from work. Rode on the E train from Chambers Street. 'Twas a peaceful ride. I listened to Leonard Cohen the entire way home, and was reminded of a reunion I had with an old "boyfriend" four years ago. (Actually, we never officially fulfilled the status quo here, we were determined to "be doomed" - to doom ourselves - in whatever scenario our love latched onto).

Four years prior to four years ago, we fell in love. And here he was, (four years ago), in New York for a visit. I hadn't seen him since four years ago. Not...four years before four years ago. But I'm losing the thread here.

He showed up in Queens, and we grabbed lunch at a funky little restaurant down the street, which was staffed entirely by Eastern-Europeans. So, the service was slow. And over the speakers, the restaurant started playing "The Best of Leonard Cohen". The entire album through.

I remember thinking it was appropriate music.

(Don't most people think songs are written solely for them?)

So, the music resonated on this nostalgic level. Mind you, we had both moved on. There were no ulterior motives at play here, mainly curiosity and politeness. And maybe a slight predisposition towards perceiving the other person as unfortunate, but this blog is not about the truth of the matter. Beyond the music, there was nothing really nice about the meeting.

Have you ever seen a former friend, and felt as if they had somehow taken all the steps they could have possibly taken in order to become the most disappointing version of themselves? Remember when you first got the internet - and it was AOL - and you thought it couldn't get any better? Try to use that now. That's what this meeting was like. And the music became incongruous. See...it tried to make me nostalgic, but it failed. All I could take in was how disappointed I was in this young fellow. He was all armed and guarded up. Lacking a surprising amount of humility or anything similar. Now, I'm not judging my judgment right now: I don't know whether I'm right or wrong about him, and I'm not interested in predicting what he thought of me. The blog is not about this!

My point is this: Every time I hear Leonard Cohen now, I think of a vague, ethereal notion of love, just as I always had before. I will always think of being in love with my husband, because K. was the person who introduced me to the music. But then, against my will, I must forever think of this disappointing little meeting in this arbitrary restaurant, all because the Slovakian waitstaff decided to play the entire album through. That's the point of this blog.

(Cue sad trombone sound).

(And gospel choir).