WE NEED TO CONNECT
by Marc Anthony

I look at people.  You think that’s crazy of me?  It’s not.  Everybody does this.  We’re all looking at each other.  It’s a way of reaching out.  It’s a way of finding each other.  Looking.  Staring.  You say everything with the eyes.  And you connect.  Sometimes.  You look into someone’s eyes and they look back at you and you connect.  You know what I mean?  It’s as if you see someone and you could just fall in love with that person, or you could imagine that person being your greatest friend, or just someone to talk to, even if you talked to them for a few minutes and never saw them again.  You still connect.  And that feels good.

And this is going on everywhere. We’re all wandering around all over the map looking for each other.  Looking for someone.  Because, even in a great big, frightening place like New York, we still need to reach out.  We need to feel we can still do that and that we’re doing it for lovely reasons.

I have this friend who’s into all this New Age stuff, and you know what she told me?  She told me there are no accidental meetings.  That the people you’re connecting with are the people you’re supposed to be connecting with.  And the ones that look at you from across a crowded room are the ones you’re supposed to be seeing across a crowded room, like it’s some sort of affirming thing of each other’s existence.  She even said that people who accidentally bump into you on the street haven’t bumped into you accidentally, but that they were also connecting with you.  It’s like two magnets that can feel each other’s pull.

I never thought of it this way before.  I thought I was this lonely person who was trying to reach out like everyone else.  Now I realize it’s all tied up with my destiny.  So I figure I might as well take a more active role in all this.  I see someone.  I connect.  I follow through.  No matter what.  Unless they look a little crazy.  I mean, destiny is all one thing but, hey, this is New York.  You got to draw the line somewhere.

SAW YOU AT THE RIGOLETTO ON 2/28.
You were tall w/blond hair & camel hair coat.
I’m tall w/ dark hair & wore black leather jacket.
Our moment on the comer was far too brief.
Please call 212- 919-2347

 I was at this restaurant after work.  I was out with a friend.  Well, OK, not really a friend, but someone I had connected with.  We were talking but I wasn’t really listening.  I was looking.  You see, restaurants are great places to connect.  So while my friend was talking I was looking.

My friend was saying, “…so he calls me into his office and demands to know why I haven’t finished the research on the Admar account.  And I know all along this was a set up.  You know I told you before that this guy has it in for me?  Isn’t that what I once said?”

“It’s what you once said,” I said as I tried to get a clear view of someone at a back table.

“So I said to him: ‘I completed the research last week.  I put it on your desk last week,’ and he looks at me as if I was full of crap.  You know how he looks at you?  You know with that look?”
“Yeah, I know the look,” My eyes connected with the back table person.

This was my first vision of the person who looked into my eyes: you were putting a forkful of linguine con vongole in your mouth and a linguine noodle hung out and you laughed because you were embarrassed that I saw you with your noodle hanging out like that.

My friend continued… so I’m standing there in his office feeling like I have only underwear on, and all at once I think to myself, ‘life is too short.  I don’t have to put up with this bullshit.’ So you know what I told him?”

You were sitting with this other person, but that didn’t matter.  It felt like there was just you and me and no one else.

“So you know what I told him?  Hey, I’m talking to you!”
I shook my head as if being awakened from a beautiful dream. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him to stuff his goddamned report.  And then I walked out.  I can’t believe I did that.  I’ve never walked out on anyone before!” My friend rattled the table between us.  “Hey, you in there?”
“Huh?”
“I’m spilling out my guts telling you I just quit my job and you act like you don’t even care.  What is it with you?”
“Yeah, uh…Sorry.” I said attempting to pull my attention back.  “So you quit your job your job.  You must be hungry.  You want to order?” Isignaled for the waiter and looked in your direction once more.

You were trying not to look at me.  OK.  I could wait.  I had to time this just right.

The waiter showed up to take our order. “What do you got that’s fast?”

Watching you eat your spumoni, I tore through a salad and a side dish of spaghetti so that we were in a dead heat as we drank coffee.  And when you got up and passed by my table I was already putting on my jacket.  You looked at me and smiled.  I scrutinized you then followed you out.

You were standing at the corner.  Your friend was somewhere off looking for a taxi, I guess.

“Nice night,” I said.
“It’s warm for February,” you said.
“Nice restaurant,” I said.
“My friend likes Luigi’s on Amsterdam.  You know it?”
“Know it?  I practically live next to it.”
“Well, maybe I’ll see you there sometime.”
“Yeah.  Maybe you will.”

A car pulled up to the curb in front of us.  You walked over to it and threw a quick goodbye with your hand.

“When?” I cried out.  You looked out from the window, smiling, and made a gesture with your finger.  Was it ‘one’?  A one, I thought.  The first of March?  One o’clock tomorrow?

I turned to my friend who was standing against the building, arms crossed.

You know those ads in the giveaway papers, the ones that you find on every street corner?  You know the ads in the back, the ones that say, ‘I saw you at such-and-such a place
and at such-and-such a time’?  Those are my ads.  Every one of them.  Well, nearly.  You see, I’m following through here.  If I’m supposed to be connecting with these people, then I want to put it out there that I’m following through and that they should call me.  I have about seven of these ads out there now.  I haven’t received too many calls.  OK, actually, I haven’t received any calls, yet.  But that doesn’t get me down.  I can be patient.  I mean, it’s not like I know their names and can say, “Hey, (person’s name), give me a call sometime and let’s connect.” It’s not going to happen overnight.  You know what I mean?

I have a friend who thinks I should just have little cards printed up and hand them out right there on the spot.  ‘Since, as you say, you’re supposed to be meeting these people, why don’t you just hand them your phone number?”

————————————————————————————————-

The telephone rang.  I bolted out of bed and grabbed the receiver as the rest of phone fell to the floor with a crash.  Someone pounded on the ceiling below me.

“Hello?” I rasped.  There was no response, but I could hear someone breathing.  “Hello, damn it!” I barked, looking at my kitchen clock.  It was almost two-thirty in the morning.
“Is this 919-2347?” came a soft reply.
“Yeah.  Who the hell is this?”
“I saw your ad in the paper?”
“You did?  Which one?” I asked, waking up.
“The one that said to call you.”
“I know.  But which one?  When did I see you?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“Suppose you remind me?”
There was a silence at the other end of the line.
“You’re the one who placed the ad,” said the voice.  “Don’t you remember?” “Look, I have more than one ad.  You’re going to have to tell me which one.”

 DO YOU REMEMBER?
Downtown #1 train, Tues. 3/18 10:00PM.
You:dark red wool coat, black jeans, ‘Badz Maru’ backpack.  I sat
across, red cap.  You yawned, we smiled.  You got off at 50^th.
I know what I want to say now!
Please call me: 212-919-2347.

 I was trying to act really cool.  I had this hat I got at the army surplus store.  It was from some army like India or Holland or somewhere like that.  Anyway, I was thinking that I must have looked pretty cool.  I saw you staring at me.  OK,  not really staring.  You were reading a book and kept giving me sidelong glances.  I looked at the book you were reading to see if I could make out the title.  I couldn’t see it but I guessed that you must be a student.  You had a backpack full of books and papers, and you wore horn-rimmed glasses.  You looked like a student.

I wondered if you noticed the hat.  I turned in the seat a little to face you straight on.  You looked at me for a second and then buried yourself back in your book.  Then you yawned.  It was just a little yawn.  You were trying to hold it back, which made me smile at you.  You saw that and it interrupted your yawn and caused you to smile back.

I was getting the feeling one gets when there’s a real connection being made.  I could feel my heart beating.  I felt a little rush in my head.  A glowing, numbing feeling crept up my spine.  I knew I had to make a connection with you here, and not in an ad.  I hadn’t expected this.  I’d already composed in my head what the ad would say.  I hadn’t prepared to say anything now.

You had closed the book and seemed to be looking out the window.  But I caught your reflection and saw that you were looking at me reflected in the window.

Say something now!  But what?  Should I invite you for coffee?  No, it’s too late for that.  Should I give you my phone number and ask you to call me?  I hate doing that.

I felt my throat tighten.  A slow, numbing panic took hold of me.  This was probably the connection of my life and I couldn’t even bring myself to look in your direction anymore.  I stared at the window looking at your reflection of you looking at my reflection.  I felt the train slow down as it approached 50^th Street Station.  You got up.  I looked at you.  You looked back and smiled ruefully.

“Bye,” you said as you walked out.

The train passed you by as I looked after you.  You didn’t see me.  It must’ve been that hat.  I must’ve looked stupid in the hat.

SAT 3/28 14^th St. IRT 7:30 PM I was going downtown, you up.
Tried to mime “going for coffee”.  Call me 212-919-2347

I was sitting at a side seat looking out the window.  I was sitting backwards so I could watch what passed.  The train was crowded with late commuters and early diners.  I kept looking out the window for someone.  I looked inside the train for someone.  Not anyone.  Certain ones.

The train came to 14^th Street Station.  I saw you standing on the other side of the platform.

Hello?  I’m looking at you.  You looked in my general direction.  I pulled your gaze toward me with hope.  You saw me.  I looked at you directly, unsmiling, serious.  You nodded, I nodded.  I smiled, you smiled.  I pointed at you, then me, then tilted my hand up to my mouth, cup-like.  You mouthed the word, “What?” The warning bell sounded.  The doors closed.  I pointed at you again, then me, then held out one hand flat and made the drinking gesture again with the other.  The train lurched.  Someone reading a newspaper over me lost their balance and started to fall.  I reached up to prevent it.  By then the train was already passing out of the station.  I laid my face flush against the glass.  I saw you.  You had your back to me.  I plopped back against the seat.  Some person across from me still dressed in a business suit gave me a thin smile, perhaps timidly, as if offering a consolation prize.  I stretched my lips across my face in a flash of a smile.  Yes, I affirm your presence, but I choose who I want to meet, and when.  You shouldn’t have made the first move.   The train came into my station waking me from my future.  I pushed through the knot at the door and passed through the disembarking passengers along the platform.  Walking upstream, I watched the faces pass by.  Some of them looked back at me.’ Future friends some of them, some lovers perhaps, some possible psychos whom I will of course avoid connecting with.  I selected the ones I desired as they passed: Yes. No. No. No. No. Maybe.  Yes.  Yes!  I was looking at that moment into very deep blue eyes, which made me turn around and look back, but you didn’t.  OK, then.  No.

As I was unlocking the door to my apartment, I heard the phone ring.  I struggled with the second of three locks.  I jiggled the key and turned it, finally feeling the bolt slide.  Second ring.  I groped for the key to the third lock on my key ring.  Damn downtown hallways.  They’re dark as caves.  I found the key for the third lock.  Fifth ring.  Hurry, hurry.  Sixth ring.  I unlocked the third lock and burst into the door grabbing the phone in the corner of the tiny entryway.

“Hello?” The phone cradle slid off the phone books and crashed to the floor.  Someone pounded on the ceiling below me.  You’d think they’d be used to it by now.

“Hello”?
Nothing.
“Hello!”
Nothing.
“Are you there?”

Still nothing.  I picked up the phone off the floor and hung up the receiver.  I wasn’t worried.  You’d call back, whoever you were.  You’d call back because we need to connect.  You’d call back because, God knows, I really need you to call back.

It was late.  I unfolded my bed.  I made a cup of tea and sat in the dark waiting.  Yeah, we really need to connect, don’t we?

© Marc Anthony 2000

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