Afternoon nap

I'm drunk or drugged, giggling and feeling loopy with a man in bed.
He's older, and initially I can't make out who he is.
My vision begins to pick up details.
I know where I am and who this man is.
He's my dad. This is his room.
Feelings boil up inside me.
I'm upset, enraged and afraid.
I scramble out of bed and grab my scattered clothes.
I bottle my urge to yell or cry because I'm not sure which to do first.
My only thought is to escape as quickly as possible.
I run out of the room and slam the door behind me.
My mom is lounging on her chair, looking at me ignorantly like a child.
I run to the upstairs bathroom and see myself in the mirror.
My hair is a mess, and my eyes are in a drugged-up daze.
I scream.

Le Pain Quotdien

Monday afternoon, let's meet at Le Pain Quotdien, he said.
Sounds good. The one on Broadway or 5th?
5th, he said. It's more chic.
We sit down side-by-side.
My favorite is the avocado, but I remember you like meaty, so I suggest the curry chicken, he said.
The waiter arrives and he orders.
And to drink?
Sparkling, please, he said.
I probe him about his life - he's about 15 years my senior, and I figure he has some wisdom to share.
Born in Belgium, educated in France, worked in Vietnam, New York.
Traveled across the U.S., across South America.
Must be a rich guy, someone remarked when I described his adventurous life prior to our meeting.
I eat my chicken curry (and try the avocado he shares with me) as I listen intently.
An incredible life.
But now, he has a six-month-old son and a girlfriend that he lives with.
Do you feel like you're settling down?
A rolling rock grows no moss, he said.
What does that mean?
He explains.
Also - you can't have your cake and eat it too, he said.
I can't remember if he answered my question.
You should read Siddhartha,  he said.
Everyone says that.
We look at each other and I try to imagine him as a 23-year-old.
Beautiful blue eyes, grizzled hair turning dull and gray, a face for camera.
I don't recall noticing any wrinkles (I like them anyway).
He pays.
We leave.
He walks me to 14th Street and says this is where he turns.
We exchange hugs and polite kisses.
And then he kisses me.
Hold on, he said.
He unzips my coat and puts his hands around my waist.
Kisses me again.
I'm flattered but just as I am exhilarated, I'm put off.
What do you feel right now?
Come here, he said.
He pulls me to a corner on 14th Street to kiss me more.
I think about what time it is.
I should get going, I said.
He pulls his cock out.
I gotta go, I said.
Ignored, I receive more kisses.
I'm gonna go, I said, backing away (sideways rather, because we are in a corner).
What do you feel?
I don't know how I feel.

Chinatown

Chinatown.

My hood protects me from the frozen sprinkles of rain.

I walk by four Vietnamese restaurants in a row, trying to choose one for dinner.

A white man - also shielded by a hood - hurriedly walks into the one to my left, but not before we catch eyes.

Instinct tells me to follow him.

I find him holding the door.

"Is this place any good?" I ask.

"The best."

We put our hoods down - I notice hia hair is wild like mine - and again catch eyes.

The host speaks to us in Vietnamese.

I look confused.

"You don't speak Vietnamese?" the white man asks.

"Unfortunately, no."

"Two?" the host tries again.

I shake my head and hold one finger up, then smile and look back at him avoiding eyes.

"Unless you want to join me," I say, prepared for embarassment.

"I'm picking up," he says.

I'm relieved, but disappointed.

"Just one," I tell the host.

I sit facing the door and absent-mindedly flip through the menu.

"While I wait, I can help pick you pick something out.

I only know street food. What do you want?" he asks.

"Street food."

He orders for me in Vietnamese.

I don't know what he ordered.

Before he leaves, he asks for my email.

I say he won't remember but tell him anyway.

With nothing written down, he leaves with his order.

My food arrives and my phone buzzes.

Disturbingly tempting 

I must say 

Caught me wrong footed.

Duane Reade Cosmetics Aisle

I have no makeup on my fourth day without having brushed my hair.

I feel like I look like shit.

To make myself feel better, I decide to buy some makeup.

Something I haven't done in a while.

I go for the "natural" brand.

Black tea mascara and Barbados eyeshadow.

"I don't know how you women do it.

There's so many to choose from."

30-something with facial hair and glasses.

Latino?

Body type: fluffy.

Knit sweater.

"Yeah, I'm a bit overwhelmed," I say.

I'm alone in the cosmetics aisle with him.

"Do you mind if I stereotype for one second. . ."

I prepare for the worst.

". . . but are you a student at NYU?"

"No. I mean you can stereotype, but no - I'm not a student at NYU," I say.

He works in IT.

Lives in Brooklyn.

Has lived in New York for 20 years.

Invites me to eat African food in Long Island City.
I told him -
"Thank you, I appreciate you coming up to talk to me"
and to text me when he goes to get African food in Long Island City.
"I'd love to take you out," he says.
I put my name and number in his phone.

Jamaica in New York

Kingston-based correspondent covering Central America and the Caribbean.
He's coming into the office and I "should meet him."
Reputation: "nice, but a lot of women in the office have complained about him."
How come?
"He makes them uncomfortable."
Ok, but I should meet him?

Really good hair (brown and mane-like).
Glasses (must be smart and sensitive).
Grizzled (like a white man in Jamaica).
I invite him to get a drink with me.
We walk out together.
My boss sees us as we silently get up and leave.
Outside, we walk by a nice bar.
Date-worthy, or at least a place that would impress me.
He dismisses it (too fancy - I wish I remembered the exact phrase).
We go around the corner to a place that serves pulled pork sandwiches on a tray.
"Do you have beer?" he asks the girl in the hat behind the counter.
They do.
I get a pulled pork sandwich.
We talk.
He asks me if I'm promiscuous.
Politely I laugh.

I hear you're a good dancer, he says the next day in the office.

A day or two later we get lunch - dumplings uptown.
I'm away from my desk for over an hour.
But he pays.

He owns a villa on a hill that overlooks the city.

His last night, he invites me over.
I'm already on a date with another coworker.
It feels scandalous, so I turn Kingston down.
He texts me in the morning to say goodbye.

Two months later:

what brings you back? I ask.

I missed u, he says.

hahaha
how long you here for?

as long as u need me to stay

Westminster mall

Westminster mall, Orange County
Dropped off by cab from John Wayne
Hiking boots on my backpack
"Are you a tourist?"
16-year-old Asian boy in glasses
A pause
"No."
He walks in a different direction