Eric Rohmer's "MY NIGHT AT MAUD'S" (1969)
Back in 2003, Kelsie was pregnant with Canaan through the Spring, Summer, and Fall. Despite that, I ditched her for four months that summer, packed up and moved to a small town called Boston, MA. I had gotten accepted into a Marriage and Family Therapy program through ENC, right at the same time that we found out that Kelsie was pregnant. As it happened, I got a job working on campus, three months before my program began. That was amazing, considering it provided us the necessary housing - that would later be a center point for art, conversation, dinner, and community. But for now, Kelsie needed to stay back in Ohio to work, so we could keep the insurance we needed to have our first born child. For some reason, I don't remember feeling like it was that big of a deal for us to sustain the temporary separation. However, I do remember being "ready" to move to New England and embrace the surroundings - like going to prepare a place for us to "be".
In reflection, it ended up being a kind of "into the wild" experience - those four months. and for one short moment, I experienced "French New Wave", without yet knowing what that means. the essence of French New Wave, as i now know, is both relational and post-modern in context. it very much encapsulates the relational holocaust and all it's paradoxes, ideals, and questions, I believe. but as if a scene pulled out of one it's very own films, I found myself in one of those weird situations that I might scoff at on film, because "these things" just don't normally happen. which is true, mostly, except this brief encounter, which I have never discussed with anyone, other than my wife.
I have no idea of the exact date, but i am guessing August or September of 2003. twenty-four years old. anyways - I walked up onto the platform to wait for the T at the Wollaston Station. I believe that she was sitting, and I was standing. I noticed her, and she noticed me. I was enthralled, but awkward, and anxious - mostly because she wasn't opposed to our mutual attraction. It seemed necessary to her. for the life of me, i cannot remember anything about her clothes, but that they must have been punk-hipster, for reasons i will explain in a minute. i had on my "urban outfitters" get-up, which was a decent transition from FUBU. instead of big and baggy, i went for the form fitting and trendy. apparently it was something, according to the punk-hipster girl.
you should know, interestingly, that though i found this female to be very attractive - it was the attention she was giving me that really sent my endorphins through the roof. and because i am the opposite of the guy who approaches women with "one-liners", i never expect an infatuation to be anything other than an observation. Except for this one occasion, it never has been.
So we get on the red line train, running downbound to Boston. again, she sits, and i am standing. i am trying to avoid her eye contact, but she is not even pretending, and i just simply beside myself. a stop or two later, a seat opened up next to her, and i actually walked over and sat down next to her - anxious as hell, but calmer than expected. she had a wonderful smile. very attractive smile. She had long hair, brunette. and she had piercings....in her CHEEKS. i had not seen that before. so just after we made some small talk about several loud obnoxious adolescents down a few seats - i brought up the piercings. she talked about them for a minute, minimizing the unique nature of cheek piercings (which i have not seen before or since). but we quickly moved on passed the bullshit. it was obvious that there was a significant subjective spiritual connection between our attraction for one another. maybe because we were opposites. it must of been obvious to her that i was not nearly as urban as i pretended to be - and she could see through to my innocent, pure, and childlike nature. Equally, her smile erased all her blemishes and brokenness represented by her external expressions. and there we were, sitting next to one another's temptation of the other.
i remember being intentional about keeping my wedding ring on my finger, and also being more intentional about not hiding my hand. her recognition of this ring broke our mutual fantasy of what might be, but it also allowed us to transcend this emotional moment into a spiritual one. she learned of my pregnant wife and our current circumstance, and i learned of her single motherhood. and she said to me, right before she got off the train to go pick-up her daughter..."love her well" and "be patient with her"! she smiled, said goodbye, and left.
it was like a message from God. from one of his angels with piercings instead of wings. i was profoundly moved.
i waited for her many evenings at that stop, hoping to hear more from her, about herself and her context. maybe meet her daughter. but she never appeared again. not for the three years that we were there.
i don't even remember her name.
but i pray for her, and her daughter. and i thank God for the wisdom given to her, through her own relational holocaust.
and i thank God for my wedding ring.
