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Articles of choice (Part 1 of an untitled series)
"Happy New Year!"
Ryan Seacrest's voice boomed from the speakers, followed by New York's Times Square.
"Happy New Year!" She screams in the air, hands raised in jubilation, excitement and intoxication. She keeps her face tilted to the sky, refusing to open her eyes as she knows everyone around her is with someone, kissing like they'd die if they stop.
"Happy New Year" she whispers and lets the tears flow. She pushes her way through the crowd, panicked to the point of suffocation. She knows her friends are going to be looking for her and she hopes they'd understand why she's running. She runs and runs, finding a place where she can be away from the couples and their happiness. She finds herself on a street corner four blocks away from Times Square. She plants herself on the curb and just starts crying.
"Hey..." a gentle voice called her. "Are you okay? Are you lost?"
She doesn't look up because for one, she knows she looks horrible and two, she's sick and tired of people thinking she's a fucking child just because she's petite.
"Hey...miss?" A hand on her shoulder gently nudges her. She flinches and looks up. "It's okay...I'm not going to hurt you...Do you need a phone? Are you lost?"
She pulls out her cellphone from her pocket and shakes her head while hiccuping. He thought she was giving him her phone. "No...no..." the man chuckles softly. "I don't need a phone...Look, it's not safe for you to be out here alone near Central Park. Where are your parents?"
She couldn't help it. She laughs and cries at the same time. "I'm...(sob)...not...(laughs)...a kid...(sob)...I'm...(chuckle)..thirty-four!...(sob)"
The man laughs in spite of himself. "Okay then." He hands her a handkerchief as he sits next to her. She takes it gratefully and tries to regulate her breathing. "I'm just going to sit here until you're okay to talk. Is that okay?"
She nods as she wipes her tears with his hanky. They sit in silence for a few minutes. "Thank you" she whispers. "I may have ruined your handkerchief though."
"It's alright. Do you want coffee? We can go somewhere warmer and have coffee?"
She nods. "I'd like that"
He stands up and offers his hand for her to take to help her up. She takes it and they walk silently, side by side to a nearby Starbucks. She sits down on a chair and he gets the coffee. He came back with two cups, an assortment of sugar and creamers. "I don't know how you take your coffee, so I got the extras."
She offered him a small smile. "Thank you." She dug into her pockets for some cash to pay him back but he held out his hand to stop her. "I got this, don't worry"
"Thanks again." She stirred her sugars and creamer in, concentrating on her coffee as if it held the answers to universe's questions.
"You want to talk about it or is the silence better?"
She let out a soft laugh. "I'm not quite sure about that..."
"Sometimes it's better to wallow in silence and to contemplate on stuff. Sometimes it's necessary to let it out."
"Not that I don't appreciate this act of random kindness, but do you do this on a regular basis?"
"Do what?"
"Rescue crying women from New York Streets?"
He chuckled. "No, no I don't. You would be my first."
She smiled. "Okay...Thanks, again."
"Where are your friends? New Year, New York..." He trailed off.
"They're probably too busy being drunk on champagne and joy that they'll go apeshit in the morning realizing I'm not there."
"Why aren't you there? If you don't mind me asking..." He sipped his coffee - black with two sugars, she noted. His hands are beautiful big, nails looking professionally manicured.
"New year, New York. Couples. Kissing..." she points to herself "Sore thumb and third wheel"
"Aaah..." he said. "Say no more..."
"What about you?' she asked as she blew on her coffee to cool it down a bit.
"New year. New York. Boring party. Same people. Same drama." He points to himself "Needs a change"
"Aaahh...." she said. " I gotcha"
They sit in silence for a while. She's staring out the window and he's staring at her. She catches him looking at her and she blushes. "Your wife must be worried about you..."
"I don't have a wife. I have an ex. Not recent....you?"
"No, I don't have a wife." She grins. "I have an ex as well. Not recent either."
He chuckles. "You're funny."
She cocks her head to the side "It has been said...So, this ex wife of yours, a model?" she smirks.
"No." he chuckles. "Although you're not the first person to say that. Why do people say that?"
She shrugs "You look like the type. Very Donald Trump but with better hair."
He cocks an eyebrow "And The Donald always goes for models?"
She looks at him incredulously "Seriously?"
"Well...he sometimes goes for game show assistants."
A beat. Then, they both laugh.
"Why is he named The Donald anyway?" she scoffs
"The trappings of success, the privilege. It's about the status."
"Oh yeah? I don't hear people saying The Bill, or The Steve or even the Tommy"
"Clinton, Martin and Hillfiger?"
"Gates, Jobs and Motolla. And thanks, you've proven my point - or contested it...I think"
He laughed. "Like I said, It's about the notoriety of success."
"What about you? What's the name attached to your article of choice?"
"I'm just a Mikhail...A Mikhail" he extends his hand.
"I'm a Louise" she shakes the offered hand.
Ryan Seacrest's voice boomed from the speakers, followed by New York's Times Square.
"Happy New Year!" She screams in the air, hands raised in jubilation, excitement and intoxication. She keeps her face tilted to the sky, refusing to open her eyes as she knows everyone around her is with someone, kissing like they'd die if they stop.
"Happy New Year" she whispers and lets the tears flow. She pushes her way through the crowd, panicked to the point of suffocation. She knows her friends are going to be looking for her and she hopes they'd understand why she's running. She runs and runs, finding a place where she can be away from the couples and their happiness. She finds herself on a street corner four blocks away from Times Square. She plants herself on the curb and just starts crying.
"Hey..." a gentle voice called her. "Are you okay? Are you lost?"
She doesn't look up because for one, she knows she looks horrible and two, she's sick and tired of people thinking she's a fucking child just because she's petite.
"Hey...miss?" A hand on her shoulder gently nudges her. She flinches and looks up. "It's okay...I'm not going to hurt you...Do you need a phone? Are you lost?"
She pulls out her cellphone from her pocket and shakes her head while hiccuping. He thought she was giving him her phone. "No...no..." the man chuckles softly. "I don't need a phone...Look, it's not safe for you to be out here alone near Central Park. Where are your parents?"
She couldn't help it. She laughs and cries at the same time. "I'm...(sob)...not...(laughs)...a kid...(sob)...I'm...(chuckle)..thirty-four!...(sob)"
The man laughs in spite of himself. "Okay then." He hands her a handkerchief as he sits next to her. She takes it gratefully and tries to regulate her breathing. "I'm just going to sit here until you're okay to talk. Is that okay?"
She nods as she wipes her tears with his hanky. They sit in silence for a few minutes. "Thank you" she whispers. "I may have ruined your handkerchief though."
"It's alright. Do you want coffee? We can go somewhere warmer and have coffee?"
She nods. "I'd like that"
He stands up and offers his hand for her to take to help her up. She takes it and they walk silently, side by side to a nearby Starbucks. She sits down on a chair and he gets the coffee. He came back with two cups, an assortment of sugar and creamers. "I don't know how you take your coffee, so I got the extras."
She offered him a small smile. "Thank you." She dug into her pockets for some cash to pay him back but he held out his hand to stop her. "I got this, don't worry"
"Thanks again." She stirred her sugars and creamer in, concentrating on her coffee as if it held the answers to universe's questions.
"You want to talk about it or is the silence better?"
She let out a soft laugh. "I'm not quite sure about that..."
"Sometimes it's better to wallow in silence and to contemplate on stuff. Sometimes it's necessary to let it out."
"Not that I don't appreciate this act of random kindness, but do you do this on a regular basis?"
"Do what?"
"Rescue crying women from New York Streets?"
He chuckled. "No, no I don't. You would be my first."
She smiled. "Okay...Thanks, again."
"Where are your friends? New Year, New York..." He trailed off.
"They're probably too busy being drunk on champagne and joy that they'll go apeshit in the morning realizing I'm not there."
"Why aren't you there? If you don't mind me asking..." He sipped his coffee - black with two sugars, she noted. His hands are beautiful big, nails looking professionally manicured.
"New year, New York. Couples. Kissing..." she points to herself "Sore thumb and third wheel"
"Aaah..." he said. "Say no more..."
"What about you?' she asked as she blew on her coffee to cool it down a bit.
"New year. New York. Boring party. Same people. Same drama." He points to himself "Needs a change"
"Aaahh...." she said. " I gotcha"
They sit in silence for a while. She's staring out the window and he's staring at her. She catches him looking at her and she blushes. "Your wife must be worried about you..."
"I don't have a wife. I have an ex. Not recent....you?"
"No, I don't have a wife." She grins. "I have an ex as well. Not recent either."
He chuckles. "You're funny."
She cocks her head to the side "It has been said...So, this ex wife of yours, a model?" she smirks.
"No." he chuckles. "Although you're not the first person to say that. Why do people say that?"
She shrugs "You look like the type. Very Donald Trump but with better hair."
He cocks an eyebrow "And The Donald always goes for models?"
She looks at him incredulously "Seriously?"
"Well...he sometimes goes for game show assistants."
A beat. Then, they both laugh.
"Why is he named The Donald anyway?" she scoffs
"The trappings of success, the privilege. It's about the status."
"Oh yeah? I don't hear people saying The Bill, or The Steve or even the Tommy"
"Clinton, Martin and Hillfiger?"
"Gates, Jobs and Motolla. And thanks, you've proven my point - or contested it...I think"
He laughed. "Like I said, It's about the notoriety of success."
"What about you? What's the name attached to your article of choice?"
"I'm just a Mikhail...A Mikhail" he extends his hand.
"I'm a Louise" she shakes the offered hand.
