Rain, Calling on the telephone

C calls. I did try to call him but didn’t expect to talk to him. It started to rain in the evening. So I lay on the floor listing d to the rain hitting the skylights. It feels soothing. C, being an inventor, and a creator of all things scientific, says that perhaps there is a way to create these raining sounds and have it be played every night. C said that he missed New England’s summer storm. When he was young, his family had a beach house and in the summer his father would drive from one house to another to close the windows when the storm hits. I have been to the coast of New England many times over, with several boyfriends in my youth, so what he told me made sense. One time I was standing at Kennebunkport beach looking at the Bush compound from a distance. It was all very fenced off and protected. The coast line in Massachusetts is spectacular. We get on the subject of Brown. I said, “It’s barely an Ivy League.” He thinks that it is funny.

C is making these golden hands for a project for his friend’s company. They are building robots for artificial intelligence research. He’s also making a very interesting thing he called it something rather scientific and he has to make these cylinder molds. I want C to make me something inventive, but he thinks that the vibrator field has been fully tapped out.

He thinks that I have a nice voice. I rarely talk on the phone. I don’t like talking on the phone. I sound like a kid when I’m on the phone. The last person I talked on the phone daily married me. But I like talking to people when they are interesting and have things unique to say. I like that because I feel that I’m learning something.

Asking C if I should go to Niagara falls this weekend or should I just stay in town and do some shopping.  C says that I should tour because he does not care for shopping. Of course not, he’s a guy’s guy.

So I ask, “What are you making on Tuesday?” C says, “So I’m seeing you on Tuesday.” More to himself than to reply to me. He has asked but I have not replied, until now. I ask why he does not want to go out to eat with me. He said that restaurant is too noisy and he wants me all to himself. It’s not the first time I’ve heard of that. Men tend to want me to themselves. I just want to have a good time and not get all heavy or personal. But sometimes I fail. It is what it is I think.

We have not talked about Boston. About Boston’s shooting incident. I don’t like to talk about  Boston with C. I would rather focus on the present.

C asks me about my adventures in Toronto. The horse meat tasted like chicken. Flavorful. He laughs. He eats everything which is great. He also likes to cook. Though not always. He just likes to cook for me and pour drinks for me.

We talk about his projects. His work. What he’s doing for the weekend. But the rain distracts me. I can’t remember what he says. He works in the basement, where the lab exists. Often very lonely. Scientists come and talk to him from time to time. He does not have a very strong ambition. He just does what he does and creates what he creates. He’s brilliant and self-taught. He’s always been very creative. He reads. He hangs out with friends. He has a cult following but he does not care. That much I know. I’m a different creature. He’s different from what I know as well.

C goes back east twice a year. C likes his alone time. I like my alone time. I enjoy it in fact.

C does not have a cell phone. He does not like to be tracked down. I respect that. 

I want to create something. Something grand, something from scratch. I don’t want to deal with corporate stuff when I’m not at work. I work in a stressful work environment. One of those days. I think.

C wants to make me pork tenderloin with garlic. I don’t want anything with garlic, unless after dinner we go and hunt for vampires.  C laughs to my comment.

I tell C about the new thing called authentic Japanese ramen. And the pot smoking business in Toronto. C has good weed. It’s practically legal in San Francisco, as is in Toronto.

I don’t need to try hard with C. I am just me. I picture C as Walter, but younger, and much better looking. Walter is the scientist who works in the basement lab at Harvard from Fringe. A Sci-fi tv show, now cancelled, about a not so great alternate universe. I don’t think C thinks much about his looks, his demeanor or his charm. I think C is always just C and has always been this weird, science driven genius who’s often engrossed in his project. I think of me as his muse. I don’t ever want to be anything more.  I’m not excited, nor conflicted about my platonic relationship with C.

If this is a beginning of a sort, a new beginning, then why do I not feel anything? Perhaps that’s exactly what I need. A relationship that is built on mutual admiration, and not physical intensity. I can use less of intensity and more calmness. I’m high energy, and I need someone mellow and calm to take care of me. I think that’s what I need. Someone to take care of me.