ericpoldark

[ericpoldark]

[ericpoldark]

anisalennox​:

As it turned out, her pilates instructor had been right. Electrolytes were important, so much so that they’d earned her an appreciative smile. Feeling slightly emboldened, she settled on the bench next to him, careful to leave a wide margin of space. It was important to appear cool and casual, words she’d read in Cosmo magazine but never understood in practice. Her gaze flickered over his figure, taking in the sweat that stained his shirt. She didn’t particularly want to touch him though it allowed a shallow glimpse at his frame. 

It didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t answer her question. In fact, she found it somewhat peculiar, considering he hadn’t even offered a region. Not wanting to disrupt the positive headway she was making, she went along with his answer. “I’m also not from around here though I’ve lived here for a while. ” she answered, giving an easy half-shrug.  “It’s a nice city though. Picturesque. Good for running around.” A beat. “I was born in Chicago but I grew up all around.. You ever been to the windy city?”

In earnest, Eric hadn’t met many Bostonians that weren’t also Massachusettsans, but, to be fair: he hadn’t met that many people since moving there. He had a few ‘friends’ from work and was well familiar with some of the shop owners and patrons around his neighborhood. Eric had even gotten to know a few professors and students at Harvard, but overall, he wasn’t a textbook case of acclimation or anywhere near it, but he had been fighting it with all of his might to no perceived detriment of his own. He stared blankly — the kind of stare one gave under exhaustion but not present sleepiness. He was thoughtless, but perhaps confused, perhaps uncomfortable, but primarily: out-of-place. The atmosphere was cold, but sunny, and as a brief wind chilled him, he could feel the swelter of heat from the on his neck and shoulders. He took another swig of the drink, palliating the unfamiliar taste with a particular expression.

Eric gave a dry chuckle, looking over at Anisa — acknowledging her. He was notorious for not looking people in the eyes as they spoke, and he didn’t do it then, but with all the utterances of ‘you could just look at me’ and other variations spewed at him in the heat of arguments with an ex-girlfriend, Eric learned quickly: he could just look in people’s general vicinity. Eye contact didn’t matter, but intent of attention was somewhere buried in the psyche or fifth-year philosophy and sociology, and he didn’t care, but he was, more often than not, willing to practice human decency or conform to the outrageous and ever-changing laws of culture and society. If he hadn’t been raised by prominent and rich parents, he would’ve learned in the service industry. He was constantly learning and relearning  — finding himself in seclusion and being reintroduced to a society that still hadn’t realized they were ripping each other to shreds  — finding solace in a person or a place or an institution  — having that person become a warzone  — having that place turn into a cemetery  — seeing that institution turn on you the second society made a new amendment to what was just, loyal and right  — or  — really  — when it no longer had the ability to create a safe space, which was interesting, what with all the talk of safe spaces.

There was no single space on Earth for anyone to retreat into.

“The windy city,’ he repeated, a stoic but present smile clinging to his face. “A few times. My dad has some friends from college that way, and,’ Eric heard himself rambling. No one had asked him a question in a long time. Even at work, his coworkers were more than content to drone on about their lives and the struggles of the impoverished, pregnant, under-educated, strung-out and young. A few of the servers were older and gay and interested in some of the fine arts, but as the admitted elitist he was, no matter how similar their interests were to his, Eric strongly questioned the similarities he had with anyone over a certain age who ended up still working front-of-house at a restaurant. But that went for back-of-house, and for Eric, any job that wasn’t at least close to six digits felt symbolic of a life poorly lived and even more terribly executed.

“My mom’s family is from Ann Arbor, so, if we ever drove to see my grandparents,’ he motioned his hand to represent travel. “We’d stop for a weekend or for dinner in Chicago... yeah,’ he thought harder. He had old classmates there, but he wouldn’t nod off about them nostalgically. He felt the need to change the conversation.

“So, how do you know everyone you came to dinner with the other night?”

[ericpoldark]

anisalennox​:

Anisa nodded, curls bobbing in time to the movements of her head. His words were reassuring enough and for a moment, she wondered if this was a sign….No, that wasn’t quite the word. The communications major in her racked her mind and when she found it, a smile spread across her lips. Kismet. “Thanks, and oh, um that’s a relief! I’d hate to have interrupted your runner’s high.” Though she appreciated his willingness to meet her half-way, in the back of her mind, she knew otherwise. That was the thing about being a communications director. Her job was to facilitate the perfect interaction and it was glaringly obvious to her that this wasn’t quite it. Eight positive encounters. Studies had shown that it took eight positive encounters to erase a bad first impression. She hoped that this would be the first and more than that, that she’d have to chance to make the next seven.

Her first challenge was to best accommodate his circumstances. If he’d been running, what would be most necessary? She didn’t run but she worked out a few times a week. What was it her kickboxing instructor always saying after class?

Electrolytes.

He’d need to replenish them.

“Do you want to sit for a moment? ..You’re probably feeling exhausted. I’ll um, be just a moment!. ”

She didn’t wait for his answer, afraid that if she asked him directly, he’d decline. It was common courtesy to decline an offer and so she didn’t, arriving back in just under 3 minutes with a bottle of Nooma Organic. 

When she returned, Anisa held the bottle out of him, filling the silence by answering his question earlier.

“I live a bit more uptown but I can walk here in about half an hour…Are you from around here? Your accent isn’t particularly Boston. ”

Eric didn’t get a word in before Anisa ran off, and to be fully honest, he hadn’t heard what she said completely. He pieced together a bit, but didn’t know why she had taken off so abruptly and knew better than to follow after her in the crowd. He had heard her ask if he wanted to sit, and even he wasn’t curt enough to deny that invitation. If he was, however, he would have probably also jogged (or more likely walked) off into oblivion and blamed it on miscommunication at another time. Really, he was a kind guy.

After a few minutes, Anisa came back into his line of vision, and Eric saw the woman clutching a drink and figured that was what she had ran off to get. The kindnesses, already stacked out of his favor, bid him return the gift with appreciation and a smile. He took a sip to be grateful, but held off on ingesting too much: afraid that he wouldn’t be able to handle the refresher and a medium-sized coffee. He could, but walking back and forth for hours on the night shift would not bode well. 

Eric ran a hand through his sweaty hair, closed the drink and sat it next to his leg on the bench. He looked over to Anisa, gave her a frank smile, listening to her response. He knew that he must’ve looked utterly despondent, and if questioned, he would blame it on the excursion of exercise, but the reason lie more within the immense anxiety beginning to bubble in the back of his throat. He was moving closer and closer to ending up in a situation he didn’t want to be in; he could feel that. He thought that he should have denied the drink when it was offered to him. 

Eric cleared his throat. 

“I- I live in the North End, but,’ he thought about what he wanted to say, how much he wanted to divulge. If he said he was from California, that opened an array of other questions, mainly: why the fuck would you leave California? Ha-- just wait-- here’s the kicker.

“I’m not from Boston, it’s a really great city, though,’ Eric continued, nodding and looking at everything dully. “How about you?”

[ericpoldark]

anisalennox​:

[2:41 p.m.] um, i’ve been working on and off for most of the day. debating between a) continuing to work b) going for a walk or c) get tacos from the food truck downtown. [2:42 p.m.] what do you think?

She’d tossed her phone on the bed as soon as she hit send, the messiness of her curls temporarily hindering her vision as she shook her head in frustration. Though she’d been tempted to un-send her messages, the fear that he’d already seen her kept her from doing so. Instead, she groaned slightly, shedding the pajamas she still wore in favor of taking a hot shower. If he did respond, it was unlikely that he’d encourage her work-a-holic tendencies so she decided to getting dressed, just in case he wanted to meet up. Pulling her curls into a bun when she stepped out of the shower, she took a moment to admire the sunlight that streamed in from outside the window. She toweled herself dry, finding a breezy dress to slip on over her frame. It was, as all her clothes were, designer and she paired the floral dress with a simple pair of white sneakers. Taking a moment to look herself over, she pulled her hair from its bun. Her damp curls lay limp on her shoulders as she considered her this shorter length of hair. Did she feel cute? Not particularly, but she was certain she looked okay.

Flinging herself on her bed, she tried to pretend that she was just casually reaching for her phone, fingers anxiously as she wiped through her notifications. She told herself that she was curious about the hundreds of likes she’d received a selfie she’d posted on Instagram a few nights prior. When she saw she had no new message notifications from Eric and confirmed again that her messages had gone through, Anisa sighed. She wasn’t surprised because despite what he’s said, she’d really been a mess that night. She remembered looking in the mirror and seeing her skin glisten with sweat, her hair stand wild(er) than usual. It was ironic that though this very picture had garnered over 600 likes, it hadn’t captured her obnoxiousness.

Pushing the thoughts from mind, Anisa shrugged on a thick cardigan before heading out the door. She waved to security as she passed through the lobby, immediately feeling her shoulders relax as the breeze brushed the bare skin of her collarbone. Putting in her headphones, Anisa set off, taking time to bask in the sunlight. Without realizing it, she started towards downtown and had only come to realize exactly where she was when the smell of carnitas greeted her. She order a tray full of tacos, settling on an empty bench in the park area.  The taste of freshly fried shrimp brought a hum to her lips and she smiled to herself as polished off her first taco. She’d just bit into her second when he saw him, or rather a stranger who looked just like him.  It wasn’t until he waved that she realized it was Eric and worse yet, that she was seconds away from being caught in an embarrassing act again. She quickly trashed the remainder of the taco, taking a swallow of water as he approached her. Her cheeks reddened slightly as she took in his appearance. Of course, he was on a run. He’d said he was going to and it was silly for her to think otherwise. “Hi,” an awkward pause in which she gave an almost nervous smile. She’d forgotten how cute he was and without alcohol or technology between them, she found herself feeling suddenly shy. “I don’t think the odds are particularly high but I’m glad you did.” Was that a weird to say? Was she embarrassing herself? Further doubt crept in her mind and she palmed the fabric of her dress nervously. “I mean, you know, it’s cool running into you as opposed to some other stranger. How um, how much of your run do you have left? I hope I’m not messing up your time..”

Eric raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun, looking at the young woman as she greeted him. She was extremely well-spoken and good-looking, and Eric imagined that, much like all the other women that he had bumped heads with in Boston, she was taking the eighty-second wave of women’s liberation by the reigns and dating ‘liberally’. She was confident, or secure, really, and he assumed that he was in no way special or significant— they hadn’t shared a moment at dinner, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if getting his number was a dare. He half suspected that that was what some whispering he saw was about. He couldn’t put a finger on it, couldn’t decide why he was so underwhelmed by the mere thought of her or anyone projecting a romantic or sexual intention on him. It was probably his aversion to people or unwillingness to be emotionally responsible for anyone (including himself) or the simple truth: he hadn’t spoken to one person in the entire city, outside of academic disputes, that made so much as his eyebrows rise in interest. He thought about how much his stomach had churned after having to continue the conversation over text with Anisa following a few replies. If he had to, if it came down to it, he wasn’t going to stick it to her to prove a point, but simply because it didn’t matter. There could be someone else in a week who would make better conversation, and he would disappear into oblivion. Whatever.

So, he stayed and talked. He would promise to text her back or see her soon. He told himself it was to be nice, and then he told himself that maybe she would visit the restaurant again and tip well (if he was charming enough). Subconsciously, there was the absence of affirmation — and he knew she liked him  — he watched her blush.

“Second impressions are good,’ he mumbled in response, giving her a slight smile. Eric almost regretted not bringing a pair of sunglasses, his arm beginning to strain under the dexterity of keeping it positioned awkwardly over his eyes. He could sit, but then he would have to stand and idle once the conversation was done, but before that he would have to make conversation (which was something he was always hesitant to do if he wasn’t on the clock). Eric shifted his weight from one leg to another and cursed himself silently about the sunglasses, then about standing so awkwardly. In earnest, had he brought glasses, they would have pissed him off within minutes, but he had tunnel vision and a list of regrets a mile long full of the slightest and most benign of grievances. He would die of stress at an early age.

“Not too long,’ he lied, deciding that it could be a good excuse to leave if he needed one. He was, decidedly, done with running for the day. After encountering the group of people, he knew he wouldn’t be able to energize himself up to begin jogging again once he made his way through the crowd. He wasn’t exactly confident about where he was, but he knew there was a bookstore within a couple of blocks, and he had planned to make his way there and grab a coffee from the shop within. He looked at his watch, it read 3:16 P.M. He had work in his less than three hours and an hour long commute if he walked back home which was the custom. He knew if he stayed and talked for much longer, he would have to catch the line.

“You’re fine,’ Eric decided. He could talk briefly. “Do you stay around this part of the city?”

[ericpoldark]

leavin’ me stranded all in love on my own do you think of me? where am I now? baby, where do I sleep?

[ericpoldark]

Eric was fit but not necessarily strong. He hadn’t competed in an arm wrestling match since he was a boy and hadn’t won a match since even earlier. Most of the sports he played in school were cardiovascular-reliant, and he had the extraordinary ability to run and keep going. He had done it for years. In school, he played lacrosse, tennis and basketball, he’d even wrestled for a few seasons. He was never a fan of running in and of itself, but without the mandate of physical exercise that came with being on a school athletic team, he needed a way to guarantee he didn’t end up fragile and sickly (he doubted his ability to gain weight). Daily, Eric ran around the wharf or caught a line up to Cambridge and ran a scenic route, away from populated spots. He listened to some popular soft rock radio station or the humming birds and cruised for an hour or less, stopping eventually, coasting on runner’s high and grabbing a black coffee from a chain store. If it hadn’t proven uncomfortable in the past, he would’ve brought a pack with him and smoked one or two in the daytime breeze. Something about running every day made living badly at all other times cost-effective. 

He ran a bit south from his home, choosing a local park that usually had a jazz-cover band playing while strollers and moms took videos. It was Sunday, and there were more people than he had expected to be there, but the day was cooler than he had expected, and if he waited any longer to run by choosing somewhere more distant, the walk back home would be freezing. This, of course, could have been solved by grabbing a sweatshirt or a jacket, but once one obliges themselves to living as uncomfortably as possible, there is no relief found anywhere.

Through the park, he navigated past dogs without leashes, panhandlers and a few toddlers taking gradual steps before a strait promised a bit of solitude and some shade from the sun. The narrow trail widened out to an opening with six different avenues, and Eric began on one without looking to see where it led. Soon, he was in a hamlet of small shops, the smell of fudge floating through the low-density one-way road and street vendors. His jogging turned into walking as the side of the street became more and more full of people waiting in line for food and others watching small street performances. He frowned, making his way through the crowd and trying to create some distance between himself and the others. He was warm, but as were they. He wasn’t looking to see anyone or be seen particularly, and with the limited amount of people he knew in the city, he didn’t mind making eye contact. When Eric had first moved to Boston, he was weary, and for good reason: he still looked familiar to a lot of people. After some time, he felt just like everyone else did in Boston— inconsequential.

He moved his hands to his lips and gave a few families quaint smiles before laying eyes on Anisa. He wrinkled his eyebrows in genuine surprise, as it was infrequent to see anyone in public, ever, when the city you lived in was that massive. Eric thought for a second on whether or not he should greet her, whether or not it would seem like he had found her under circumstances that were anything but coincidental. He decided it would be stranger to ignore her than to simply go up to her and mention something about living in a ‘small world’. He turned his music off and gave the woman a familiar wave and feigned the surprise that had already been washed away. Murphy’s law.

“Hey,’ he began. “I actually never run this route, so what are the odds I catch you here?’ Eric said with a charismatic smile. He hadn’t texted her back, though his watch read that he had a few unopened messages from her. At least, he had been found doing what he said he was doing. 

[ericpoldark]

Andrew Garfield as Dennis Nash 99 HOMES 2014 | dir. Ramin Bahrani

[ericpoldark]

If you wish to fear nothing, consider that everything is to be feared.

Seneca, Natural Questions

[ericpoldark]

eric ➡️ anisa

Anisa: ...

Anisa: Soooo, I was literally typing 'What a relief!' when you sent that second message. [11:37 A.M.]

Anisa: Yikes. [11:37 A.M.]

Anisa: We may /have/ been speaking in code though now that I think about it....[11:39 A.M.]

Anisa: Alright, topic change (pls and ty💖!) How's your morning going? [11:39 A.M.]

Eric: No worries lol [2:15 P.M.]

Eric: Probably going to go for a run now, might stop by the bookstore before work tonight. My life is pretty underwhelming, I'll warn you now. [2:20 P.M.]

Eric: What's your day look like? [2:20 P.M.}

[ericpoldark]

eric ➡️ anisa

Anisa: No worries! Tbh, I'm just glad to hear from you.. Hope the rest of your shift went by uneventfully.

Anisa: And last night was a mess but everyone home safe and sound, so mission accomplished? 😆

Anisa: Also, question. On a scale of 1-Britney Spears shaving her hair, how much of a mess was I?

Eric: Making sure everyone is safe, happy and accounted for is usually the most difficult part of the night, so as long as that went over well, then I'd say mission accomplished. [11:36 A.M.]

Eric: I've served drunker, but it definitely spiraled into you all speaking in code at one point. Of course, it could've been a long-winded inside joke. It was all fine, no need to be embarrassed. I trusted your ability to get home safely, if that says anything. [11:37 A.M.]

[ericpoldark]

eric ➡️ anisa

Eric: Hey! I would've shot you a text message last night, but I got home later in the evening. I seriously appreciate the tip. You always have a spot in my section, and so do all of your friends. [10:41 A.M.]

Eric: I hope you guys had fun the rest of the night, looked like the group was barely hanging in at the end there haha [10:43 A.M.]

[ericpoldark]

“As the Japanese will tell you, one can train a rose to grow through anything, to grow through a nautilus even, but it must be done with tenderness.”

— Andrew Sean Greer, The Confessions of Max Tivoli

[ericpoldark]