Your Phone or Mine?
It is fortunate that I decided against trying to write this article by punching little buttons on my cell phone. It was tempting, believe me. That little plastic window is fast becoming a gallery of my world, my sole means of contact with other living beings. In my hand I can feel the device throbbing with anticipation of the next invitation to escape the banality of life and run naked through cyberspace.
It wasn't always this way . . . or maybe it's just me . . . maybe I should say, I wasn't always this way. Like one of Pavlov's dogs, I find myself salivating each time I hear the electronic chip or blaring ring-tone of a cell phone--anybody's cell phone. I think of it vibrating next to their skin . . . the warm tingle, the breathless excitement, the near-orgasmic thrill of seeing those tiny letters speaking to me. And it isn't enough that I get to read those secret messages to me--no!--I want to read your messages, too. I want to steal your cell phone, not so I can make free calls, but so I can invade your private world, wear your skin, and experience for myself all your secret, unspoken pleasures. Yes, my friend; I want to steal your cell phone . . . and for me, it all began this way.
I sat down next to him. I saw his eyes turn in my direction, then look suddenly away as I settled myself at the small cafe-table next to his. He was ruggedly handsome, with dark searching eyes and a cleft in his strong chin that made me squirm in my seat as my thoughts turned to images of a woman's tender body. His hair was a black flame, his hands brown and muscled with fingers wide and thick, drumming the table as his eyes remained fixed on the small cell phone that lay between those enormous hands. He was everything I am not, the kind of man that women dream of in their most private moments, and I was no less than shocked to feel the stab of envy in my twisting gut. It was a childish impulse, I admit, but I could not resist the urge to place my own cell phone on the table and position it between my hands so that I could drum my slender fingers and make my counterpart take notice of the fact that with my slight build and straight ginger hair, while we could not have been less similar in a physical sense, I, too, could stare at a cell phone identical in every respect to his own. Would he take notice? Might he make use of this common link between us to strike up a conversation with me? Even as these thoughts burned in my mind, the desire to speak to him, to discover his inner world, so affected me that I did not see him leave the table in my dazed and utterly consumed state of mind, yet the sound of the waiter's voice hung in the air, and in a flash, I realized that the handsome stranger beside me had been called away to the telephone---but more!--that in his haste he had left his cell phone behind. And that's when I decided to do it!
I can't say why it is that, as people, we tend to assume that others have it better than we do, that the more physically beautiful a person is, the better his or her life must be by virtue of that beauty. Perhaps, what causes this is the instinct for perfection of the human race. Frankly, I don't really know. All I can say about it is, I was so certain that this physically perfect man must have a better or more interesting life than my own, that his was a life filled with the kind of real and consuming passion of which I could only dream, that, seeing no one around, I rose from my table and with a casual sweep of my hand, knocked his cell phone off the table, retrieving it in mid-air. That's when I switched my cell phone for his.
Being an amateur thief of the first order--in truth I had never stolen anything before in my life--I made a dash for the busy street where I could disappear in to the crowd.
It was a cool and pleasant night along the Soseaua Kiseleff, and it seemed all of Bucharest had chosen this night for a stroll under a bright canopy of stars. But my heart was pounding with such fury that I could not keep pace with the strollers and found myself swerving around and past them like a taxi driver in Rome. By the time I reached the great arch, I could feel a stream of perspiration running down my face and I decided that I needed to stop and catch my breath. I looked around and saw no one had followed me. There was no sign of my beautiful counterpart. And as I stood there, with the great arch illuminated behind me, I was seized by the same sense of triumph for which the great arch had been named. I had done it! I had made a clean getaway! But just as I was exalting in the sinister success of my crime, I was gripped by an overpowering feeling of terror. I had slipped the purloined cell phone in to the front pocket of my jeans, and now I could feel it's vibration against my thigh producing a tingling between my legs that was so intense that I nearly doubled over from the strange and forbidden pleasure that was spreading though my trembling body. Had I lost control? Would I humiliate myself under this starry sky, with all these nameless faces waiting for my ruin?
I collected myself and reached in for the humming cell phone and removed it from my pocket. But now an even worse shock! In the little plastic window I saw the words, "Meet Me Under Great Arch." I spun round . . . or was it that the circle of cars and buildings and faces and lights spun round and round and round where I stood transfixed? Where? Where is he? I searched every blank face, my chest heaving, but the messenger was nowhere to be found. Still I felt those dark eyes piercing through me. I could feel his heat, his fury, and I was certain that the man from the cafe was watching, waiting for his chance to take his revenge.
I didn't even see the city traffic for the panic now was blinding. I bolted across, my hands shielding my eyes from the glaring lights, my ears filled the screeching of brakes and the blare of horns--then . . . safe! "Are you all right," I heard. Where? Where was this voice coming from? I felt a tap on my shoulder, whirled around, stumbled and was caught by a large man in uniform. Was he the police? How could I know? My heart was beating so fast that I could no longer think. Then it struck me--this policeman was about to arrest me for stealing the cell phone. It had all been planned this way. This I could plainly see now. I thought no one had followed me, but I had been wrong. The man from the cafe surely had followed me, notified the police, and sent the message to get me to panic. And here I am now, about to be led off to jail.
I stammered out a reply: "Yes, I am quite all right, thank you. Just a bit shaken. I don't know how it happened---maybe I was pushed--but suddenly I found myself in the middle of the avenue and all I could do was run for it." Something made me look down. The Guillotine would have been a better fate than what I felt when I saw that same cell phone laying in the hand of this huge policeman. "I think you dropped this, " he said. And with a polite tip of his hat, he was gone.
Chirp . . . Chirp . . Chirp . . . The phone was alive! Dropping it must have changed the setting, because now it was no longer vibrating. I opened it and in the little plastic window were the words, "Where Are You?"
This is crazy, I thought. What is he doing? Why . . . and then it hit me! I could never have dreamed he'd be so willing. I felt a strange warmth run through me. He did notice me! He didn't seem like the type, but my counterpart from the cafe is a man of many facets, I think. By all appearances, he was not the kind of man to do something like this. But this man is bold. He's unconventional! His cool exterior is but a mask! Inside him burns for it, just as I burn. Inside he wants, just as I want. Inside that massive hunk of human being there beats a wild and lonely heart . . . and I can be his! I can be his . . .and I shall be his . . . and he shall be mine . . . and we shall be one . . . and it shall be tonight!
Quickly, I punched my cell number into his phone. I was desperate to hear his voice, to tell him I new how he felt . . . that this was probably all new to him . . . that this is the way it happens sometimes . . . you just see someone and somewhere inside a curtain is drawn and you see yourself as you really are for the first time in your life! O, the Joy! The black shell of convention has been pealed away and all the world is color and light and bright stars and great monuments to heroism and undying love. Yes, here under the Arch of Triumph do I wait for you, my liberator, my savior, my dark and mysterious stranger! I know you and you know me. We are different in appearance but we share one heart, one soul. My mind felt about to burst with the release of energy from this fission of my inner core!
But still I heard only ringing . . . . Where was he? Had he taken my phone thinking it was his? The leaden self doubt descended upon my sinking heart. My feet would not stand still and I felt the urge to run off into the night to hide my shame, to vanish again in to loneliness and bleak despair.
I walked for an hour, never thinking, never caring where I was going. I just wanted to walk and walk and walk until I reached the end of the earth, and with one final leap, bring this night, this life, this unrelenting need to a crashing end!
I came to a place where there were many tall trees. It was quiet and still. The sounds of city were distant now and this was a place I could think. I found a small wooden bench under a tall lamp, and there I sat looking up at the stars.
From the time when I was very small, on nights like this, I would find some quiet place to be alone with my thoughts. To me, they were like toy balloons, and one by one I would release them and watch them float up to the stars. Some people have so much in this world. It isn't fair; it isn't right. "What do I have?," I thought. "What will I ever amount to in this life? I am young and I live in one of the oldest cities in this world. Thousands of years of history rise up out of the ground all around me and I am lost--lost in the city, lost in the night, lost in the stars."
Chirp . . Chirp . . Chirp . . . I flipped it open, nearly dropping the phone in my excitement. The little plastic window spoke to me again: "I AM WAITING"
"Yes," I thought; "it is him! It must be him! Who else could it be? No . . . no phone call this time . . . he wants the little plastic window to speak to him. He likes the mystery of it all . . . he likes it, and so do I!" I tapped in my message and pressed "send." Yes, all I said was "Hi," but that would tell him all he needs to know and the chase, the glorious, delicious chase will be on!
For the next three hours, as the sounds and bright lights of the city dimmed and finally faded away, my friend from the cafe and I traded messages. They became increasingly suggestive, intimate, and ultimately thrilling, and I grew bolder and more daring with every one. "How Big Is It?" I blushed after sending that one. Moments later: "How Big Is What?" was his reply. "You KNOWWWWW" was how I answered.
Then I waited. I sat there in the park for what seemed like forever, tapping my foot, and drumming my fingers on the bench. Then, "Where Are You" appeared in the little plastic window. I responded, "I Am Lost . . . A Park Somewhere"
"You mean this park?" His voice was thunder, his touch lighting. I looked up and there were those dark searching eyes, the black-flame hair, and in his gentle smile I saw my destiny. The playfulness was gone and with it, all doubt.
I can still smell the sweetness of the wet grass, feel the warmth of his hands slipping under my shirt, and the proud insistence between my legs as all of Bucharest slept, and I counted the stars of his passions that night. And as a scarlet-gray dawn bloomed in the sky, we walked together under the trees. He took me in his arms again, and his kiss reached down into my soul. Then, with my head filled with the music of his desire, he pressed something smooth and cool in to my hand. "I believe this is yours," he said. "I must have picked it up by mistake. Did you have fun tonight?" "Oh, yes," I replied. "Well, if we can get your mother to watch the kids again next weekend, maybe we can do this again. Your phone or mine?"