“Hey, pause it for a sec. I need to pee.” My girlfriend gets up from the couch, shaking her head.
“See that’s what every girl wants. . .” she says as she cracks open the bathroom door so I can hear her talking over the stream of urine spraying into the bowl.
“. . . a guy who truly listens to what we’re saying. Do you see how he looks at her? He’s not even looking at her. He’s looking into her. He makes a mental note every time. . . ”
I stop listening. Girls and their collective ‘we’s.
We just want to be appreciated.
We just a guy who wants to truly commit.
This is my girlfriend telling me how I should be more like Noah. Rom-com saps aren’t real, I want to tell her every time I let her submit me to this torture. Believe it or not, he memorizes these lines from a script. Some bald guy named Antonio just put make-up on him ten minutes prior to shooting this scene. That’s the thing I don’t understand about girls and their cheesy chick flicks. They try to see beyond “the kiss.” For me, the only thing behind the kiss is a crusty-eyed camera crew. “Take 62. That was good, Rachel. A little stiff. Next time try to give me a little less Sleepless in Seattle and a little more Pretty Woman.”
Today marks four years. Four years and I’m still competing with this douche-bag. I stare blankly at the frozen screen. Ryan Gosling’s lips contorted there in mid-sentence. His nose, wrinkled as if he smells curdled milk. I imagine that shot blown up to poster-size hanging in every 18-24 year old girl’s bedroom.
Trish walks out of the bathroom, the toilet flushing behind her. She comes and plops down beside me and reaches for the remote. Her hands are clean, and they smell like apricot soap. I smile at her.
"Let's go take a walk in Turner’s Park. I know it's random, but I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”
“Right now?" She groans. "It’s supposed to rain though, and I thought we were going to finish this.” She keeps her eyes fixed on the paralyzed Gosling.
We just want a guy to hang by one hand from a Ferris wheel until we agree to go out with him.
We just want a guy who writes us every day for a year.
She tosses me a resentful glance and pushes play. The twisted face comes back to life, and then hers seems to too.
“Yeah. Alright, maybe later then.” I lean over, kiss her on the side of the head, and try to focus on the television.
This is Trish’s favorite part, the one where where Ally jumps into Noah’s arms and they decide it was never over. This is the part where it’s raining so hard Gosling’s make-up starts to smear. Every girl’s cream dream.
I let out a sigh and push the tiny engagement ring box deeper in my pocket. At least I’ll stay dry for one more night. Take 63.
2 comments:
I really like this voice -- this feels like it's part of something longer to me . . .
I like this story a lot. Very cool that you tried to get inside a guy's head and came up with a really thoughtful and accurate depiction of what might happend in a relationship from his point of view.
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