A Glance Inside

I was working the cloak room at an opera house in New York. People hand me their coats, I give them a number, and vice versa.

One night, a classy couple were leaving in the middle of the show. He was a handsome forty-something artsy rich type of guy, his hair and figure impeccable, his eyes smiling an experienced smile. She was young and beautiful, at least on the outside - her hair, her skin, her face, her moves. Makes you sad to see a woman like this because you know a poor immigrant bastard like you will never to be with somebody like her.

They seemed like a casual date, maybe friends who each already have somebody, but their other halves are out of town so they decided to spend the evening together. Nothing sexual as far as I could tell. If anything, the guy was like an uncle to her. They were talking about her mother’s house in Long Island.

”But I wouldn’t like to live there now,” she said, “Even though it was my home when I was a girl."

"Why not?"

"Bad memories. Mother used to bandage my snatch. ‘Maybe it will heal over, you would be better off,’ she used to say.”

I tried not to make eye contact as I handed her the coat. I sometimes wonder what her eyes would have told me.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk