Elbows

She's all elbows, this girl.

And I try to see it. I try to see around corners, turn her inside out. I want to see this glowing underbelly, this kernel of gold buried deep in her soul. I want understanding.

And I want to hate her too.

But it's hard. Because of the elbows. And the sharp collarbones, the shoulders, the sweeping pitch of alabaster cheeks. There's something about her that feels not-quite-grown. She's draped in vulnerability, in awkwardness. There's a sense of her that she's be out of place no matter what place she found herself in. It's hard to work up an aggrieved hatred when the first thing you feel for her is pity, and you can't quite get past that first impression.

I keep thinking: Well, what does he see in her?

Patty.

Even her name seems beneath me. Seems little. Seems insubstantial.

But he introduces her with what seems a genuine fondness. He has tenderness in his eyes, and he keeps her close. And he's a little enchanted. Dear God, don't I recognise that look? Isn't it the same one he looked at me with? Once upon a time.

“Patty, this is Karina.”

Me: I put on my brightest smile; my dripping, unbreachable confidence. I've dressed to stun, wearing ruffled silver with black earring, obsidian-chunk necklace, lacquered black shoes. I'm dressed to intimidate; but now I feel overdressed. I feel as if this ensemble screams: trying too hard. And here she is in simple white floral. Looking delicate and awkward, not really pretty, half ready to turn around and run. And still, she has the better of me somehow.

“Hey,” I hold a hand out, “so great to meet you.”

She murmurs: “You're gorgeous.”

“Sweet,” I say, coming across condescending – not even sure how much it's on purpose. And me: saccharine, glittering. I turn my attention on Evan: “You didn't tell me she was so sweet.”

“It's been a while since I've had the chance to keep you informed.”

“Yes it has.”

“Drink?” He asks.

“Champagne.” Well, why the fuck not?

“Champagne it is.”

#

Alone with her. She rests her elbows on the table, leans in. “I hope this isn't awkward.”

“Oh, why would it be?”

“Well, I do know. You and Evan...”

“History,” I say lightly. And I feel like putting her in her place: “But it was fun while it lasted. It was a blast. Nuclear. You can't hold on forever though can you?”

In a small voice: “I hope to.”

“We all hope.”

“Yes.”

“It was fun times with Evan. Maybe he told you about some of them. No. That would be insensitive. But he was, for a while, unforgettable. Guys like that, they're on fire most of the time, aren't they?”

“I think he must be different with me than he was with you.”

“My Evan?”

“I think.”

“He has told you stories.”

“Yes.”

“Scared?”

She shakes her head. She looks it. But not the right kind of scared.

I think he must be different with me than he was with you.

Is he?

He is though. He comes back to the table and gives us our drinks. Patty first. He looks into her eyes as he sits down. He slides a protective arm around her waist. He's attentive. He leans in as she moves against his side. There's a symmetry. There's a symbiotic need and trust.

“Karina been warning you off?”

“I'll never be that.”

He looks at me directly. It's as if he's trying to see something, the way I've been, with Patty. He's looking back at me, looking back at his life through me. As if he's asking the question: what was it I saw in her?

I'll tell you what, asshole: I'm beautiful. And not just that, I'm tough, and self assured, I can play any game and win it. I take no shit. I'm top shelf; and you have to work for it if you want me. I'm smart. I'm fearless. I blaze like a fucking bonfire. And let's not even get started on how good I am in bed!

But now he's got eyes just for her.

She can't dance. And he doesn't care. When the slow music comes on he sweeps her up in his arms and draws her out onto the dance floor. Her elbows flare. She can't control them. She looks down at her feet; which she shuffles. And he still seems lost in her. Evan. My Evan. I really don't know how this can be.

#

He finds me a little bit later in the night.

“She okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, fine. But we're heading off now.”

I know what he's heading off to do. And I remember when it was him and me, heading off to do that, all over each other.

He says, “Look, I know how it went down with us.”

“Yeah, hard to forget.”

“You fucked me over too. Don't think you didn't. I've got a second chance here.”

“Don't worry. I'm not going to ruin it.”

“You couldn't.”

Oh, really? But he's right. I couldn't. And his simple, certain voice is all the proof I need of that. It's the bloody real thing, isn't it? He's found it. We never had it. I don't know what my chances are of ever having it for myself.

He says: “You look amazing tonight.”

“I always do.”

“Yeah, you do. You were always flawless.”

I give him that crooked smile, that almost flirtation: “You know it.”

“I'm glad we did this.”

Oddly, I find I'm telling the truth: “Me too.”

“Can you wish us well?”

“It's been nearly five years, I think I can manage that.”

“I notice you didn't bring anyone.”

“Perceptive as ever. You might remember my self-sufficiency.” It drew you like a magnet, but it seems it fell short in the end. While her, her spindly neediness, her unrehearsed smile: those are the things that've locked in his heart.

“Good luck out there, Karina.”

“You too.” Though I can see all too well that he doesn't need it. Not anymore.

I need it though. God, I do. I watch him opening the door for her, taking her hand as he helps her into her seat. I can see the look that passes between them, and it says absolutely everything without making a sound. It's not loss I'm mourning, it's the realisation of all I've never had.

They're two strangers I watch driving off into the night.