Molly’s diary: Recognition

Walking toward him I see him unfold himself and stretch. He was getting something out of his car, and now he sees us approach, my friend and I. We have not seen each other in years, and suddenly here he is before me. I have to look up to meet his eyes and when I do the connection is immediate and electric. Searching-finding-incredulous-recognition is what I feel and what I see. There, on the sidewalk, beside his car, everything else falls away for a moment. He looks at me then, appraisingly, admiring what he sees, and I note the incredulity again and know it remains in my eyes as well. Is this real? How can this be? And yet clearly it is.

At dinner it happens again. I look in his eyes and know immediately that I am seen and recognized, and that I am seeing him, knowing him. Kindred spirits sharing desire.

This moment is something I have felt before. In the office of a favorite professor-turned-colleague I look up and see a stranger in the doorway. Sun-darkened glasses, jeans, blue flannel over a t-shirt, tall, lean. I am immediately intrigued, hungry, connected. And there is something in his eyes that makes it clear it is mutual. We must know one another. It is a foregone conclusion that we will arrange to meet, and that we will draw ourselves together. The question is only how long will it take?

It happened at a party, with a man in a shiny gold mini-dress, purple blunt-cut wig, goatee, and stockings. It happened once with a man I met after a short Internet correspondence. We arranged to meet in a bookstore, when our eyes met at the top of the escalator introductions were barely necessary and it was clear that something important had already happened. During dinner we hardly dropped eye contact. Walking to the T we held hands. And at Park Street station, we could not let go of one another. We kissed, there, on the edge of the park, for what felt like hours.

Magical moments, not rare but not common. Instantaneous sense of connection, belonging, desire, need, recognition. It is not possession, this intense feeling that occurs in those moments. It is not “I must have you. I will have you.” It is not “I am yours. Take me.” No, it is not possession. It is being possessed — but not by the other. It is being possessed by my own desire, and by the passion that joins people who are linked in this powerful and mysterious way, that flows between us and draws us together.

There are others of us out there. And we all meet, eventually.

That meeting of intertwined passions, of connected selves, that is what happens in those moments when sudden incredulous recognition and longing ignite in a moment of eyes locked together, unable to look away.

And it happened with him, and I wish he were closer.

~ by Molly Montrevoir on March 9, 2007.

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