Samuel Johnson Is Indignant Read Online Free
Author: Lydia Davis
me? What had the two of them said about me? Maybe I had some kind of a reputation. Even now I canât imagine that what they said was completely pure or innocentâfor instance, that I was pretty and fun to be with. There had to be something nasty about it, two boys talking privately about a girl. The awful word that began to occur to me was fast . Sheâs fast . I wasnât actually very fast. I was faster than some but not as fast as others. The more I imagined the two boys talking about me the worse I felt.
âI liked boys. I liked the boys I knew in a way that was much more innocent than they probably thought. I trusted them more than girls. Girls hurt my feelings, girls ganged up on me. I always had boys who were my friends, starting back when I was nine and ten and eleven. I didnât like this feeling that two boys were talking about me.
âWell, when the day came, I didnât want to go out to dinner with this boy. I just didnât want the difficulty of this date. It scared meânot because there was anything scary about the boy but because he was a stranger, I didnât know him. I didnât want to sit there face to face in some restaurant and start from the very beginning, knowing nothing. It didnât feel right. And there was the burden of that recommendationââGive her a try.â
âThen again, maybe there were other reasons. Maybe I had been alone in that apartment so much by then that I had retreated into some kind of inner, unsociable space that was hard to come out of. Maybe I felt I had disappeared and I was comfortable that way and did not want to be forced back into existence. I donât know.
âAt six oâclock, the buzzer rang. The boy was there, downstairs. I didnât answer it. It rang again. Still I did not answer it. I donât know how many times it rang or how long he leaned on it. I let it ring. At some point, I walked the length of the living room to the balcony. The apartment was four stories up. Across the street and down a flight of stone steps was a park. From the balcony on a clear day you could look out over the park and see all the way across town, maybe a mile, to the other river. At this point I think I ducked down or got down on my hands and knees and inched my way to the edge of the balcony. I think I looked over far enough to see him down there on the sidewalk belowâlooking up, as I remember it. Or he had gone across the street and was looking up. He didnât see me.
âI know that as I crouched there on the balcony or just back from it I had some impression of him being puzzled, disconcerted, disappointed, at a loss what to do now, not prepared for thisâprepared for all sorts of other ways the date might go, other difficulties, but not for no date at all. Maybe he also felt angry or insulted, if it occurred to him then or later that maybe he hadnât made a mistake but that I had deliberately stood him up, and not the way I did itâalone up there in the apartment, uncomfortable and embarrassed, chickening out, hiding outâbut, he would imagine, in collusion with someone else, a girlfriend or boyfriend, confiding in them, snickering over him.
âI donât know if he called me, or if I answered the phone if it rang. I could have given some excuseâI could have said I had gotten sick or had to go out suddenly. Or maybe I hung up when I heard his voice. In those days I did a lot of avoiding that I donât do nowâavoiding confrontations, avoiding difficult encounters. And I did a fair amount of lying that I also donât do now.
âWhat was strange was how awful this felt. I was treating a person like a thing. And I was betraying not just him but something larger, some social contract. When you knew a decent person was waiting downstairs, someone you had made an appointment with, you did not just not answer the buzzer. What was even more surprising to me was what I felt
âI liked boys. I liked the boys I knew in a way that was much more innocent than they probably thought. I trusted them more than girls. Girls hurt my feelings, girls ganged up on me. I always had boys who were my friends, starting back when I was nine and ten and eleven. I didnât like this feeling that two boys were talking about me.
âWell, when the day came, I didnât want to go out to dinner with this boy. I just didnât want the difficulty of this date. It scared meânot because there was anything scary about the boy but because he was a stranger, I didnât know him. I didnât want to sit there face to face in some restaurant and start from the very beginning, knowing nothing. It didnât feel right. And there was the burden of that recommendationââGive her a try.â
âThen again, maybe there were other reasons. Maybe I had been alone in that apartment so much by then that I had retreated into some kind of inner, unsociable space that was hard to come out of. Maybe I felt I had disappeared and I was comfortable that way and did not want to be forced back into existence. I donât know.
âAt six oâclock, the buzzer rang. The boy was there, downstairs. I didnât answer it. It rang again. Still I did not answer it. I donât know how many times it rang or how long he leaned on it. I let it ring. At some point, I walked the length of the living room to the balcony. The apartment was four stories up. Across the street and down a flight of stone steps was a park. From the balcony on a clear day you could look out over the park and see all the way across town, maybe a mile, to the other river. At this point I think I ducked down or got down on my hands and knees and inched my way to the edge of the balcony. I think I looked over far enough to see him down there on the sidewalk belowâlooking up, as I remember it. Or he had gone across the street and was looking up. He didnât see me.
âI know that as I crouched there on the balcony or just back from it I had some impression of him being puzzled, disconcerted, disappointed, at a loss what to do now, not prepared for thisâprepared for all sorts of other ways the date might go, other difficulties, but not for no date at all. Maybe he also felt angry or insulted, if it occurred to him then or later that maybe he hadnât made a mistake but that I had deliberately stood him up, and not the way I did itâalone up there in the apartment, uncomfortable and embarrassed, chickening out, hiding outâbut, he would imagine, in collusion with someone else, a girlfriend or boyfriend, confiding in them, snickering over him.
âI donât know if he called me, or if I answered the phone if it rang. I could have given some excuseâI could have said I had gotten sick or had to go out suddenly. Or maybe I hung up when I heard his voice. In those days I did a lot of avoiding that I donât do nowâavoiding confrontations, avoiding difficult encounters. And I did a fair amount of lying that I also donât do now.
âWhat was strange was how awful this felt. I was treating a person like a thing. And I was betraying not just him but something larger, some social contract. When you knew a decent person was waiting downstairs, someone you had made an appointment with, you did not just not answer the buzzer. What was even more surprising to me was what I felt
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