The man at the door speaks Russian. He can cook and sing and play the guitar and (he claims) keeps things neat, would clean up after her if she'd like. He is not classically handsome, but he holds his face tilted to the left a bit, his eyebrow seeming to sag a bit with its weight. She likes his eyes anyway, the dark brown of them and how she can hardly make out where the pupils begin and end.
“This is what I'm saying,” he says. “We'll start out slow, like you're supposed to do. I'll ask you to a movie first maybe. We'll go out to dinner first – wherever you want. You'll find that I'm witty and actually pretty interesting and eventually, it will lead to more.”
“How do I know you won't leave me?”
“Oh, at the end of the night, I'll tell you I had a good time, and you'll say you did too, and I'll kiss you on the cheek, or maybe even on the lips if you seem up for it. Then you'll agonize for days when I don't call you again right away.”
“But how do I know you will call again?”
“I'll call again. I'll just be waiting a bit so I don't seem to anxious, you know, like people do.”
“And then what?”
“And then we'll go out again, and again, and again, and we'll start calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend and holding hands in public. We'll start planning our life together. You'll say you want two kids–“
“Three.”
“You'll say you want three kids; I'll say just one. We'll fight it out playfully and eventually you'll win, because how could I resist those dimples?”
“But how do I know you won't leave me?”
“I'll ask you to marry me. It'll be very romantic. Somewhere where we can be alone. Maybe I'll pack a picnic and we'll go to the park and watch the sunset and then, right before the streetlights click on, I'll ask you. And you'll say–“
“No.”
“What? No, you say yes.”
“Listen....” She shifts her weight from one side to the other. “What's your name?”
“Hal.”
“Hal. Listen, Hal. What did you knock on my door for? What are you asking me right now?”
“I'm just asking that you'll go out with me, that you'll marry me. I'm just asking that you'll spend your whole life with me. That you'll let me be your servant and treat you like a queen for as long as we live. That you'll–“
“Hal,” she holds out her hand to stop him and he grabs it to kiss it. “Hal!” She pulls it away, takes a deep breath, tries again: “Hal, people don't really do that.”
“Of course people do. People get married all the time!”
“Yes, Hal, people get married. But real people don't just pick a random door and propose to the first girl who opens it.”
“But you're beautiful!” It comes out as a bit of screeching.
“I might need to see my psychiatrist.”
And then she shuts the door.
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