The Man
My girlfriend is an alpha woman. She leads her life as she wishes. When she wants a vacation, she packs her bags and goes to South America, all by herself. She decides to take a PhD offer in the US, on a whim. Relocation to the other side of the ocean is an afternoon’s work for her. Even though it includes shipping her piano, snowboard and the bread maker.
She is the kind of woman you would ask for help when moving flats. For that reason I never challenged her to arm wrestling. But I had to follow her footsteps on a 50 mile hike through a rainforest. I wasn’t surprised when she announced her marathon training. On the race day I did my best to keep up with her, on my bike.
Efficiency is her religion. She is done baking her superhero muffins by the time I brush my teeth. She goes through her morning yoga with a sense of urgency. Like many other alphas, she hides her feelings. It is hard to read her mood, except when she is hangry. If she is hangry, it is best to avoid the path between her and the fridge.
She is independent, quick and strong. That’s why I was stunned when I found her begging me to step into the bathroom. One of my running shoes in her hand, she was asking me to go in. I asked why she doesn’t get in there, she said I was the man! I would have enjoyed the rare recognition of my gender’s superiority, if the situation was not dire. Nevertheless, I took advantage of the moment and barked my order. Bring me my underwear! I had to flee the shower on short notice. Naked and dripping, putting on an underwear was the first thing that came to my mind.
Armed with a boxer and a single running shoe, I started the ritual. First the plea. I had my arguments, we are in a flat for two. We can not accommodate a third. We host friends and family whenever covid allows but we can not do this for strangers. Secondly, the irreconcilable differences. No matter how much we both love this city, enjoy strolling on its streets aimlessly and cherish its smell, we can not be comfortable in each other’s presence.
My pleas did not receive sympathy. But my lack of efficiency in resolving the matter did receive alpha woman’s disapproval. I could not afford to lose ground. I was the man, I had to defend my title.
The next stage is the the last refuge of the incompetent; violence. Once a sign of freedom, joy and life, my running shoes now turned into a lethal weapon. I was about to end a life.
I didn’t put up a clean fight, neither did my opponent. We both pulled a few tricks to surprise the other. Growing up as the youngest sibling in my family, trained me well in survival. At the end, my experience prevailed. The last blow left a mark on the pure memories of my running shoes, as well as a black spot on the wall. Every New Yorker’s uninvited visitor, the cockroach was living its last moments.
I would have liked to pay a tribute to the carcass, bury it according to their rituals, show my respect to an adventurous soul. Alpha woman wasn’t very much interested. She shoved a trash bag to my hands as soon as she took the shoe away. I carefully placed the dead body to its final resting place.
The alpha woman took the casket away, went on to the hallway, opened the door to the garbage void. The casket started its descent from the 17th floor of the tower towards the center of gravity, taking my title away with it; the man.
