#huge - Hello Poetry

One of my classes has theater seating with little desks that two people share. I’m sitting by this huge man, who really should have a little desk all to himself. I don’t want to seem ungenerous but he just sprawls out like I’m not there. So in a profoundly machismo gesture, this morning, I marked my territory with a pencil. It was carnal, feral, aggressive, and distinctly unfeminine gesture - more than a mere assertion of "First come, first serve" etiquette. I’m familiar with life’s overlapping territories, like sidewalks, movie armrests and overhead bins and the subtle, shared space social negotiations when someone, say, introduces a laptop to a crowded library table and we all must shuffle our stuff around or when someone desperately needs the only charger. THEN, Friday morning big-guy starts this SUPER awkward conversation. To be clear - up until then - our ‘relationship’ had been blessedly non-verbal. Let me tell it poetically.. *He said he saw me signing in and timed it so I sat by him he hoped to get to know me, and perhaps to ask me out. They pass around these student info sheets, so we can form study cliques and after a little bit, he smirkingly mentioned that he’d memorized my number. Now, I’d barely even noticed him, I thought seating was left up to whim before he could ask me out - I pointedly told him all about my boyfriend. Now I’m sitting by a refrigerator-size guy who’s subtly giving me the eye and as for his excessive use of space, I think he’s being passive possessive. Monday morning before class, I’m going to catch the TA with her coffee and ask, to change my seat to somewhere, anywhere, with someone, less transgressive. I’ve been in classes, for years on end, I’ve been hit on and I’m not against making friends but you have to know how to begin and not be so open, sneaky and aggressive. I feel no enmity, just an awful awkward-ity and I don’t want him next to me. Like the air-head I can pretend to be, I took a pic of him, disguised as a selfie of me. If I’m ever concerned or slightly alarmed, I always manage to send a selfie to Charles.* . . Songs for this: Messy by Lola Young Every Breath You Take by Committed Walk Like an Egyptian by Awaken A Cappella . . Charles, a 55-year-old 6'4" retired NYC cop, has been my escort, driver, security and surrogate parent since I was 9 years old.

0

Sep 20, 2025

Sep 20, 2025 at 9:26 AM UTC

anaisvionet

space age

One of my classes has theater seating with little desks that two people share. I’m sitting by this huge man, who really should have a little desk all to himself. I don’t want to seem ungenerous but he just sprawls out like I’m not there. So in a profoundly machismo gesture, this morning, I marked my territory with a pencil. It was carnal, feral, aggressive, and distinctly unfeminine gesture - more than a mere assertion of "First come, first serve" etiquette. I’m familiar with life’s overlapping territories, like sidewalks, movie armrests and overhead bins and the subtle, shared space social negotiations when someone, say, introduces a laptop to a crowded library table and we all must shuffle our stuff around or when someone desperately needs the only charger. THEN, Friday morning big-guy starts this SUPER awkward conversation. To be clear - up until then - our ‘relationship’ had been blessedly non-verbal. Let me tell it poetically.. *He said he saw me signing in and timed it so I sat by him he hoped to get to know me, and perhaps to ask me out. They pass around these student info sheets, so we can form study cliques and after a little bit, he smirkingly mentioned that he’d memorized my number. Now, I’d barely even noticed him, I thought seating was left up to whim before he could ask me out - I pointedly told him all about my boyfriend. Now I’m sitting by a refrigerator-size guy who’s subtly giving me the eye and as for his excessive use of space, I think he’s being passive possessive. Monday morning before class, I’m going to catch the TA with her coffee and ask, to change my seat to somewhere, anywhere, with someone, less transgressive. I’ve been in classes, for years on end, I’ve been hit on and I’m not against making friends but you have to know how to begin and not be so open, sneaky and aggressive. I feel no enmity, just an awful awkward-ity and I don’t want him next to me. Like the air-head I can pretend to be, I took a pic of him, disguised as a selfie of me. If I’m ever concerned or slightly alarmed, I always manage to send a selfie to Charles.* . . Songs for this: Messy by Lola Young Every Breath You Take by Committed Walk Like an Egyptian by Awaken A Cappella . . Charles, a 55-year-old 6'4" retired NYC cop, has been my escort, driver, security and surrogate parent since I was 9 years old.