V's Version

So Dani and I were "experiencing" Richard Shaffer's art installation at the Dead Cow Gallery on the new Santa Cruz Art Tour. It was fascinating, dim, candlelit, chock full of moments and discovery and surprises. We were immersed in the conceptual art, loving it and loving each other on our special "date night", when we ran into a former doctor of mine.

Have you ever run into a teacher in the grocery store? I have and it was awkward. I didn't really want to talk about school or homework nor did I really want to get into their personal life. It didn't matter that I had learned a lot in class, I just wanted to buy my bananas and leave.

This situation had the same shuffling of feet and fancy-meeting-you-here feel to it with the added bonus of knowing that if there was anything that would kill a beautiful "I am ALIVE!" art moment - it was talking about my health.

My former doctor introduced me to his date.

"We are engaged!" he announced.

"Oh. Wow. Congratulations."

The fiance/date looked sheepish. "Well - it was a conversation a while ago and now it has kind of defined the relationship."

Silence was followed by some vague health questions which I answered in some vaguely positive way. We talked briefly about how all of us were, coincidentally, learning Marshall Rosenberg's work with communication.

I spaced out a little, wondering how I would exit the conversation gracefully in order to continue experiencing the art installation with my own date. Non-Violent Communication says that when empathy isn't possible, try honesty. I listened to it in my head to see how it might sound.

"I have no interest in your company right now."

No. I did not have it in me to say it so I turned slightly and focused intently on a tiny manuscript sitting on a nearby shelf. The writing of Black Elk painted a metaphorical picture of men as squares and women as circles and the problem with trying to fit the rigid sides of a square into the soft curves of a woman was that....

When I came back into the conversation the doctor was talking about boots. I was confused. Did he want to know about the cool beat-up cowboy boots that I was wearing? No - he was talking about my white go-go boots. I was confused.

"Oh! Those go-go boots! And with a mini skirt?! What I would give to have a picture of those!" he gushed.

In stepped Dani: "I've got all the pictures."

Maybe the best tack, I thought, was to ignore him altogether so I turned to the fiance to discuss the art, the artist, the experience. The doctor was still talking to Dani, now leaning into her.

"I'm your best friend," he conspired repeatedly.

I thought ,"This has got to be over soon." All my NVC practice went out the window. I forgot about feelings, needs and requests. I went straight to strategy - I wanted to get out. I motioned to Dani that I wanted to go but he stepped between us, leaning toward me.

"You are so beautiful.....no - really. You are so hot and sexy!"

Dani was struck silent.

I could not see the fiance.

He was getting way too close.

OK - I was back in NVC. Observations.

I was backing away. He was moving forward.
I felt ? uncomfortable, physically ill, constricted, confused.
I needed what? Safety.

Because I could not come up with a coherent request and I was unable to listen with compassionate ears to whatever his needs might have been in that moment, I did the only thing a normal girl wearing her father's cowboy boots could do: I used the age-old strategy of making astonishing loud retching noises.

I looked and sounded to those around us like I was going to puke all over the art beneath my boots. (What a concept.)

That stopped the "beautiful..blah blah...sexy. blah...gogo...blah...." talk immediately and found the good doctor's attention.

"Observe my face. Does it look relaxed and open? No. Observe the body language - hunched shoulders - curling up to protect myself, backing away. This is what a person looks like when they are uncomfortable," I said.

Dani took my hand and our adrenelin marched us into the back room where we could experience the artist's ideas on war and peace, art and love.

There, mounted on the wall, was a smooth orange-sized hand grenade entombed by concrete and contained neatly within the right angles of the beautiful decaying wood votive box.

The pin on the grenade was, remarkably, still intact.
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Labels: Richard Shaffer art NVC sexual harrassment date funny lesbian conceptual Marshall Rosenberg