It’s not often I’m able to work the scholarship of feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey into a profile. But her assertion that all women are involuntarily beholden to an unceasing gaze suddenly found a germ of relevancy when I encountered Kate one balmy Sunday afternoon. I couldn’t peel my eyes off her.
Kate is Ukrainian hailing from the warm water port of Odessa. She’s currently studying Economics in Warsaw and found some time to wade in our own Southern California warm waters before jetting off to Portugal to further her academic pursuits. Two important deductive data points derived right there: She’s brainy and she’s tan.
We hike to the top of Caballero Canyon Trail overlooking the Valley. She makes excellent time with those sartorial dreadnaughts. The top offers a majestic view. Again, Mulvey’s ruminations inexorably chime in. Kate’s already easy on the eyes ground-level. When she’s out of breath and perspired atop a mountain, she’s an outright mirage.
She’ll beguile more than your eyes. I found myself a true simpleton under the glare of her imposing intellect too. Words like Keynesian and Remarque were limberly tossed around with acrobatic ease and adeptness. It took but all of one’s mental musterings to try to keep up.
The answers to my questions find thoughtful and considered responses. Running down the usual hard-hitting, invasive inquiries:
“What size shoe are you?”
“I’m a size ten or eleven.”
I went ahead and assumed she meant women European sizes which I justifiably didn’t have a conversion chart for handy in my head. If I did, I would seriously need to start a Spring cleaning of the mental rubbish I hoard in my oblongata oubliette. I wrote “size ten” in my notes with the intention of confirming later.
“What are some of your favourite words?”
Here she waffled a modicum. Before relinquishing, “Freedom, light, and life.” This seemed in keeping with her taciturn and carefree demeanor. I imagine these words took on a particular significance to Kate given the cataclysmic episode her home country is currently enduring.
“What’s your least favourite word?”
“I suppose something along the lines of ‘it’s so cool’.”
I immediately banish that banal phrase from my lexicon. I curse the existence of that certain arrangement of words. I also curse my susceptibility for employing meager ruses to cloyingly curry favour from a pretty girl.
The questionnaire marched on. To the most integral question in my arsenal. Extracting this intel could make or break this interview.
“Bellybutton status: innie or an outie?”
“Innie.”
She has an innie. This is a revelation. And on journalistic grounds, expertly extracted, if I may say so.
“And lastly, what have you learned during your coastal excursions so far?”
“We learned that we can rely on ourselves. And that over-thinking isn’t necessarily a good thing.”
I didn’t press for further details. I was still trying to regain my composure from the previous question. An innie. What a scoop.
“I also learned that I can procure a lot of positives from observing nature, trails, and roads.”
This struck me. I was in the presence of a true rover. Ever watchful for her next untrodden path. Someone who has enough self-awareness and insight to acknowledge the restorative powers of the surrounding landscape and the ever alluring attributes of itinerancy. Getting lost is more than a destination. It’s a lifestyle.
What followed was a smattering of non sequitor facts about kaleidoscopic Kate: She had eggs and coffee for breakfast. When I asked how she liked her eggs she simple reiterated, “Eggs.” In her possession she had a cache of dried apricots which she offered along with a plaintive screed on how fruit in the Ukraine tastes like paper. She has an eagle eye for honing in on Shedir in the Cassiopeia constellation. She can’t quite pronounce “iodine.”
Breaking the gaze, upon parting, I lumbered on home and my shocking scoop count doubled in tally.
Confirmation: Imprint of a shoe on my heart. Size ten.