On Framing
None of them care for the bookshelf/ baby polar bear table/ cat scratcher/ Eames chair tableaux. Dark frames, each and every one. Then it stopped. A torso in a dark grey T shirt sat at a desk, with a door in the background, only the lower half of its jaw exposed. Was it a man? A woman? Couldn't tell. Didn’t matter. The torso sat back in its chair, frozen, like a deer in headlights. After a minute, it raised its right hand and placed it over its heart. The lips parted slightly.
by Karolyn Gehrig
I was stuck waiting in this window within a window in my house, without enough time to venture out. In my living room, I stared at this little table that’s less a table than it is a tiny polar bear on its back with its nose and legs up, so its paws hold up the glass top. I fell in love with it while I was getting divorced. We found it on Craigslist together, paired with another. That set was among the first things split up. So I stared, stuck, seeing what I could fit into this shallow moment, the heavy hand of the clock further compressing the time before someone came. I thought “Hey, what’s Chatroulette like?” I set my laptop on the floor, facing a corner in my apartment. This was visible in the sun flooded frame: a bottom bookshelf, the chrome base of an Eames rocking chair, an abstracted cat scratcher and the baby polar bear table. I gave self-imposed rules before pressing start. I would not press “Next.” I would not show my face. I would just peer over the top of the computer upside down and observe. If someone kept watching, I would see what happened. The microphone would be on, but I would keep silent. In the distance, faint noise from the street could be heard. My bangs hung over the edge, a swayed fringe moved by both the breeze and my breath. I pressed start. A second or two each, lit by a sickly screen glow: men, giggling teenagers, dicks in and out of pants. Next. Dick / balls / wank / giggle / vacant stare / dick / dick / wank / sweatpants / giggle / dick / vacant stare / dick / dick / dick / wank / dick. Next. Dark frames, each and every one.
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Curious, I broke the frame and dipped in my hand. The torso moved back and pulled its hand across its chest. Not knowing where to go with this, I picked up a lone flip flop and passed it in front of the camera as though it were flying. The torso leaned forward, and typed “mroe.” More? Its other hand moved to their throat and dipped a finger into its parted mouth. More was probably the right answer. There was the sibling flip flop, and some cat toys, but those didn’t seem right. I put my hand back into the frame and wiggled it. The torso began moving its arms under and over its shirt. This was working. It typed again. “Mroe.” I curled over the back of my laptop and thought “Oh, fuck. I’m going for it.”
The torso sat back in its chair, frozen, like a deer in headlights.
I pitched my body forward and pressed the palm of my hand against the baby polar bear’s face. I twisted it back and forth. The torso responded, clearly excited. I fumbled over the polar bear’s eyes and nose, but rhythmically. The torso kept moving its hands over its body! I wiggled my hand some more, my brain alternating between “I can’t believe this is working” and “the fuck?” Torso typed again “MROE,” all caps this time. I contemplated introducing another body part into the frame, but thought maybe it’ll ruin it. “Oh, what the hell.” Fully in the moment, I thrust my other hand onto the baby polar bear’s ear. This. This is it. The Torso bolts up and kicks back its chair. With a lot of dramatic tension, it turns away and starts to move its hips. It turns back around, and I can see it’s a he and he is jacking himself off. It is all real. I am totally fucking this dude on Chatroulette right now by fondling my side table. He is going and I am going and for a moment it comes together. I rock back and forth, working my hands together over the polar bear. And it’s weird, but I’m not watching the screen, I’m looking at my hands and contemplating my performance. I glance back at his frame for a second and glimpse a knick-knacked table I couldn’t see before. Then I think about my neighbors seeing me hunched into a ball over my laptop in reverse, through this window. There’s a knock at the door; my windows collapse.
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