marta's story

I take a break from the news, as I need to have my hair colored.  I go when the need is there, not the want.  I have my hair washed and my head massaged by Marta; she’s new.  Then, when I start to blow dry my hair (it’s not included), Marta comes over and offers to help. 

We start talking.  I ask Marta how long she’s been living in New York (her English is good, but not her first language).  She tells me she moved here in September of 2011 from Romania.  She came with a male friend.  Their plan was to live in LA, but they both fall in love with New York and decide to stay.  She goes to hair dressing school (after completing college in Bucharest).   Her friend is a trained engineer and is now a VP at a big company.

The conversation continues, as my hair gets blown out.

Me:  So do you still live with your friend?

Marta:  Oh no, now I live with my boyfriend.

Me:  Is that someone you met here?

Marta:  Yes, I met him soon after arriving.  I met him online.  He’s black.

She tells me these things with a big smile.  They have been living together for about a year and plan to marry.  She has met his family, and he hers (via Skype).  “I am over 30, and know what I want.  He is my soul mate.  Our interests perfectly match.  I am so happy.”  And you can see it in her eyes as she talks about him. 

Me:  So what does your boyfriend do?

Marta:  He’s a photographer.

Me:  Wow.  That’s great.  Does he make his living that way?  (I’m not even sure why I’m asking these questions).

Marta:  Yes.

Me:  I’m jealous of people who can make a living off their talent.  I wish I could.  He must love what he does.  How does he find work? 

Marta:  He mostly works for one company, but they keep him very busy.

And then, totally unsolicited, Marta guilelessly adds, “He’s a gay porn photographer.  They pay very well.”

Wow.  I hadn’t expected that.  And I hadn’t expected to feel envy either.  Not envy that I’d like to be a gay photographer.  But envy that Marta could love a man and not be encumbered by his profession.  

I leave with nice hair, and a sweet  story of acceptance.