When you meet a person you’re interested in, the version of them in your mind is perfect—almost godlike. We only know what we see, and anything after that brings them down a peg. In other words, they become human. At that point, you start to tally their negatives and figure out if you can tolerate them and for how long. That’s all love is, finding a flawed person you can live with.
From the second she hits the sidewalk, her eyes begin searching. It hits me that it’s me she’s looking for, not one of the many Wall Street types that I’m sure shoot their shot every morning. Fuck them. This must be what it feels like to bypass the line to get into the nightclub, and I’m determined to hold onto this feeling for as long as I can.
Another aspect of first dates that trip me out, is the greetings and general movement.
Do I go in for a hug?
Is holding hands considered moving too fast?
What if it’s not a date and she’s running one of the network marketing pyramid schemes?
I’ve had that happen to a friend before. Right after he paid for her coffee, she asked him if he was interested in making more disposable income. Poor guy, Rich was his name, was too nice and sat through her whole presentation. He even took her brochures when he left.
I don’t have time to figure it out. She spots me and her face lights up. It reminds me of how my daughter would light up when I’d get home from work. Knowing that your presence holds value to people is powerful.
“Hey Miles,” she looks me over, “you’re looking better than the last time I saw you.” She gives me a hug and I hold on for a long moment, and maybe even a little too tightly. Her scent teases all of my senses, and the intimacy that I’d been missing for so long feels surreal in this moment. For the record, I’m wearing Captain America T-shirt layered on top of a long sleeved shirt—to cover the hospital band I keep forgetting to remove—and cargo shorts. It’s not exactly Met Gala worthy, but it’s better than this morning’s ensemble of sweaty novelty shirt and stripper glitter stained jeans.
“I try to clean up for appearances sake.”
“Well, you did a great job. So, what’s the plan?”
In all the excitement, I never actually thought of what we’d do on our date; I was just happy she agreed. But now she’s staring at me, her light brown eyes piercing a hole through my soul. “We can go for coffee. I mean, I know you work in a coffee shop, so I understand if you don’t wanna do that …” I offer, realizing that the idea was even dumber out loud than it was in my head.
“How about a bike ride? We can ride and chat. Plus, I can show you some cool spots on the waterfront and we can figure out the rest later.” We both look up at the clouds moving in. Sensing my apprehension, she grabs my hand, “C’mon, it’ll be fun. I promise I won’t bite.”
She leads me to the commuter bike station and shows me how to unlock a bike. She starts off ahead of me, working to convince me that this isn’t as crazy as it sounds—or as dangerous. I’d follow her anywhere, but saying this out loud would make me sound like a creeper.
I can see the waterfront from a distance, but I’m not sure I’ll make it because after one block my hamstrings feel like they’re on a rotisserie. I catch up to Melody, who’s gliding along smoothly and paying no mind to the fact that one errant turn by a car could send her to the hospital. Her hair is whipping in the wind, flowing as freely as her spirit.
“A bike ride is an interesting first date,” I say to kick off the conversation.
“Who said it’s a date?” She lets her comment hang in the air, like a record scratching to a stop. “I’m kidding Miles, I wouldn’t have said yes to going out in this weather if it wasn’t a date.”
Now that I’ve established that I am—in fact—on a date, the hormonal male in me takes over and I wonder if we might actually have sex. I feel bad for even thinking about it, but I remind myself that it’s natural.
“So, what brings you to the city?” she asks.
“I’d kinda lost my way in life, so I came here to work through my relationship with my sister.”
She chews on this for a second, “And where does John factor into all this?”
“He was part of the live audience that witnessed me stepping in dog shit in front of your job.”
Conversation comes easy with Melody. Her laid back vibe puts me at ease like Dr. Felt. There’s something about her, like she can sense bullshit, so it’s not worth trying to hide it. “Alright, my turn. Why did you give me your number?”
The question throws her off. When we get to the water at end of the long avenue, instead of continuing on to the clearly marked trail, we stop. She stares out at the water, pondering my question. The quick-wit has vanishes just as swiftly as the waves do after smashing into the pier. In the distance, I can see the Brooklyn bridge towering above the water between the two parts of the city it connects, a perfect metaphor for our relationship. Two people with a clear attraction to one another just working on a way to make it connect. “You just seemed different than the other guys that come into my shop,” she finally answers.
“I feel the same way when I’m buying shampoo. One feels different than the others and I just go for it.”
She chuckles and wipes the sweat from her brow, “See, that’s what I’m talking about. There’s more to you than you let on. Five minutes ago I wondered if you might be developmentally disabled, and now you’re cracking jokes and letting your true self show.”
“It takes me awhile to warm up to people.”
“Well, a little advice, make sure you’re preheated before the date starts.”
“Noted.”
“I’ll tell you the real reason I gave you my number, but you gotta promise that you won’t mock me.”
I’m a twenty-seven year old widower that masturbated himself into an anxiety attack this morning, I’m not exactly in a position to mock anyone. But she doesn’t know this, so I agree to her terms.
“Ok … the universe told me to.” She scans my face for any sign of me breaking my vow. “Weird right?”
If I made of list of reasons why Melody chose me among—what I assume were—many other suitors, I could fill ten notebooks and the universe wouldn’t make any of them. It’s an odd reason but she seems sincere. And, in a weird way, it sounds interesting.
“Not gonna lie, I wasn’t expecting that,” I tell her. “I’ve never had someone ask me out because they were told to, maybe you could elaborate on that?”
“I take my cues from the universe,” she starts, “I find that too often we focus on trying to control the world around us, so one day I gave up control and decided to listen. You’d be surprised what you find out about yourself.”
“I don’t mean any disrespect, but I can see a million ways that could go wrong.”
“I’m not an idiot about it, but I truly believe that sometimes we miss out on great things because we talk ourselves out of it.”
That made my stomach flip. “You think I’m something great?”
“You’re getting there.”
“What does it feel like?” I hesitate, trying to word it right. “I mean, what tells you that it’s …”