Blind Date

Right now I’m pushing my glass around in a small line formed from the condensation seeping onto the table. The woodgrain, dark, chestnut I think, is resilient against the moisture.

The entire reason I am here is due to a blind date situation. Not my blind date, but my best friend who is sitting across from me overwhelmed with nerves. Eric runs a hand through his hair, it falls across his face. He looks out over the bar scene, at his phone held tightly in his left hand, then his drink, back to the bar, then to the window to the right, back to his phone.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. I want to leave so bad, but I promised I’d stay until she showed up.”

“She’ll be here, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not.” He glances at his phone, then back at the door of the bar.

The sun is still up, it’s early for the evening. Like, seven o’clock in the evening early. The sun rays come in through the dirty windows with black shadow crosses formed from the aging metal frames on the pane. The stage in the back of the bar is being setup for the house band. Grungy looking sound guys walk around running mic cables from one stand to another.

My date is supposedly on their way from work. It’s nothing serious, just a friend that kind of found their way into an intimate zone that borders on emotional influence. But being so young, I can get away with the “I don’t know what this is right now” card. It’s nice is what it is. That, and casual. Nice and casual.

“I’m going to get another drink. You good?”

“I’m good thanks.”

He nods and grabs his empty glass. He’s trying to be cool, but I can tell he’s nervous as hell. He just got out of a long term relationship. Six and a half years long to be exact. His ex-girlfriend came home to their apartment three months ago, grabbed her shit, and said he was moving too fast. Too fast. After six and a half years. 

Six and a half years, is too fast?

I shake my head. In the state of Texas, they had been common-law wed for three years. But I digress.

I look up to see a guy at the bar looking at me. He’s wearing tight dark wash skinny’s, black chukka boots, flannel shirt with a dark olive tank underneath. He hides behind a milia hat. He looks up at me quickly, then turns away towards the bar. Cute.

My phone rings.

“Hey, where are you?”

“I got to cancel. I’m so sorry. I’m at work and three of the other partners cancelled.”

I have no idea what they’re talking about, “That sucks.”

“Right? So I got to stay for like another three hours. I mean, I can make it later, but it may not be worth the drive all the way out there.”

“No. No. I totally get it. Do what you have to do, and you know, we’ll just see what happens. No big deal.”

“Thanks. You’re so good. You know?”

“I know.” I grin.

“Alright, later.”

I hang up and look at my drink. Cool. Nothing like being the third wheel of a blind date. Perfect. I look up to see Eric sit down on his barstool, fresh drink in hand.

“What if she’s ugly?”

“Then you hang out, buy her a few drinks, and play the nice guy,” I say. Easy. Why do guys worry about this part of a date?

“I mean, if she’s like huge, and ugly.”

“Then you’ll get her two barstools for her fat ass and have a few more drinks than usual.”

He starts laughing, “That’s messed up.”

I grin, “Yeah. Look, you’ll be fine. Just relax, no pressure right? I mean, it’s her first time meeting you as well, so screw it. It’s a dirty seedy bar on the Southside of Houston.”

He nods feeling better, “Yeah. You’re right.”

“You didn’t consider the other possibility.”

“What?”

“That she’s way out of your league and you don’t know what to do.”

His face steadies and then goes blank, “I didn’t think about that.”

I nod contemptuously when I see Olive Green glance at me again. He looks away attempting to casually bring out his phone.

“I think that’s her. Over by the door, look!” 

“I’ll look in a minute. You know, I want to be discrete incase it isn’t.”

“Oh man, I just texted her. Wait. She’s looking at her phone.”

I finally turn to look at the door to see a gorgeous woman look up. She’s exotic. Maybe a mix of asian and some sort of hispanic. God, I wish I looked as good as she did. She took her time to get dressed up. She’s wearing pumps, which immediately indicates she’s trying, with black leggings and a purple silk camisole that flatters her breasts perfectly.

Her bust is big enough to hold the drape right, so it doesn’t make her look fat but accentuates the dynamic in the fabric allowing the silk to shimmer. Her hair is pulled back, black ringlets fall from the mid-crown down to her shoulders. The amount of volume this girl has in her hair without the fly-away’s that swamp humidity creates is borderline unreal.

I hate her.

Not really. But god, she’s stunning.

I look at Eric who is grinning like an idiot. 

“You’re screwed.” I say under my breath looking the opposite direction as she approaches our table.

He smiles and manages, “I know,” from the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly I feel entirely underdressed for the occasion. Didn’t this girl know blind dates aren’t meant to be the showcase event. It’s when you underplay hard, turn up the casual vibes, have a way out to look like you’re not desperate. Unless she is desperate, which would be great news for Eric. I look at my outfit, then back at Miss PanAsia. Oof, I look like a goth-slob. 

“Eric?” Even her voice is melodic.

“Veronica?” He’s trying too hard to sound casual. Tone it down Eric.

“Oh my God! I’ve heard so much about you from Gilbert.”

“Did you want a drink?” He’s thrown that out too quickly.

“Yes! I’m kinda nervous.” 

This is gross, it’s so cute. She is by all indications, going to move forward with this bind date. She digs him. She’s dug him for a long time. You can tell by the way she’s trying hard not too play with her hair or jewelry. The way she grabs her fingers, then toys with the strap on her cross-body. 

No slant against Eric. He is adorable. He’s got these really exotic eyes of his own, straight black hair, and most importantly, he’s a sincere guy. One of the men that really strives to be a good person. He’s wealthy, incredibly smart, talented, he’s a great catch. Why his ex bailed on him was obvious: she was cheating. That bitch.

I’m watching Veronica and him at the bar right now. He’s completely forgotten about my lone ass over here and has already made his way into that intimate zone with her. The space beyond the little friendship-bubble.

Good for him. He needs this. I, on the other hand, am left to attempt an exit strategy.

“Excuse me?”

I look to my right to see the most beautiful hazel eyes looking at me.

I feel my eyebrows shoot up with an appreciative surprise, “Yes?”

“I uh, you’re not with him, are you?” Olive Green motions to Eric who laughs nervously by the bar.

“Oh, no. We’re just friends. That stunning brunette he’s fawning over is his blind date.”

Olive Green turns to see Veronica burst out laughing just as nervous as Eric, “She’s ok.”

Olive Green is being nice. He’s shorter than me, which isn’t a deal breaker by any means. He’s got this cute style to him now that I see him up close. His complexion is flawless, full lips, soft eyes, a beautiful light tan across his face, and he’s so nervous. 

I feel my goth-slob-ness ramp up. 

I want to go shower and change already.

“Would it be ok, if I buy you a drink?”

I look at my empty glass, then back up to him, “I was actually going to leave soon.”

He blinks, and nods. I could tell he wasn’t surprised at the rejection. He smiles at me, a bit sadder now, “Ok. Well, if you decide to stay, I’m over there.” He points at the end of the bar. Three large girls stand looking at us, whispering about how he’s doing, and judging me hard. He must have been working up the nerve ever since he saw me. Then his girls show up, and get him all psyched to go talk to me.

It’s not just his awkward moment now, it’s also mine.

He nods one more time, then turns on his heel to walk away.

I sigh as the three girls see him return alone, then spin away from me at the same time.

Great.

“Hey, we were going to grab something to eat from the barbecue place behind here. Did you want to go?” Eric has his arm gently around Veronica who is smiling from ear to ear. She doesn’t know who I am, and that’s fine. She knows I’m clearly not a threat, clearly not trying tonight based off the way my hair looks. 

“You know, I think I’m going to head out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well,” I look at the stage and see The Beatles cover band setting up. They’ve been voted the best Beatles cover band in Texas for ten years straight. I love The Beatles. I glance over to see Olive Green sitting hunched over a beer in his lap, the three girls laughing and joking with one another. “I think I’ll stay for the band. You know, just for a few songs. You two go ahead, and head back when you’re done. No worries.”

“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” I say with my New York Jewish Grandma voice, “Oye! Go! I know ya hungry, leave!” And I playfully shove the two of them towards the side door to barbecue. As Veronica makes her way out of the place, Eric shoots me a gracious look of Thanks for being here for me. I nod and wave goodbye to him.

She’s probably going to bang him if he plays his cards right.

I sit back down on my barstool, at my empty table to see Olive Green attempting to laugh, beer in hand. He was so nervous around me. I smile. 

A blaring bright red A Major chord shimmers through a chorus effect from the stage. Line check for the band. I feel something change in me. Something a little adventurous and a bit spontaneous. I stand up and walk over to his group. Every step, I feel excited to take, and one of the girls sees me coming. She immediately whispers to everyone, including Olive Green, that I’m coming over to them. The other two girls giggle, then attempt to be super-casual.

“Hey.” My voice is perky. Wow, I really am excited.

Olive Green looks up with shock, “Hey.” The words fall out of his mouth.

“Look, I know I didn’t take you up on the offer for the beer. But, let me buy you one instead. Cool?”

He grins and is adorable. “Cool.”

I hear the stifled “aww” and squeals come from his entourage as we head to the bar. When we return to his side of the bar, the girls have left. I appreciate this and award them points for being upstanding wing-women. 

As the night progresses, I learn all kinds of things about him. He’s twenty-two and lived in Houston his whole life. He’s going to school at Rice and wants to do something in finance. He originally saw himself joining the service, but decided not to for a plethora of reasons. He says he likes my outfit (so sweet), my eyes, and blushed when he said my body was beautiful.

I look at him with this warm smile I get when I’m being charmed. And here’s the thing about charisma. It’s not all James Bond meets Antonio Banderas (though think of the possibilities). Charm, for me, is when a person chooses to be vulnerable about their emotions and honest with themselves first before saying a word to me. I love that. I absolutely love that. And this slightly short, slim, beautiful young man was being as open with me as he was with himself. It’s admirable in human being.

The Beatles cover band, known as The Beetles, launch into “Twist and Shout”. It’s a universal truth, an absolute law of physics, that when this particular song is played, one must dance. 

“I love this song!”

“Me to!” He says. I don’t know if it’s entirely true, but I don't really care.

“C’mon, let’s go!”

“Really?”

“Yes! What? You can’t dance?”

“Well…, ok!” 

I lead him out to the dance floor that’s now well populated with the nine o’clock crowd. We dance. I make funny faces at him, and he loosens up. He shakes off that interview with possible date persona and settles into himself. He makes funny faces at me. I grab his hands, and he spins me around. I struggle to fit under his arm, laughing, then grab him from behind as I shimmy. Then the night continues, without fear, anxiety, nerves, or judgement. Just classic Beatles, beer, and dancing.

Erica and Veronica make their way back into the bar and it’s eleven-thirty. They look as though they’ve been together forever. They don’t see me among so many people, and take a seat towards the a/c vents. I’m happy for them, slightly drunk, sweaty, and in sweet company. The Beetles announce one last song before they end their set for the evening. The Doors cover band is up next, and though I love Jim Morrison like a psychedelic brother, I don’t really find myself thrilled to hear someone butchering “Touch Me” in this kind of humidity.

“Before they end their set, I wanted to ask you,” Olive Green is working up a bit of courage between drinks and songs.

“Yes?”

“Would you want to meet up again sometime?”

I smile, then bat my eyes to buy time. Maybe in some other world, when I was younger, and not in the path that I find myself in, I would have been thrilled. I would have said “Yes!” And gave him a kiss, then grabbed his ass. But my life was not in any position to make that decision, or pursue anything with him.

I sigh, and he already knows the answer. “I can’t really.” I say. And he knows it’s the truth. He says, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Let It Be” begins with the soft tones of the piano singing from the corner of the stage. The lead singer, hair drenched, nods in time with the chords as his black suit crumples up.

“C’mon. I want one last dance with you.” I say.

He smiles with a flirty smirk, and takes my hand. Slowly, we make our way through the packed crowd to the dance floor. The lights swirl in time with the kick drum as the house engineer kicks the lens into full programming. The house lights dim to a darkened hue giving us a sense of the world fading.

I feel his frame against my own, he takes his arms and wraps them around me, and I pull him close to my chest. Around us, the crowd sways in time, old couples who saw the Beatles in the flesh smile with white hair undone, hippie colors flying, young couples who love their newly pressed reissue vinyls hold each other, and a few lonely hearts watch from the bar, hopeful for the next song.

“Maybe in some other life.” I tell him in his ear.

“Maybe,” he says to me. We look into each others eyes and I kiss him softly.

As he rests his head on my chest for the last few bars of the song, we dance in a wash of love, acceptance, and joy from the music, the artists, the night, and the time. The truth of our small encounter, enraptured with the possibilities of a future where we need not hide our convictions. Maybe one day.

I look up to see Eric looking at me. He’s surprised at first, to see me dancing so intimately with another man, then smiles and nods at me. Veronica clutches her hands together over her chest, her head tilted to the left in a silent moment, I can almost hear her mind saying awwwww. 

A few more bars play out with us, we sway, and as the crash cymbals ring out at the end of the song, I kiss his cheek, and walk away.