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Date Night

I sat in front of the computer feasting my eyes on the lives and success of those writing for the New Yorker.  Bio after bio planted ideas and stories and hope. 

And so I began living my life with the thought that writing would one day be what I am. 

Dr. D. told me to let the universe know what I want.

I walked down Broadway in skinny jeans and a black blouse and denim jacket.  Not an ounce of flesh exposed, except for my forearms.  My blonde hair added a new facet to myself I never used to know.  I had just had a conversation with my housemate in our dimly lit  kitchen. 

In the mornings I wait for my water to boil for my coffee as I look out the window in this dimly lit kitchen.  There is a note on that window that asks politely for us to put away dishes once they are dry.  I smirk at the note, thinking that I am exempt from this.  I use a single dish daily.  One spoon. 

On trash mornings the glass to that window rattles.  There was one morning I stood under a doorway because I was convinced the rattle was caused by fault lines rather than dumpster trucks. 

The window leads to a view of a fence and roofs of houses that get closer and closer to the ocean. 

We spoke about Caitlyn Jenner.  My housemate gave me her opinion as a transgender woman.  I was happy when she offered it to me.  I was nervous so ask. Afraid of offending.  A normal state.  She was passionate.  I was enthralled.  She commented on my outfit.  Somehow her approval of my style felt bigger than others’ that evening. 

And so I walked down Broadway towards Manaow.  It’s a thai restaurant that feels comfortable and clean. The waitress is familiar. I was confident in my outfit that showed little flesh. My date was waiting outside with his plaid shirt and corduroy pants.  He was my height with kind features.  He put his hand out for a hand shake.  I leaned in for a hug.  The hug won the battle as our bodies pressed awkwardly against one another. 

We sat, both overly aware of our own body parts.  We were similar and exciting to one another.  He had big dreams of traveling all over Europe, representing bands.  I had big dreams to write for somebody or write for myself.  He talked of Mardi Gras in New Orleans.  I talked about being in places that were so uncomfortable, the growth felt painful and invigorating at once. After dinner we went to a bar.  He ordered an old fashion, I ordered a Pilsner.  I used to order IPAs.  Then I found out that my father likes lighter beers.  I realized that I ordered IPAs to be liked.  Now I order lighter beers and am still liked.  The waiter brought our drinks and assumed the man I was with ordered the beer.  I corrected him. 

The man in plaid and short stature walked me to my front door.  We engaged in another awkward hug and made plans for our next date.  He walked away and I walked into my dimly lit kitchen and took a beer from the refrigerator.  The cap clinked when it hit the counter that had crumbs permanently sprinkled across the top. 

I sat on my couch that came with my room, staring at the walls of eggplant.  I watched an independent movie about life moments that were small but pretty.  I wished it was my life.  And then I didn’t anymore.  I slept soundly that night.   

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