Fiction 1: On Leaping before looking (The beginning)
It started with a very business-like text message. One that was sent because it had to be. And so the reply she keyed in was stated in the same tone. That was one of her quirks - imbibing the tone of whatever it is she is reading or watching.
They were to meet on Wednesday. The invitation was for drinks. Most magazines, forums, books and whatnot would say alcohol on the very first meeting was recipe for disaster but then she wasn't really into coffee and was not the type to force dinner and really, honestly, she couldn't see any downside to alcohol.
She did need it to calm her nerves and loosen her tongue.
This was her second "blind date". The first was uncomfortable and largely unsuccessful. This second one, she predicted, would largely go the same way. She told herself that this would be the last time she'd do this. No matter how well-meaning her friends wanted to be, she vowed to learn to turn them down.
She rounded the corner holding to a hazy mental Facebook picture and hoped it would be enough to help her recognize her date. She fiddled with her phone wondering if she should send a cliche "I am the woman wearing the red dress by the fire escape..." text. As she was deciding, she glanced up and saw a young man striding tentatively towards her, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
The world stopped. She knew, he was her date. And as the flowers were unceremoniously shoved into her hands she wondered what the hell has she gotten herself into.
The restaurant he chose was noisy. A fact that he seemed to embarrass him. Still he ordered a steak and asked her to order what she wanted. Surprised they were having dinner, she hurriedly flipped her menu to the main courses and openly balked at the prices. She wondered if they were going to go dutch. Never had she been on a date, a blind one moreso, where the food was so exorbitantly priced. She opted for a meal whose price she could stomach. And as the waiter walked away, she tried to talk to her date over the din.
He was much quieter than she expected. He emitted a certain cockiness and aloofness. It was intriguing but inaccessible in a place much louder than his voice. The food arrived and was eaten quickly and with almost no conversation. She thought that this was it. He was going to walk her to her car and say good night. And she will go home and watch her DVDs.
"So you want to?"
His voice snapped her out of her reverie. "Excuse me?", she uttered.
"Let's transfer restaurants."
Surprised, she said yes.
As much as she took to alcohol, wine was just one drink she has never liked. She found the sour metallic taste a turn-off and hated how the red would cake one's lips in the same fashion as expired lipstick. Her apprehension, she knew, was visible and so she decided to just voice it out.
"I don't like wine."
"You don't? But it's so good."
"Most people seem to think that. But I don't. And believe me, I've tried."
"Not any wine?"
"I can drink sweet ones. Mostly white. I have never really finished a glass of red. Well, except once when I was really really in need of a drink and had no choice. So if you want, we can get a sweet white."
"White is for pussies."
"Excuse me?"
"It is. I'll order a sweet red for us. I promise you'll like it."
"I have never liked a red."
"You'll like this one."
Arrogant, sexist man, she thought to herself. She pitied him, all that money for a drink she'll never touch.
She peered inside their second bottle of wine to confirm that, yes, there was not a drop left.
Two bottles. He was smiling at her cockily and she couldn't help but smile back. Wine. She had drank wine. And thoroughly and sincerely enjoyed it.
Tipsy, she was thankful he agreed to go on a walk. They were walking to no place in particular. Just hitting pavement, willing sobriety to increase. He started talking about work and common friends. And she pitched in whenever she could. The topics ebbed and flowed and jumped and mixed and segued. His arrogance was charming her and challenging her to up her wit. And when wit failed her, a bottle of water he bought for her from a convenience store turned into her weapon. One she'd throw at him in mock anger and one he'd gleefully return, in hopes she'd throw it again.
They ended up in front of a bank. They sat on its steps feet stretched out. He asked her if she was dating anyone else. And in a moment of utter lack of guard, she told him about her first blind date - the only date she's really had in her life. And by the time she finished the tale, her heaving sigh all but gave away how much she preferred this date over her last one. She knew it pleased him but she hoped not too much. Because she liked the date , she didn't know if she liked her date.
A moment of silence and she asks him for the time.
"Don't go yet," is the reply.
"I'm just asking what time it is."
"It's still early."
She laughs. Flattered and annoyed at the same time, she decides to let it go and asked him instead on what he thought about Ironman.
"Hated it," he said without missing a beat.
"Hated it? But it was really cool. The pacing was so fast. The story was really tight."
"Did we catch the same movie? It was bad. The choice of actors alone was horrible."
"You are the first person I've met who hated it."
"Then maybe we should watch it again."
"What?"
"Maybe if we watch it together, I'll be able to show you how crappy it is."
"Or I'll be able to show you how great it is."
"So we're going to watch? You'll watch with me?"
"Yes."
"Oh no."
"Huh? Did you want me to say no?"
"No, no, no. Look."
Her eyes followed his fingers and she gasped.
The sun was rising.
She grabs his cellphone to look at the time.
6 am.
"I have to go,"she said briskly walking to her car.
"Don't go," he said.
"I have to."
"Alright then," he said.
And smiling, she drove away.
They were to meet on Wednesday. The invitation was for drinks. Most magazines, forums, books and whatnot would say alcohol on the very first meeting was recipe for disaster but then she wasn't really into coffee and was not the type to force dinner and really, honestly, she couldn't see any downside to alcohol.
She did need it to calm her nerves and loosen her tongue.
This was her second "blind date". The first was uncomfortable and largely unsuccessful. This second one, she predicted, would largely go the same way. She told herself that this would be the last time she'd do this. No matter how well-meaning her friends wanted to be, she vowed to learn to turn them down.
She rounded the corner holding to a hazy mental Facebook picture and hoped it would be enough to help her recognize her date. She fiddled with her phone wondering if she should send a cliche "I am the woman wearing the red dress by the fire escape..." text. As she was deciding, she glanced up and saw a young man striding tentatively towards her, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
The world stopped. She knew, he was her date. And as the flowers were unceremoniously shoved into her hands she wondered what the hell has she gotten herself into.
The restaurant he chose was noisy. A fact that he seemed to embarrass him. Still he ordered a steak and asked her to order what she wanted. Surprised they were having dinner, she hurriedly flipped her menu to the main courses and openly balked at the prices. She wondered if they were going to go dutch. Never had she been on a date, a blind one moreso, where the food was so exorbitantly priced. She opted for a meal whose price she could stomach. And as the waiter walked away, she tried to talk to her date over the din.
He was much quieter than she expected. He emitted a certain cockiness and aloofness. It was intriguing but inaccessible in a place much louder than his voice. The food arrived and was eaten quickly and with almost no conversation. She thought that this was it. He was going to walk her to her car and say good night. And she will go home and watch her DVDs.
"So you want to?"
His voice snapped her out of her reverie. "Excuse me?", she uttered.
"Let's transfer restaurants."
Surprised, she said yes.
As much as she took to alcohol, wine was just one drink she has never liked. She found the sour metallic taste a turn-off and hated how the red would cake one's lips in the same fashion as expired lipstick. Her apprehension, she knew, was visible and so she decided to just voice it out.
"I don't like wine."
"You don't? But it's so good."
"Most people seem to think that. But I don't. And believe me, I've tried."
"Not any wine?"
"I can drink sweet ones. Mostly white. I have never really finished a glass of red. Well, except once when I was really really in need of a drink and had no choice. So if you want, we can get a sweet white."
"White is for pussies."
"Excuse me?"
"It is. I'll order a sweet red for us. I promise you'll like it."
"I have never liked a red."
"You'll like this one."
Arrogant, sexist man, she thought to herself. She pitied him, all that money for a drink she'll never touch.
She peered inside their second bottle of wine to confirm that, yes, there was not a drop left.
Two bottles. He was smiling at her cockily and she couldn't help but smile back. Wine. She had drank wine. And thoroughly and sincerely enjoyed it.
Tipsy, she was thankful he agreed to go on a walk. They were walking to no place in particular. Just hitting pavement, willing sobriety to increase. He started talking about work and common friends. And she pitched in whenever she could. The topics ebbed and flowed and jumped and mixed and segued. His arrogance was charming her and challenging her to up her wit. And when wit failed her, a bottle of water he bought for her from a convenience store turned into her weapon. One she'd throw at him in mock anger and one he'd gleefully return, in hopes she'd throw it again.
They ended up in front of a bank. They sat on its steps feet stretched out. He asked her if she was dating anyone else. And in a moment of utter lack of guard, she told him about her first blind date - the only date she's really had in her life. And by the time she finished the tale, her heaving sigh all but gave away how much she preferred this date over her last one. She knew it pleased him but she hoped not too much. Because she liked the date , she didn't know if she liked her date.
A moment of silence and she asks him for the time.
"Don't go yet," is the reply.
"I'm just asking what time it is."
"It's still early."
She laughs. Flattered and annoyed at the same time, she decides to let it go and asked him instead on what he thought about Ironman.
"Hated it," he said without missing a beat.
"Hated it? But it was really cool. The pacing was so fast. The story was really tight."
"Did we catch the same movie? It was bad. The choice of actors alone was horrible."
"You are the first person I've met who hated it."
"Then maybe we should watch it again."
"What?"
"Maybe if we watch it together, I'll be able to show you how crappy it is."
"Or I'll be able to show you how great it is."
"So we're going to watch? You'll watch with me?"
"Yes."
"Oh no."
"Huh? Did you want me to say no?"
"No, no, no. Look."
Her eyes followed his fingers and she gasped.
The sun was rising.
She grabs his cellphone to look at the time.
6 am.
"I have to go,"she said briskly walking to her car.
"Don't go," he said.
"I have to."
"Alright then," he said.
And smiling, she drove away.