2023.08.30 - Wednesday
R arrives at the restaurant before me. He's wearing a black button-down, black pants, shiny black boots, a belt, and aviator eyeglasses. He has a thick mustache and a tuft of hair below his lower-lip. We're seated outside. I chose the restaurant. It's a bit too expensive for a first-date. He gets an IPA. He says: would you like something to drink, Jane? I get a glass of wine. He fills our dinner with talk. The talk means that we wait awhile to order. He wants to speak and seems to have forgotten about ordering. Is he worried about silence? It isn't really a dialogue - more, his monologue. It doesn't seem that he means for it to be a monologue. I think perhaps he is nervous. I tell him that it is typical to share dishes here. I guide our ordering: grilled long beans, garlic rice, branzino. We should have ordered one more thing - something light, cold, as a complement. When we put in our order, he says: will this be enough, Jane? I want it to be enough so I don't suggest anything additional. When the food comes, I try to debone the fish but ask if he can. He serves me. He motions for me to take some rice. He serves himself the full plate of long beans. After a few minutes, he notices what he's done, and attempts to remove some of the beans from his plate back to the serving dish, but the beans, due to their length, are cumbersome. I'm worried we don't have enough food. The branzino was $40. I think I'm underdressed. He looks good in his black. He carries it well. Not everyone can carry it like that. At some point, I grow distracted by his body. I pay less attention to what he's saying and more to the idea of his body. I glance at the tuft of hair under his lip. His skin is surprisingly smooth in contrast to the thick broadness of his mustache. He has an unusually broad face. His glasses-case is on the table. He takes his glasses off and places them in the case. Then, slowly, deliberately, he removes them from the case and places them back on. Over the course of dinner, this happens several times. He tells me about his work - social services. He drives around all day. He puts in, typically, a five-hour day. He finishes his paperwork late at night. Sometimes, if he wants to work on music, he stays up all night. He feels great the next day, but the following he feels terrible. He shouldn't drink coffee. It makes him stay up. He understands why people do, though: he had a Vietnamese coffee once around lunchtime, and it really gives you a jolt. That's why people like it. He likes writing lyrics but also sometimes just instrumentals are fine. He's never put his music out there, but is thinking he's getting to the point where he can. A friend recommended he get an opera singer. He's starting to grow comfortable with his proclivity for grandness. He wants to find a sound engineer he can collaborate with - not just send it off and have it processed and sent back. He has friends who have made it. He remembers his friends who were supported by their girlfriends. I say that sounds like a raw deal. He says, well, it's not so bad. If they make it, they'll bring the girlfriend along. He wants to have passive income. Maybe real-estate. I mention interest rates are high. He used to get up at 4am so he could do his morning exercises. In the morning, he likes having oatmeal and beet juice. They're healthy. He looks healthy enough - like he's trying to do right by himself. He's looking for a relationship. He doesn't want to waste his time with dating. The most recent girl was avoidant. Why am I writing the word girl instead of woman? I don't remember what word he used. They met in a restaurant. Her father got sick. She said she was having a hard time because of that, but when his mother died, he was never that bad. He wants good communication. It would have been traumatic to stay with her longer. He tells me she liked keeping her hair messy because her mother wanted it well-coiffed. She went through a phase of dressing like a man. When my hair is at its shortest, sometimes people mistake me for a man. Maybe that's why he wanted to go out. He asks me a little about my art-practice. What am I working on that I care about? How long does it take me to set up? I say I could stare out the window all day. He says he could too- in fact, the day of the rain (Hilary), he had. He's still attracted to his ex. They were together for 12 years. She lives around the corner from him now. They don't see each other often. When he sees her he thinks he couldn't go back to that - like a past life. He's surprised he found her quirks attractive when they were together. He still finds her attractive. It was the breakdown in conversation that did it. When she'd get home, he would listen to her day, and sometimes he'd stay up with her. But, she stopped listening to his day. I didn't notice that he finished his beer; I don't get another glass of wine. We finish drinking the bottle of tap-water on the table. The table is small, square, cumbersome. Our plates are ridiculously small- like for hors d'oeuvres. At the table to our left is a queer couple. I notice their silences. There are many. How well do they know one another? Are they sick of one another? Their gestures look familiar. Talking isn't the only way to communicate. They touch feet. Silence during a meal worries me. If R wasn't filling the space between us, perhaps I would. To our right is a hetero couple who seem, like us, to be on a date. They ordered more food than us. The girl has long hair. We are the two tables left as the servers start to wipe down and put everything away. I smell the cleaning-spray. I offer to split the bill. He says, I've got this, Jane. He says let's do it again sometime. You pick the place. You know the good spots. I say: did you like it? I worry he didn't. He's being polite. When he stands, he's taller than I remember. I'm 5'5".
