An Evening Out
Or, "What a Beautiful Mess I've Made"
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It was my second date with A, and I really wanted to bring my (sorry) "A-game" (I'll see myself out) on this date and make a really great impression. I had grown to like her over the lengthy course of our first date. And so I told her I was going to take her to see a live music show. She had never done that before, and so this was (accidentally) a really good call.
I was dressed in a maroon bodice, all lace and straps, with matching satin slacks and a white suit jacket to cover my shoulders. My hair was french braided tightly to one side of my head, and it continued across the back of my head, covered by the bulk of my hair, where the braid appears again, under all of that hair. I have silver rings in the braid, a matching choker, and silver high heels putting me at well over six feet tall.
Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I looked good.
I arrive at her house at 10:15 as anticipated, and she playfully thumbs a ride. She is a flash of lavender hair and the scent of Persian roses as she climbs in. The scent is exotic and rich, both inviting and disinviting any number of tantalizing possibilities. I am not ashamed to admit, I am instantly smitten.
Because I am absolutely nothing if not aesthetic as fuck, I had made a playlist of playfully sweet YouTube music videos for our roughly 20 minute trip to the venue. We chat idly while AURORA plays in the background, a musician that, against all odds and reason, she's heard of. I... didn't think that was a thing. The song switches to Mongolian rapper/crooner N.M.N, and things become reflective while I struggle to find a place to park.
We are walking to the venue when a guy leans out of the window of his car and shouts at us both to smile. It does not have the desired effect. She flips them off and I ignore them. Arriving at the venue, which I had never been into, I found it very small and very intimate and quite sexy, in a dignified kind of way. A dozen or so tables pressed together so closely that there was no way to avoid being close to each other.
The singer was crooning soulfully, seducing us with a song as we walked in. The cabaret was dark, and the only open table was all the way in the front. We took the seats and listened to the show. Much to my chagrin, instead of smooth jazz for an intimate evening experience, we got jazz covers of showtunes. I apologized, because this is not what I had wanted, but she took it in stride and thought it was cute.
The singer danced playfully with her lyrics around love and life, and finally found an emotional nerve that A and I share. Gently, gingerly, my hand snakes its way to her and puts itself in her hand. She looks up and I shoot her a questioning glance. She smiles in affirmation, and holds my hand through the song. Nonverbal communication has never been my strong suit, so I was unsure of the extent of her affirmative expression, so I wanted to see if she'd come to my hand. Three songs pass and our hands are close, but not again touching.
Eventually the set ends and it's time to go. It's nearly 1:00 in the morning, and she offers to buy me dinner.
I blush furiously. My cheeks momentarily matched my pants. You see, despite the amount of effort I put into my appearance, I don't often get treated like a lady. I suppose it's partly to do with the noises that come out of my swear-hole. Maybe I just give off an "independent woman" kind of vibe. Either way, I'd grown accustomed to paying for dinner, so this offer had my cheeks burning all night.
As the waitress brings the food we ordered to the table, she becomes momentarily serious, whereas a moment before, we were both laughing heartily.
"Listen, I'm sorry about back there, with your hand. I... don't want to give you the wrong idea. I need to take it slow and we're just getting to know each other."
"Oh, no. I should apologize. I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. It's been such a long time since I've done this, I'm afraid I've forgotten everything there is to forget. I have no idea what the timetable for this is, so it's seriously fine."
She smiles, her tiny little smile. It's there, and it's definitely a smile, but it's unassuming and gentle. She smiles with her cheek. The food is pretty good, and I thank her for it as we leave the establishment. Staring up at the early morning stars (now it is approaching 2:30 AM); I realize that this evening, for the flaws, faults, and false starts, is perfect...
As with life, there's no real meaningful end or point to this story, just sharing fleeting scenes of beauty and kindnesses that make all of the intermediate screeching worth putting up with. Which, I suppose, is a moral unto itself...
About the Creator
Sophia-Helene Mees de Tricht
I'm a socialist space penguin. I mean, I'm sure there are more important things about me, but I also don't want to be accused of misrepresenting myself, so let me just say that up front and loudly and clearly and oops! I'm about out of spa
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