Swept Away

"One should always be in love. That is the reason one should never marry."

At a bar with Anna one night a few weeks ago, I met a man. I cozied up to the bar, ordered my standard white Russian—no, it’s not because I’m a Lebowski fan, it’s because I like them—and a handsome man starts teasing me. I watch him take a shot of whisky, a gulp down a mouthful of PBR. Oh a man's man, have we? Funny, you don't seem so manly with your perfectly sculpted but tossled hair and vaguely hidden Hollywood attitude. Making fun of a girl is the fastest way to her heart, so naturally, we struck up a conversation. He has amazing taste in music, he’s a working actor, he owns most of the Criterion collection. His name is Adam.

One afternoon last week he called.  He’s funny and he brings out a slightly wicked side of my sense of humor. It happens to be one of my favorite parts of my personality and when I find someone that lets me indulge it, I fall head over heels. We finally set a date to watch movies at his apartment. The plan was that I was going to go to his place after I got off work (we’re talking like...11pm) and watch some movies, Eyes Wide Shut in particular. That’s the most suggestive date I could imagine really. Saying to a lady, “do you want to come over at 11pm and drink wine and watch a movie,” is just shy of saying, “want some dick?” I got a wax the next morning and I never looked so fucking good at work.

I took a cheese plate from the restaurant and picked up a bottle of wine – just to make sure there was going to be enough. I call from outside the gate to his building and we have the awkward walk upstairs to his place. The walk upstairs can be a kiss of death. You feel uncomfortable saying a proper hello or hugging when you’re outside, but then it’s a little late by the time you’re in the apartment and set all the booze down. He opens the door and I’m pleasantly surprised. The apartment is furnished and very clean. Let’s face it, you can’t expect much from young bachelors these days; you’re lucky if they have a mattress and a lamp. He comes to grab the bags out of my hands and as he leans down he kisses me on the cheek and says he’s so happy that I could come over. He pours two glasses of wine, hands me one and two cds. He had burned me some compilations earlier in the day, music that he thought I’d like. It also happens to be his favorites, folk and bluegrass, banjos and steel guitars, The Avett Brothers and Sufjan Stevens. It occurred to me that if dating was really like this, then I had been seriously missing out the last few years.

We put the movie on and of course we talk over it. I’m sitting on my knees, with my left hand draped over the back of the couch, using it occasionally to muss my hair. He’s stretched out with his hands behind his head and his elbows wide against pillows and the couch corner. He has a face that puzzles you. It is difficult to tell if you want to punch it or kiss it, until he blushes and you feel like you’ve won a war. The messy hair, the adorable self-deprication, the leather jacket—I was doomed before I started.

The movie is over and we’re still talking, telling ghost stories and making fun of each other. At four in the morning, I’d had enough chatting. I couldn’t quite figure it out. We were having such a good time, but he still hadn’t made a move on me. I start trying to leave but it turns into 45 minutes of more stories. I start thinking that it’s actually kind of lovely that we didn’t hook up. Maybe that’s normal. Maybe he just wants to get to know me. Maybe he just wants to be a friend. I could use some new friends right now. Even with the positive outlook, the slight rejection only makes me want him more. I vow to myself that I will get what I want out of this – a good fuck and a fun drinking buddy.

We eventually pulled ourselves together and he walked me out to my car. He stopped me at the gate; the sun was coming up. The sky was gray-pink and palm trees were silhouetted against the morning haze. As I was turning to go, Adam put his hand on my cheek and kissed me. It was small and delicate and sweet. He pulled me a little closer and we breathed each other in. I smiled and asked him why he waited so long. “You’re a difficult lady to read,” he says. “From now on, I’ll be much more clear,” I promise as I throw my shoes in the back seat and climb into the car barefoot. I wasn’t able to sleep when I got home and I smiled all day that afternoon.

Is it possible I accidentally stumbled onto something great? The date appeared very suggestive, but then he was a perfect gentleman. Illusions and games? Okay, sweetheart, you’ve got my attention. I’m delightfully intrigued. He seems perfect for me. But the timing doesn’t make any sense. What is the universe trying to tell me? I am trying to remind myself that I can’t get involved in anything serious; my heart is still in shock, and I don’t believe that I could really feel anything. At the very least, I’m terrified of feeling anything again. A good fuck and a drinking buddy, I remind myself.  

Thank you for the beautiful music.