II: A Shot of Wine
“I don’t want to go. I only want to go somewhere if it’s with him…my first date in a new city would be with a guy shorter than me. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” Hannah slings her bag down, crosses over the few tiles it takes to get to my apartment kitchen, leans in and says, “Just go. You’ll have fun…and if you don’t, we can laugh about it later.” Hannah’s ideal picture of this new era was me in the streets, flirting wildly in a flower print dress, dominating conversation with glowing wit and sparkle. She wasn’t wrong. I should be executing singlehood like this, but I was sustaining my body off saltines and red wine. The ache that lived in my ribs started vibrating as soon as the day started and only went away with distraction. Feeding the ache kept it quiet.
We take shots of red wine, I put on something that communicates: Take Me. I drive downtown.
The first date went. It went something. I parked downtown and started the walk to the bar where we were meeting. Something not unlike hope hanging in my throat but something more like an entry to a race. My phone lit up.
“Hi! I’m here at the bar. Want me to order you something?”
“Sure! Spicy margarita for me please!!”
I watched him open the text message and order the drinks for us. I waited to walk up and introduce myself. I believed this would give me a headstart on the assessment.
We talked about our siblings — he had 3, I had 5 — and our knees were angled together, huddled, but we were being shy on a rooftop.
He asked permission to kiss me while servers were loading the outdoor storage closet nearby. Slinked his tattooed arm around my waist and pulled me in. Making out among the sounds of clanging metal. I thought it was seedy and romantic. The start of something even. The scraps we accept after everything has been a dumpster fire is astonishing. I would make a kiss into a story, into one where I finally did it this time. I would be in something true.
The second date was rock climbing. Why does everyone in Austin like rock climbing? Men have to see if you’re afraid of heights to qualify you as worthy. Your hobbies have to include a willingness to die. Camping, hiking, rock climbing. Every dating profile I clicked on was someone looking for an ‘adventurous’ woman. Men want a ‘strong’ woman who is ‘active.’ They want a thin woman who has seen some shit that didn’t break her. Broken enough that her pieces don’t cut to the bone, but broken enough to accept the half-ass love men give to someone they met on a dating app. Her skin and histories flaking off just enough to be funny like all good women are.
I invited the rock climber to a coffee shop a few weeks later.
“Hi, I don’t think this is going to work. I’m really busy with my art and I don’t have time to hang out all the time. My time is spent making my art.” A wordsmith!
How could I tell him I didn’t give a fuck as long as he would hang out with me long enough to silence the ache between my ribs? Oh, you forgot I had that, didn’t you? I was being so good. Going on dates at night, teaching high schoolers in the morning. Eating cumulatively one meal a day and averaging 10 messages in the evening, in bed with my star projector whirring above me. I loved feeding my Tamagotchis at night. That’s what I called the men on Hinge. My pets.
My weight was down almost 8 pounds, thin enough to let me into the gates of Hinge Heaven.
I wondered if artist/rock climber/small tattooed man could smell the badly on my breath? The ways I wanted anyone so badly. He could’ve been my copy and paste. Figuring the facing of it could be postponed if I had anyone. I loved someone who was not ready to love me. That was the ache if you must know. Are you happy now? I was the human version of “Linger” stuck on a loop masking my tears as someone in a new city—I was adjusting and this was my excuse.
Everything inside me lived on the outside.
“Nothing turns out like I pictured it
Maybe the emptiness is just a lesson in canvases”- Julien Baker, “Appointments”
!!!!!!!!! God you're good