Dreaming of Dollywood - a memory

This week our assignment was to write a memory, the goal being to write as an older, perhaps wiser, narrator looking back. I'm not sure that I've captured Laverne's voice in the following. I think it will need some tweaking. I'm also not sure that this will be a part of whatever this becomes, if it becomes anything, but it was good to get to know Laverne a little bit better anyway.

That night Bernie and I crawled into to bed in the camper, both of us high as kites. Never in my life did I dream I’d do anything like this with Bernie. Never really thought I’d do any drugs myself, matter of fact.

After we settled down I took a deep, calming breath and said something to Bernie I shoulda said a long time ago, “You got a good kid, Bern.”

There was enough light coming through the slits in the blinds that I could see her eyes. Bernie didn’t say anything but she looked straight back at me. It was like she was scared to admit that she knew.

“I mean it, that son of yours is something special. You should stop trying to make him someone different and start loving him for who he is.”

Bernie rolled onto her back, away from me and stared up at the ceiling. For a long time both of us were quiet.

“Do you remember the night I met George?” Bernie asked me, breaking the silence.

Of course I did, only I don’t remember it as the night she met George. I remember it as the night our cousin Tammie got me drunk on bourbon. I remember it as the night Howie and I slept together for the first time. It’s funny how the same night leaves different impressions on people. Mother and Daddy were visiting our grandparents in Pittsburgh and left Tammie in charge. Tammie was 19 and studying to be a stenographer at the local college. Bernie was sweet and innocent at 17. I, on the other hand, was already smoking regularly and drinking whisky sours after school at Tammie’s at 16. We were different as night and day.

After our parent’s car disappeared behind a hill on the long stretch of highway by our house Tammie turned to us, a glint in her eye that could only mean one thing; she had a plan. A thrill went through me at the sight of her expression. I lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. Bernie’s breath came out in a disapproving huff. In that moment there was nothing that irritated me more than Bernie’s huffs. Poor girl was always so good and always trying to make me good too. Problem was, I just never quite felt like being good. It’s like that part of my DNA was missing. At the time, I would have blamed Tammie for corrupting me, but I know that’s not true. We just are who we are, I can’t help it anymore than Bernie can, anymore than Simon and Spencer can.

One thing Tammie could do better than anyone else was throw a party together at the last minute. She rang into the operator and before long half the people under 25 in our town knew to be at our farm that night. The three of us spent the afternoon clearing out the barn. Tammie had it in her head that if we had the party in the barn we would be less likely to get caught. Reluctantly Bernie helped. What got into her that day, I’ll never know, but by the time we were done and everything was ready she seemed almost excited.

I stood in front of the vanity in my room, admiring my reflection. I wore Howie’s letterman jacket over a blue and white polka-dot dress of Tammie’s. She’d even curled my hair and put some of her dark red lipstick on me. I hardly recognized myself. It was one of the only times in my life I felt like a lady, and one of the only times I actually liked it. I imagined the look on Howie’s face when he saw me and blushed a little.

The crowd gathered in the barn. Cars, bikes and motorcycles lined the street and our yard. Music and laughter filtered into the night through open barn windows. People stood in circles or sat on bales of hay. A haze of smoke filled the air. It was warm and inviting. I couldn’t help but grin as Bernie took her first sip of bourbon and spit it out, choking. A group of boys walked into the barn at that moment, among them was George. I know only because Bernie told me later. At the time I was distracted by Howie’s arm around my waist and his breath on my ear as he whispered that we should go up to the barn loft. The mixed smells of cigarettes and dry hay still take me back in time to that night.

It felt dangerous and daring. Below us people were dancing and talking, oblivious to the two of us sneaking the latter up so that no one could follow. Howie led me to a bale of hay and we sat down next to each other. Our nerves were electric between us. Even with the open windows and the hole in the floor letting light and sound into the loft, when Howie leaned in to kiss me he was all that existed for me. My heart beat fast and my breath came shallow. I've seen movies with fireworks and cheering crowds. This wasn’t anything like that. This was quiet and still, like the lake at night or wheat in the breeze.

After, he held me in his arms and told me he loved me. He gave me his class ring as a promise ring. We giggled at what we had done, at our secret, at our boldness. When the barn had emptied of all but a few people we snuck back down, concealing smiles, afraid we’d reveal to the whole world our most intimate moment. Howie kissed me good night and left. I let Tammie fill me with bourbon. I was probably irritating the hell out of her with my giddy energy and the only way to shut me up was to make me drink more. So much more I got sick and swore the stuff off. To this day I won't touch it.

After getting sick I crawled into bed with Bernie. We curled up facing each other much like that night in the trailer. I was only half awake as she murmured she’d met a cute boy at the party. Too tired and drunk and distracted by my own night to care much.

Of course I remember that night. 

Dreaming of Dollywood II

“Simon, put that away!” Jane swatted at Simon’s hand.

“Stop being such a prude, Jane!” Simon pulled away from her and proceeded to lay out an array of objects on the picnic table, “Mama’s asleep, anyway.”

“What in the Sam Hill have you got there?” I squirmed in my seat. I could guess what my nephew was getting ready to do.

Simon looked at me with a world of impatience and exasperation. There was some mischief in his eyes as well. “You said you’d always wanted to try it,” he shrugged.

Spencer laughed.

“You callin’ my bluff?” I asked. I ain’t never backed down from a challenge and I could hardly do so now with my nephew. Pride was at stake.

By way of response he handed me a little, thin white roll. I took it. I’m not ashamed to admit my heart was racing. I felt like a school girl all over again, sneaking cigarettes from Daddy’s desk. Simon’s lighter flared to life and I leaned forward to catch it. I inhaled long and deep. And then. Then I started coughing like my lungs were trying to jump outta my body.

Simon, Jane and Spencer all laughed.

I glared at them while Jane took the joint, glanced toward the trailer where Bernie was sleeping, then took hit, slow and cool, like she’d done it a thousand times. She probably had.

When it came back to me Spencer said, “Take a smaller hit and just let it sit for a minute, then let it out real slow.”

By the time I handed it back to Jane my head was swimming. Not in a bad way, it just felt light. Lighter than my body, which had suddenly become heavy as bricks.

“She’s baked already” Jane laughed.

“Am not,” I tried to snap, only instead I laughed when smoke came out of my mouth as I said the words. Good god, everything was funnier than it should have been.

Simon crept into the camper and came back with a bottle of wine and four plastic cups. He moved like a dancer, prancing from person to person, pouring us wine.

“You sure are faggy, aren’t you?” I asked as he poured my glass.

“You sure are bitchy, aren’t you?” he asked without missing a beat.

I cracked up at that. We all laughed loud and hard for a long time.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” I finally said, wiping tears from my eyes.

“Does it bother you?” Spencer asked, “I mean, really, does it bother you that your nephew’s queer?”

A minute ago everything seemed so funny. Now my brain felt thick, my tongue felt like it had become cotton. Simon and Spencer both looked at me, seriously, Simon with a little fear in his eyes. I stared back at them for a long time, figuring out what to say and how to get it out of my foggy head.

Finally I shook my head, “No, not really. We always knew you were who you were. When you were little you insisted on wearing pink and always wanted to go to Jane’s dance classes. Nearly drove your mother crazy. Your dad was steadier, less afraid of what it meant. I guess I just didn’t know what it really meant. Your mom was sad and angry, your dad was cool and quiet. Never seemed like my business.”

Spencer nodded.

“You love to torment Mama about it, though,” Simon said quietly. Jane reached over and squeezed his hand.

I grunted a laugh, “Yeah, well, it was always easy to get under your mama's skin. Guess I liked not being the only one she prayed and fretted over. Whenever she scolded me for not going to church or smoking I’d remind her about her son and that would shut her up.”

“You think I’m the one who’s easy to get under her skin but you’re just the same, Laverne.”

All of us jumped. Spencer spilled his wine and Jane dropped the joint. There was Bernie, in her flannel nightgown and hair curlers, standing on the camper steps.

Jane let out a last puff of smoke, “Hi Mama,” she said, laughing.

Bernie looked at us stunned, as we all started laughing. Things got funny again for a minute. Then Bernie did something none of us expected. She came down from those steps, reached for the joint on the ground, and took a giant puff. She took two giant puffs and sat down on the bench next to Jane. “What?” she asked when we wouldn’t stop staring, our mouths hanging wide open and our eyes fit to pop out of our heads. That got us all laughing again, even Bernie.

Dreaming of Dollywood

This week our assignment was to write as an "unreliable narrator" the way Adam Haslett does in Notes to My Biographer. This is a very rough draft; definitely a work in progress. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it! (And in case you're curious, I did in fact join seniorepeoplemeet.com to make sure the questions were accurate)

The way I see it people got two main problems. First, they think all women should be married, and second, they’re idiots. That’s how I got into this whole mess. My niece surprised me by signing me up on seniorpeoplemeet.com and things just spiraled out of control. The little witch thought it was time for me to “start dating again.” What does she know?  Howie died twelve years ago and I’ve been just fine on my own thank you very much. Besides, all the old men in Winona Lake ever want to do is play shuffleboard or Euchre. Sure, I love a good Euchre game but playing with half-deaf, half-blind ninnies takes all the fun out of it.

For twelve years I’ve been managing the farm and the sawmill, renting some of the land to the neighbor boys and letting my nephews help out at the mill. Even Jane, the one who got me in all this trouble, helps out with payroll. She sees how good things are, how smoothly everything is running. She ought to have known better.

“Laverne, you have got to be careful!” Bernie shouted up at me.  Bernie worries too much for her own good. She grew up to be a church lady just like Mother. I know it just kills her that I ain’t been to church since her grandson’s baptism.  She prays for my soul just as much as she prays for her queer son’s soul. She’s always at those revival meetings down at the rec center, begging and pleading with the Lord that Simon and I will find our ways back to “the flock.”

I looked down my nose at her from the driver’s seat of the RV, “I’ve got two canisters of mace in my bag and I’m about to go pick up Elvis and Dolly. We’ll be fine. I’m not a nancy like that son of yours, I can take care of myself” I threw the RV into reverse and backed out of the lot.

Bernie’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened as I drove away. I lit a cigarette and laughed, the wind blowing on my face harder and harder the faster I drove. There’s nothing like country roads, the way they roll and curve. I pressed on the gas as I went up a particularly high hill and my rear actually left my seat as I went over.  The middle of the RV landed with a crash, though, and the damned thing skidded and veered out of control. I slammed the brakes just in time to stop from completely landing in a ditch.

After the car settled I shook my head. I’d banged into the steering wheel pretty bad. I looked up through the windshield into a field full of cows, eating grass and looking at me like I was crazy. They were cocky sonsofbitches and I glared right back at them until I felt my thigh sting and smelled something burning. My cigarette had fallen out of my mouth and burned a hole in my pants. Cursing, I stuck it back in my mouth and patted my pants and leg, trying to rub the pain out. Stupid RV. Stupid cows. Stupid hills. Stupid online dating site and the old men on it.

I sat back in my seat, after calling Bernie’s husband, George, and thought about those online profiles. Jane filled mine out for me and she was a bit mushy for my taste.

• A little bit about me: I like the outdoors. I’ve played in Bid Euchre tournaments and am looking for a new partner! My collies, Elvis and Dolly, keep good company but things can get lonely on my farm.
• What I’m looking for: A man who’s not afraid to hold his own and voice his opinion. Someone who will take long walks with me through the woods on my land. I’d like someone to make me laugh and cook me dinner sometimes.
• I’d just like to add: I’ve been widowed for 12 years. I loved my husband very much. We had 30 good years together and while I miss him, I’m ready to move on. I own a farm and a sawmill so you need to be able to work along side a strong, capable woman.

Bah! It didn’t sound like me at all! I’ve never said anything so flowery in my life! I would never have filled one of those profiles out for myself but if I did it would have sounded something like this:

• A little bit about me: I work hard. I love Dolly Parton and have traveled all over the US to see her concerts. I don’t have much use for God and spiritual mumbo-jumbo but Elvis Presley’s Gospel music is enough to make me believe in angels.
• What I’m looking for: A hard worker. Someone to smoke and drink a glass or two of whiskey with when the day is done. A straight talker.
• I’d just like to add: I’ve no need for a man who can’t take care of himself. I wasn’t put on this earth to cook and clean for another person.

When I told Jane what I thought it should say she shook her head like she pitied me or something and wouldn’t let me change a thing, wouldn’t even give me the password to log on. Instead, she went through all my mail and sent me the ones she thought were worth looking at. You would not have believed the jokers she started showing me. For a while I thought I’d prove her wrong and she’d let it be. But no, Bernie and her daughter both have the persistent gene and she kept right at it. Eventually it was me that gave in and agreed to e-mail a man named Miles back. I didn’t do it because I was interested in him; I did it to shut her up.

Problem was, he kept e-mailing me back. Turns out we both have a passion for Dolly Parton and Elvis Presley. We figured out that we’ve been to at least 5 of the same Dolly concerts; we even sat in the same section at one of them. Crazy as it sounds we started hitting it off. By the time I landed in the ditch it had been five months of e-mailing and talking on the phone. That man could make me laugh ‘til I thought my side would burst. I never got tired of talking to him. We told each other stupid stuff, like what our days were like and not so stupid stuff like our families and our first marriages.

And so I found myself in an RV George rented to me at a discounted rate, on my way to meet Miles in Dollywood. I’d been avoiding it on principle. Dollywood was for the fans who followed Dolly because she was famous. I had not use for it. But Miles loves Dollywood and wanted to share it with me. I put off replying when he first asked me to meet him there. He thought I was avoiding him because I was scared to meet in person. That had no part of it. I’m a grown-ass woman and have nothing to fear from a silly, sweet older man like Miles.

“I’m going with you and that’s the end of it, Laverne,” Bernie insisted, hands on her hips. “Simon and I will go. We’ll stay out of your way once we’re there but you can’t drive all the way to Tennessee by yourself, you just can’t.”

“I can and I will, Bernie,” We both had a stubborn streak and this was a fight to end all fights.

“You better listen to her, Laverne,” George sat at the kitchen table with his coffee. He didn’t look up from the paper he was reading. “She’s got her heels dug in deep this time.”

It was no use. Before I knew it, Bernie and Simon were packed and loaded into the RV. I sighed and threw my hands in the air. This complicated everything but there was no changing Bernie’s mind. I turned around to get in the driver’s seat and just like that, Jane was standing there in front of me, the biggest grin split her face like a clown.

“And just what do you want?” I demanded.

She held her hand out all innocent like, “The keys, please. I’ll drive for the first leg.”

I tried to peer into a rear window but couldn’t see anything. I’ll say this for George’s guys, they tint a window real good.

“Oh no, no, no,” I just shook my head.

“Aunt Laverne, can you put your cigarette out, please? You’re giving me a splitting headache,” Jane asked as she pulled onto the highway ramp.

“You go on and rest in the back and I’ll drive,” I grumbled. I knew I was acting the fool but I was so mad I could spit.

“Laverne, don’t you know second-hand smoke is just as dangerous as first-hand? You could give us all cancer just by smoking with us in the same car.”

“Serve you right,” was all I said. I rolled down my window and hung my hand outside, pulling it in to take a drag every so often.

I'm not a stalker, I swear

I signed up for a 10 week writing course and tonight was my first class. I was a bit nervous but mostly just excited. The focus of the class is "persona narrator" and we will be asked to "put on" different narrator's voices each week. For our first exercise we were asked to write a letter to our hero, using the voice from Amy Gerstler's poem A Fan Letter. We were given half an hour to complete the assignment. While many of the other students in the class chewed on their pens or pencils trying to decide who to write to I got started before the instructor was done giving all of her directions. It took me no time to decide who to write to. One of my goals in taking this class is to get more comfortable sharing my writing. So, here is my very silly, short letter to my own "literary hero."

Dear Anne, 

May I call you Anne? We haven't yet met but I feel as if I know you already. Anne hardly feels sufficient. Sweet Anne. Wise Anne. Funny Anne. 

Since I was a young girl I have fancied myself a writer. My imagination was always alive with colors and shapes, stories longing to burst out of me. 

In college I read your book. It changed my life. I have read it innumerable times since. I think of my thighs as my "aunties". I imagine the journey of my faith as leaps from one Lilly Pad to another. I pray "Thank you, thank you, thank you" and "Help me, help me, help me," in urgent whispers. 

I must confess that I moved to the Bay Area in anticipation of meeting you. I picture myself strolling on the hill behind your house and suddenly, there you and your dog come bounding over the horizon on one of your daily walks. This is how I imagine we will meet and become friends. 

I know if we did meet we would be fast friends, kindred spirits. Do you feel the same loneliness I do? I am sure our friendship could fill the gaps in our lives, it could complete us, you and I. 

I look forward to your prompt reply.

Your future Bosom Buddy,
Sara

Once Upon a Speed Date

My friend and I arrived at the Press Club a few minutes after 7:40 and, neither of us having eaten dinner, debated whether to run across the street to the Walgreens for a Cliff Bar before going in. Anxious about being late we decided to skip Walgreens. We need not have worried. We were the first ones there for the Speed Dating event, hosted by Pre-Dating. It was to be held downstairs in an enclosed section of the bar. The rest of the venue was taken over by a Match.com mixer event. We descended the stairs feeling like the redheaded stepchildren of the dating world and slinked into the empty section of bar that would eventually be filled with a collection of individuals that resembled the Island of Misfit Toys. At least, that's what it felt like to me next to the chic, glamorous bustle of the Match.com affair as I stood watching the other speed daters arrive.

I registered, ordered a glass of wine and mingled with the other women there while we waited for things to begin. Almost all the women there (8 total) came with a friend or two. We were all dressed in business casual attire. For me speed dating is an entertaining adventure, a source for fun, to be laughed about. It is inherently social. I would never consider going without friends. Yet, each of the 6 men who signed up came alone. Each was awkward in his own way. Now, I am not saying that I am not also awkward or uncomfortable at times (as will be demonstrated below) but with this particular collection of men there was an air of lonely desperation. The women were there to meet new people and to have fun with their friends. The men were there to meet new people because it felt like this was the only way left to them. Am I being cruel? I hope not. I could be completely wrong but I am not the only one who left with the same impression.

Because there were more women than men each of the women sat through two 6 minute sessions with no male counterpart to talk to. These awkward moments were spent sipping wine, sneaking peaks at our phones and eventually getting to know the other woman without a partner for that round. During the 5 - 10 minute break halfway through the evening one of the women commented that it was actually easier to make new female friends at these events than to meet men she wanted to date. Too true.

I spent the first round without a partner. I looked around and sighed. Other than one extremely tall man (6'10"!) all of them were short, round and/or balding. I do not want to seem shallow or judgmental. I am under no delusion that I epitomize the standards of female beauty. It cannot be escaped, though, that first impressions matter and that at these kinds of events we will each be noticing one another's appearance, especially if we have no one to sit with to distract us with awkward conversation.

After 6 minutes our host, Douglas, rang his silver bell with a heart for the handle and the men stood up and moved counter clockwise to the next woman. The very tall man sat next to me and introduced himself. When I introduced myself and told him my badge number he wrote my name down in the wrong section of the little packet of paperwork we were given at registration. Without thinking and without hesitation I pointed out that he should turn the page and fill out the next portion.

"You're a teacher, aren't you?" he asked.

That shut me up! One, because he wasn't far wrong and two because I had decided not to tell any of my "dates" that I am a youth minister. I hate to admit that, it still feels skeezy to have resolved to intentionally leave out that I work for the church. My experience here in the Bay Area, though, has taught me that it is not so sexy to be a Christian, especially a fanatic one who has actually sought out employment at a church! So, my plan was to simply avoid it all together and just tell them that I work for a not-for-profit in the city, which is true, if only in part. As one of my friends who was with me pointed out, "You don't have to let them know everything all at once." Right. I would be mysterious.

Or, at least, I was going to be until the giant point blank asked if I was a teacher. Of course an option would have been to say no because, in fact, I am not a teacher and just leave it at that. But my every impulse is to be honest, full disclosure is in my nature. Walking into the evening planning to conceal part of what I do, what I love, was already causing me too much anxiety. How could I not acknowledge how close his guess was to the truth? So I stuttered and hemmed and hawed and finally blurted out, "Well, not exactly. I do work with youth though. Why?"

"Because you just corrected me. You're obviously used to being in control and making sure things are done right."

Well damn.

More stuttering. I tried to tell him (the one prospect there who was even remotely promising!) that just because I pointed out the way the paperwork was meant to be used it was not an indicator that I am, by nature, critical and controlling. I tried. I did not succeed. I stammered. I faltered. I honestly do not know what, if anything, I actually said.

Finally he interrupted and asked what I do with youth.

Crap. I wasn't going to talk about that! "Um, I'm a youth minister at an Episcopal church."

He raised his eyebrows.

Yep, I should have kept my mouth shut. Note to self: learn how to lie. At least a little.

"So...what do you do?"

This is representative of most conversations while speed dating. What do you do for work? What do you do for fun? Blah. Blah. Blah. By the end of the night I had said that I like to read and write so many times that I felt like I was rehearsing lines for a very boring play that no one, ever, should have to pay to sit through.

"Ok, I have to ask you my 'make it or break it' question. If you had a superpower what would it be?"

Unexpected. A bit unusual. Silly. Better than church for a first 6 minute conversation.

"Do you have any pets?"

This first conversation was the only one that evening that strayed from the script, save one, in which we discussed whether football or baseball was the better sport.

Douglas rang his bell and it was time to start over with someone new.

Much of the evening was unremarkable. To my surprise I found myself intentionally emphasizing that I am a youth minister at a Christian church in an effort to deter interest. One of the men literally blinked and shook his head in a very cartoonish way in astonishment when I told him.

"Minister? That means you must have a lot of training?"

I felt a little foolish when I had to answer "Well, no, actually. I suppose the term minister is misleading. I am not ordained. I didn't go to seminary."

"But you can quote the Bible?"

"Um, a little." I had to stop myself from laughing at how uncomfortable he was when he asked that and how uncomfortable I was in answering.

Another man moved here from China fifteen years ago. I asked if he goes back to China to visit regularly. He shook his head and looked at me like I was being ridiculous for asking that. "No, the last time I was there was 5 years ago."

"Wow. So is your family all in the states?"

"No."

"That must be hard. I moved here from Chicago a year ago and it's hard to be so far away from my parents and sisters. I miss my sisters very much."

"Really? Why?"

What kind of a question is that!? I tried not to let too much confusion be revealed in my face or tone as I answered, "Because I love my sisters. I want them to move here."

"Oh...well, Sara, besides loving your sisters what do you like to do for fun?"

Really?

Really!?

Next please!


This was the second time I had been speed dating. I had fun. I would do it again. It is not, however, where I anticipate meeting someone to have a lasting, meaningful relationship with.

Adventures in Dating

I officially entered the world of online dating this week with one of the most ridiculous and awkward first dates. My excitement for the date largely stemmed from his height being over 6’5”. Perhaps I have finally learned that there are more important things in a man than his being very tall?

From the very beginning we got off to a bad start on Tuesday when he arrived 2 hours late with no apologies. Now, to be fair, when he said he’d be at the North Berkeley BART station between 2:30-3:30 I perhaps should have suspected him to be less than prompt. However, not wanting to keep him waiting, I got to the station right at 2:30. I sat on a bench, pulled out my book and offered thanks for such a beautiful day. At 3:00 I received an e-mail from my date informing me he was running late and probably wouldn’t be there until 3:30 or 4:00. I sighed. At least I had a good book to keep me occupied (I was reading Jane Austen’s Persuasion). At 4:30 I started getting a bit anxious. Did he get off at the Downtown Berkeley stop instead of the North Berkeley stop? Was I being stood up? Should I just call it a day and head home?

As I was getting ready to leave he came rounding the corner. He explained that he ended up driving from San Francisco and that there was more traffic than he anticipated on the Bay Bridge. He then stopped, shook my hand and said “I’m Sam” (his name has of course been changed). I smiled and said “Nice to meet you, I’m Sara.” His response was “Yes, I think we’ve established that.” I’m still not sure what to make of that. At the time I just gave a little laugh and suggested we head to the café. Our walk to the café was unremarkable. Actually, I can’t really even remember what exactly we talked about. I had been so nervous and uncertain about meeting someone from the internet and after a less than stellar first impression I mostly remember feeling relieved and much more up to the task than I had initially credited myself being, even if there was some disappointment about the person himself.

We arrived at Café Leila. I ordered a decaf latte (it was 5:00 at this point, after all!) and he ordered jasmine lemonade and a sandwich. I suggested we sit outside, which was almost the entire reason I wanted to go to Café Leila. He hesitated and said he didn’t want to sit in direct sunlight. Ok, so did he want to sit inside? Well…as long as we could sit in the shade, we should be ok. We found a spot under a large umbrella and sat.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’m just a bit of a vampire.”

“Oh, do you mean you burn easily?”

“Well, that and I like to drink blood.”

Uncomfortable laughter.

“But don’t worry not human blood…at least, not usually.”

My smile faltered. Surely he was kidding; I only wished he would indicate as much!

His sandwich arrived. I asked questions. He answered. He said “like” almost every other word, sometimes several times in a row. At one point I counted “like” 7 times! It was as if he was a CD with a scratch on it, skipping over and over. Perhaps I am being insensitive but having studied oral rhetoric I am pickier than most. Maybe he had a stutter. Maybe he was nervous. Either way it was distracting. 

I was bored.

At one point he randomly asked me if I babysat much when I was a teenager. Yes. Yes I did. Did he? A bit. Sometimes he was good at it sometimes, sometimes not. Mildly intrigued I asked him what he meant.

“Well, I babysat some girls in my neighborhood and I didn’t always…I mean boundaries were difficult…I mean, it’s a long story…”

He probably didn’t mean what it sounded like he could have meant but there were alarm bells going off inside my head at this. I work with young people and have gone through many training courses aimed at preventing sexual harassment and abuse his halting explanation did not entirely sit well with me.

When he was halfway through with his sandwich he interrupted me to apologize for “spacing out.” I had been totally unaware.

“I do that sometimes,” he explained, “when I’m digesting.”

“Oh, that’s ok,” I assured him, not quite sure at all.

When I asked what he did for work he confessed that he has been unemployed for a year and a half. He is currently trying to figure out what he wants to do next. Previously he worked as a computer programmer and, in an effort to explain why that’s not the best fit for his personality he asked if I am familiar with and believe in Myers-Briggs. I do. I told him that I am an ENFP.

“My mom is and ENFP. I think I can relate.”

Two things went through my mind at this moment. The first was, “I am NOT your mother.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from blurting this out. The other was whether he would be able to relate to me as an ENFP if he didn’t know anyone else with this same personality type. I did not pursue either thought.

When he was finished with his food he sat back and said “I think I’m 90% done.” I glanced at his completely empty plate and glass. All I could do by way of response was to chuckle. “No, I’m just kidding, I think I’m done. I just need to digest.” Again with the digestion! 

“Ok, well would walking help you with that?” I asked. 

“Yeah, I think so.” 

I gathered my things and made to get up but he stopped me. 

“Actually, I think I just need to sit for a few minutes.” 

I settled myself back down. 

And we sat.

At last! We left the restaurant and headed back to the BART station. As we began walking he asked me what my “world vision” is. When I asked for clarification he asked what I believe about the universe. Again, I pressed for a more specific question. He explained that ENFPs tend to be idealists and he wanted to know if that was true of me. Yes, I am an idealist. I am passionate and care about many causes and issues but I have difficulty focusing or committing to one. I am distractable. For example, I love to write stories but I rarely finish them. I have a string of stories started and characters created but other than poems I couldn’t readily think of a completed project.

“I don’t really understand what you’re saying but I’ll try to relate.”

Is my experience really so unusual? I took a deep breath and quickened my steps, quite ready to be heading home alone.

When we were almost at the train station he told me his mom thinks he’s the second coming of Christ. I did not know what to say to this! “Don’t worry, I’m not. It was just a weird message to grow-up with.” Indeed.

We finally made it to the station and his waiting car. I wished him a safe trip home. He hoped I had a good rest of my day. We parted ways. I began to walk home a bit dazed, not quite sure what I had just sat through. However, as I started telling my sister Hannah about it I began laughing out loud as I strolled down University. It may not have been a successful match but I am still highly amused by the experience. I have a date on Saturday (obviously with someone else) and I am feeling much better prepared to tackle the beast that is online dating.