Allison's Archives

The breeze comes through my bathroom window like some kind of caution. I let it swirl around the space as I put the cap back on my lipstick. Too much. Wipe it off. All the better. I take one last look in the mirror. I cannot remember the last time I looked like me. Either the mirror is lying or I am. I look at the sink for an answer. It answers in droplets I cannot decipher. Maybe my eyes can. 

Bag over shoulder. Out the door. Down the streets. Outside, the sky is [bright / gloomy / crimson]. People walk with umbrellas and strollers and canes in their hands. I walk with my heart in mine. Careful not to drop it, careful not to step on cracks. 

I stand a few fair feet away from the entrance and look across the road. The [Sainsbury’s / Tesco Express / Morrisons] glares at me. I look behind me. There’s still time to turn back. Say I’ve got [the flu / food poisoning / a housemate who forgot their key]. I mutter something even I don’t completely understand in Mandarin and will my feet to move. 

He is [early / on time / late]. What a quaint shop. What an extensive yet intricately curated menu to placate the ever-growing demands of modern society. He steps toward me almost in slow motion and I try to figure out whether he’s going in for a hug, a handshake, or a fist bump. A side hug suffices. One Mississippi long. 

I tell the barista what I’d like. Start my sentences with please and end them with thank you. He does the same, offers to pay. Five minutes later, he is sitting across from me with his [carbon neutral coffee / ceremonial matcha / sugarless milk tea]. He asks if I’ve ever tried this place, whether I know the origin of the beverage we are sipping away on. I look outside at the weather. It has changed. 

The conversation is interesting. Interesting can be good. Interesting can be bad. Interesting in this case means it follows a pattern I have long observed. 

He asks how my day has been so far. I’ve only just gotten out of bed an hour ago but I choose to lie about that. I say I’ve been up since eight, been [meditating / working out / cleaning the house]. I don’t lie and say I’ve been writing lest I scare him away. I throw the same question back at him. He catches it without missing a beat, like he’s rehearsed this. He tells me about this indie artist who has just released a new album, and how he has been listening to it on his walk before meeting me.

He asks my opinion on [R&B / rock music / some pop genre I haven’t heard of].

I ask his opinion on [meritocracy / abortion / free will].

He asks if I listen to [Laufey / Kanye / The Marías].

I say, “Do you know who [Madeline Argy / Alex Cooper / Stephanie Soo] is?”

He asks if I read and by this he is hoping I read manga other than [novels / magazines / self-help books]. I refrain from regurgitating my bookshelf onto his lap. 

I ask if he likes films and he jumps at asking whether I’ve watched [Attack on Titan / Jujutsu Kaisen / Demon Slayer]. As I answer, I see a small spark die in his eyes. I almost want to laugh. I maintain decorum. He is still a stranger.

I ask if he knows [Remedios Varo / Monet / Dante Gabirel Rossetti] and he tells me how much he admires Banksy.

Light, airy subjects are good for these social circumstances. Keep it to pop culture and mediums of art. News items. Nothing too personal. There’s a line you don’t cross. There are questions that are too early to ask:

Are you [an only child / the youngest / the eldest]?

What is your [sun / moon / rising] sign? 

Do you like your eggs [scrambled / poached / boiled]?

Would you want to live [in a city / on the outskirts / by the beach]?

Are you into [poetry / prose / essays]?

Do you think you’ll want [a daughter / a son / no kids at all]?

IF I WERE A WORM—!

Too early to ask indeed. He lets me talk for the remainder of our time together and he [listens / discusses / debates]. I think I like the way his [eyes / hair / lips] look. There’s something so gentle in the way he was made. I look down at my palms discreetly, at the heart I have been holding. I think it could be safer in his palms. He tries a joke and it doesn’t quite land because I was distracted. I snap back. I apologize and try a joke of my own. It doesn’t quite land either but he laughs and it sounds like [crackling candles / Fourth of July fireworks / cathedral bells]. 

I ask him what he’s up to this evening and he says he’s going to [the rock climbing gym / frisbee training / basketball practice].

The date rounds to a natural close and I think [we can be friends / I’ll give him a second try / I won’t see him again].

He says my name and tells me he “had a really nice time today.” I think I like the sound of my name coming out of his throat. I choke on something in my own throat. I think I’ve been here before. I think I’ve seen this story play out before. I conveniently forget the ending. The breeze plays tag with my hair like some kind of caution.