Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Blood, Blondes, and Mac Refuses a Date

A fistful of Fridays ago (June 9th):

I awoke in sunlight after this dream. I didn't know what to think, how to feel. I stared at the ceiling for a while, stroking Lilly, trying to sort it out. I didn't.

Here's the dream before I awoke:
I'm sitting in my bedroom, on one of my unfinished dining chairs without a shirt. I'm wearing black jeans. The room is filled with the brightest sunlight, no shadows anywhere; the sun filled every niche and corner in the room, but didn't hurt the eyes. I kept looking around, wondering why it was so bright. The room then took a turn in feeling; instead of a bright and warm and sunny, it felt sterile like a fluorescent-lit surgery hospital room. I looked straight ahead and saw a short-haired blonde woman crawling toward me. She was dressed in a white blouse and white pants, and was looking at me with big beautiful eyes.

"How can you love me? I mean, look at my shoulders, my arms" I said, completely confused. I looked down at my arms. Covered in slashes gashes open bloody wounds. They looked like elongated red bubbly bomb craters in peach soil.

"I just do" she said, laying head on my shoulder, looking into my eyes.

I awoke.
I went to work.

* * *

At The Bank, Hash asked me to sneak out to a neighborhood Indian restaurant, McToodaas, for eggrolls and coffee for him.
He's cool, so I ducked out the door and took the alley to the main street. Nodded to a lady taking out the trash, skipped over puddles, and smoked a cigarette. When I popped out onto the main road, I saw two black teenage boys sauntering along the sidewalk. Didn't think anything of it except for the way they were yelling and walking: teens up to something.

I looked in the Indian windows: Sony electronics, saris, electricity converters, and strange-looking food. When I looked up to cross the main road to McToodaas, I saw this woman walking even with me. I think the boys had been yelling at her, but they were gone. She stopped in the middle of McToodaas' double doors.

Eye contact.

I prepared to be hit up for change.

I crossed the street, sort of looking at her. She wore tight black pants with silver stripes and a denim jacket like my dealer in high school wore all the time. Dirty blonde hair.

When I came close, she asked "got a cigarette?"

"Sure, here."

I handed her the cigarette and lit it for her. She had deep brown eyes.

"Want a date?"

"Uh-- what?"

"Are you looking for a date?"

"Oh, um, no thanks, but have a good day--"

"Thanks for the cigarette, honey," and she walked away.

I bought the eggrolls and headed back to The Bank, feeling miserable for some reason.

Had I delayed or left earlier for Hash, this meeting never would have taken place. Was I meant to meet her?

A 15 second exchange, and I dwelt on it all day. Sadness, a physical depression swirling glob in the pit of my stomach. On the verge of tears for the rest of the day.


Am I looking for a Damsel in Distress to rescue? Am I looking for someone to save, since I can't even save myself? Was it just the "Man" in me pissed off at missing a "sure thing"?

She looked familiar, like someone from from my high school. Resembled remembered. I wanted to touch her, I wanted her to touch me.

Later that day, I went back to the corner looking for a place to go for lunch, half hoping to see her again, half dreading seeing her again. I had this strange urge to ask her out on a "real" date. Drinks on her day off? Interview her for My Cube? What was I thinking?

She looked like someone. Who? And then it hit me; she looked like the woman from the dream, and the woman from the dream looked like this woman with the star tattoo.

3rd "wanna date?" since I moved here to Chicago.

3rd time I said, "no thanks."


Fresh Talent said...

Tonight at dinner, the Doctor mentioned how sad it was that you kept turning down dates. After setting her right, she fired back with this cracker: 'But how did he know she wasn't actually asking him out for a real date? What would have happened if he just gave out his number.'

Didn't have a response to that...

Anonymous said...

...in my defense... how was i meant to know she didn't *actually* want a date?!?

The Doctor

Mac said...

You silly lovelies crack me up.

I only get asked out by hookers, I mean, GFE ladies.

I am confused about "kept turning down dates..." Am I Blackout Blogging on Letter to America (again)?