two ships in the night
I must admit I've been on a few too many Tinder dates. This story is about one such escapade. We'll call him D, and for our first date he invited me to a concert. It was a Thursday night, and I put on my little black dress, got into my little white car, and headed off to my blind tryst. In the empty parking lot, as I stood waiting, a silhouette of a man in a leather jacket made it's way into the light and toward me.
"Wow you're so hot," was the first thing that came out of his mouth, and I figured the night could only get better from there. We hugged, followed by that awkward 'nice to meet you half cheek kiss' that usually happens, and went inside. On the second floor of a large, dimly lit warehouse full of people, was a dark corner where a few couches were positioned like a cozy, makeshift lounge.
D pulled my hand and made a beeline to the couches where he clearly knew everyone. Over the mellow but loud electronic beats blaring from the speakers, introductions were made, and I said my hellos and shook everyone's hand, gracefully accepting their compliments. As I began to realize that I was meeting the band, I shook hands with the last person, we'll call him S, and he invited me to sit next to him. There I was, little black dress, completely overdressed, sandwiched between my Tinder D and the stranger S.
Ever met someone and instantly felt like you knew them? Like they were as much a part of you as your own favorite things? I can't really explain it, but that's how I felt sitting next to this stranger. While D had his hand on my thigh, I couldn't help but turn my attention to S. Dressed in all black, a hoodie covering most of his head, he was articulate, disarming and enchanting.
He wasn't particularly attractive, but the way his mouth moved when he spoke, when he laughed, and just his overall energy were all like irresistible, narcotic strings pulling me into his sphere. I watched him intensely, hanging on his every word and movement as he smiled the kind of smile I wanted to fold up and put into my pocket. "She's a writer too," D proudly announced to the mysterious S, and it was as if the statement was so sacred to him that he scooted even closer to me and began to ask me a slew of questions. I answered them one by one, with all my hair flips, lash bats and occasional lip bites on cue, so smitten by him and his interest in me that it must have been palpable.
When the concert began I watched S take to the stage with an alpha presence fit for a king, and as he gripped the microphone tightly between his fingers I wondered what it would be like to be that microphone. He sang with bravado, and his deep, velvety bass voice shook me. Memorized by his words, rhymes and his ridiculously attractive stage presence, I stood below in the pit, frozen with adoration. D took my hand and tried to dance with me, and I did, but I was only dancing for S.
After the show we all went out on the roof, and in the moonlight S and I somehow ended up in the corner, stealing a few moments with each other. I listened to his words, but not in my usual fashion, because for once I wasn't waiting for my turn to speak. All I wanted to do was to hear him, ingest, digest and absorb it all, without the need or desire to respond, as if his words were enough for the both of us, and there was a kind of peace in that that I had never experienced in the company of another. The way he composed his sentences, the way his lips moved, the way his body moved when he spoke, his voice, all of it locked me in the most blissful and comfortable, cerebral embrace.
He was from Tribeca, heading back to the East Coast the next day, and said the most ordinary things in the most fascinating ways, while I silently pondered my life in LA and what would become of my Tinder date. Soon, D interrupted us, there was a whirlwind of goodbyes and the night came to an end. I never did see D after that, nor did I ever see S again. Once in a blue moon I play one of his tracks and remember that night where for a short while, I had peace of mind in the company of a stranger. The best things in this world are sweet nothings that come and go like melting snowflakes, spring pollen or two ships in the night.