Tripping on Tears

by Rusk, Day

  That was how I felt sitting there pathetically in the coffee shop. My first thoughts, of course, were that she must all ready be in a relationship. Someone as stunningly beautiful as her must be. A stupid and simplistic assumption, I know, but one I was sure was right. Secondly, even if she wasn’t in a relationship, why would she want to go out with me? My parents were very supportive of me as a youth growing up, I was fairly popular in high school, so I didn’t suffer from an inferiority complex or anything like that, I just couldn’t see someone as exquisite as her wanting to have anything to do with me. Hell, after our brief exchange about the penny, my first opportunity to discover more about her than just how she looked, my fear that she wouldn’t want anything to do with me only increased. She was well spoken, engaging and had a sense of humor. That’s what I got out of our brief conversation. What did she get? The knowledge that I might be a really cheap person and that I knew too much about woodchucks?

  Things changed after our brief encounter - for the better. I no longer had to sit silently in the coffee shop, sneaking furtive glances at her. Now, when I entered Koffee Krisp, she looked in my direction, smiled and greeted me with a cheerful, “Hello.” We were on a talking basis. It was wonderful, although, I knew, in the long run, not enough.

  I continued my daily journey to the coffee shop, each day promising myself that today would be the day that I finally officially asked her out. And, you know what, on many of those days I actually came close to doing so. In my brief lifetime, I’ve watched many a movie where a character has been beating around the bush, trying to say something to another character, but just not able to get the words out. Always, in my mind, I’m screaming, ‘Why don’t you just say it, stupid. Just say what you want to say. How hard can it be?” It always seemed so simple; but now, in real life, I found myself unable to say what I wanted to really say. We engaged in some pleasantries and the conversation would be going well; I’d even manage to make her laugh from time to time, but when it came time to turn the conversation towards a date, the words always got stuck in my throat. I just couldn’t turn that corner, and I’d kick myself all the way home for being such a coward; for not having the balls to do what needed to be done.

  Now I’m being hard on myself, but you also have to look at it from my perspective. First off, rejection is never fun, and by officially asking her out I was potentially inviting it into my life; if I asked her out and she said, “No,” then our present relationship, as tenuous as it was, would also change, and not for the better. My asking her out would always be out there; a point of tension between the two of us. On the other hand, we were now communicating and it was fun. I enjoyed our little talks, even though they were superficial in nature. I loved the sound of her voice; her little laugh, and her bigger laugh, when I finally managed to be wittier than I thought I could be. All of this was great, and I got to enjoy it every day, or at least every day when she was working. The more I continued to put off asking her out, the longer I got to enjoy those moments. I’d heard there was a study done on gamblers, and it was revealed that the real high they received from gambling was not in the winning, but in that moment, seconds before a card was turned over to reveal either victory or defeat - that was the real high. My conversations with her were my high; that was the moment before reality set in, when I asked her out and waited for any answer, which could possibly be, thanks but no thanks. If I did ask her out, I’d get an answer, and if I didn’t like it, the high would be gone. As long as I procrastinated on that front, the high still existed; the possibility in my mind that she would say yes. That was my high, and while I knew I couldn’t ride it forever, it was what was sustaining me through my cowardness.

  I should also mention that having spoken with her and had the ice broken, I now got serious about my work. Rather than writing out lists and playing solitaire, I now set about the business of actually writing in the coffee shop.

  “So, are you actually writing something, or still just working on your thought of the day?”

  She took me by surprise. I’d been lost in my research notes and hadn’t noticed that she had moved close and was wiping down the table next to mine; our usual little dance.

  “Huh?” I said, looking up from my laptop. I needed to get a better opening line; she’s going to think I’m an idiot.

  Things were quiet in the coffee shop that morning. Unlike our past conversations that only lasted a few seconds, a minute if I was lucky, this time she seemed intent on talking longer, or at least I guess she did as she sat down in the chair across from me. She was looking at me intently. She was beautiful.

  “You wouldn’t believe how many people come in here order a coffee and open up their laptops. Are there that many writers in the world? What is everyone doing, writing about?”

  “Probably surfing porn,” I said.

  That’s right, it always impresses a girl to bring up the subject of pornography. It didn’t matter whether or not she thought I was an idiot, I knew I was an idiot.

  “Coffee and porn. An interesting combination,” she said, smiling. “So what is it you’re doing? Why is it you don’t have a day job?”

  “This is my day job.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m writing a book. My second book actually.” It all came out sounding a little too rushed; not as cool and confident as I would have hoped.

  “Your second book? You’ve written a book? An actual published book?”

  “The Sinful Delusion,” I said.

  She just looked at me blankly. The book had sold extremely well for my first effort; enough to get me a healthy advance on this second book, and enough to turn me into a full time writer, so I was hoping that maybe she had heard of it. I mean, that’s the only cache you’re going to get with a woman as a writer; the hope that she has either heard of the book you wrote or, if the Gods are smiling on you, has read the book you wrote and loved it. That’s our only hope for a rock star moment as writers. Based on the look on her face, I knew this was not one of those moments. Instead of feeling like a Rolling Stone I felt like a Bay City Roller.

  “I’m a journalist, or at least I was, full time. The Sinful Delusion is my first book; a look at, well...”

  Okay, I was stuck here. Something deep down within me told me that she wasn’t going to be impressed about a book on strip clubs; that she’d put two and two together and realize that to have written it I must have been a patron of strip clubs – a regular, so to speak. Talking pornography and strip clubs was definitely not the way to impress this woman.

  “...actually it’s boring,” I finally continued. “It did very well, however, so here I am, working on my second book.”

  “It’s boring but it sold well. Is that what you said?”

  I just shook my head, ‘Yes.’

  She smiled. “Impressive. The Sinful Delusion. Never heard of it. What is it you’re working on now?”

  This was all very disarming and unexpected.

  “It’s a historical piece. Somewhat of a biography, or biographies, I guess.”

  She just looked at me.

  “At one time, the magician and escape artist, Harry Houdini and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes, were friends. But along the way, they had a falling out. You see, Houdini, the one in the relationship who relied on subterfuge and trickery to wow his audiences, set out to discredit and reveal all psychics and mediums as frauds. On the other hand, Conan Doyle, whose claim to fame was creating a character who survived and thrived on using cold hard reasoning and facts to solve crimes, was very much into spiritual beliefs, and supportive of mediums and psychics. Their differing opinions on the matter led to a feud between the two that became very public. I’m writing a book that explores that relationship between them.”

  That wasn’t sexy and I knew it, but it was the truth.

  “I take it you’ve been working hard on this book. It’s been keeping you up nights, consuming all your time and thoughts?” she said.

  “Well,
not exactly.” I had to take a moment to look at her. She seemed to be talking with some purpose, but I didn’t know what. It was intimidating. “Not keeping me up nights.”

  “But consuming all your time. Keeping you very busy,” she repeated.

  “No more than usual, I guess.”

  “Really?”

  There was now a twinkle in her eyes.

  “So it’s not keeping you up at night or taking up all your time, so that begs the question, why in the hell haven’t you asked me out all ready?” she asked.

  It’s true; I wasn’t the one who made the first move in our relationship. It was her - all her. And in doing so, she took me by surprise. I just looked at her in disbelief. I was tongue-tied and she knew it.

  “A girl can’t wait forever. I suggest you get your act together.”

  With that she stood up from the chair. I just stared at her, hoping my mouth wasn’t hanging open in a surprised or shocked expression.

  She smiled broadly. “Something tells me if I paid you a nickel for your thoughts today, I’d be definitely getting my money’s worth.”

  She turned and headed back towards the counter.

  Damn, she was something.

  CHAPTER Five

  OVER The years, I’ve been on my fair share of first dates. There’s always a sense of excitement about the unknown. Is this woman going to be the one? Will we get along at all? Will I be getting lucky, as they say; definitely not a high priority, but certainly something at the back of one’s mind when embarking on a first date? You just don’t know, and to tell the truth, even after one date, it can still be hard to tell; but this date, it seemed different somehow. I don’t know if I was setting myself up with unrealistic expectations, but there was something about Safia that was different. First of all, in the weeks I’d spent consuming coffee, when I should have been at home, in my work area, brewing my own coffee, I’d become obsessed with her. She was constantly on my mind; and, that, despite the fact we’d hardly spoken with one another. I took that to be a good sign (the alternative was to admit that I might just be a stalker). The only drawback I could see now, as we were about to embark on our first date, was the fact I expected too much from her. In my mind I’d placed her high on a pedestal, possibly too high for any woman to live up to. Our conversations had been nice, and I was certainly attracted to her physically, but now the true test was about to begin, the act and art of getting to know someone, and dealing with the realities of the discoveries made during that time. Sometimes they surprised you, other times they’re just damned ugly.

  Which also led to my own dilemma, namely, how to play it on our first date? The beauty of early dating, especially if you’re not really looking for anything long-term, and merely in it to attract some physical fun, is you can be on your best behavior and present yourself in a favorable light. In other words, not be your true self. In a lot of cases you can keep this charade up for a couple of months or more, before your true self starts chipping away at it, demanding to be set free and revealed. We all do it to a certain extent - we want to put our best foot forward. Nobody wants to present themselves warts and all. All relationships in one way or another start on the basis of lies; the extent and depth of those lies are the only factors to consider. Hell, I’ve done it; pretended to be someone I wasn’t. My friends certainly have. A couple of them, true ‘hound dogs’ in their day, hell, they’d say just about anything if they thought it would lead to getting a woman into bed. One of my friends, Baxter, a good looking fellow who was just too smooth for his own good, I’ve seen him contradict himself in the same sentence, all in an effort to get a woman in bed, and it worked. I remember sitting there slack jawed as he started to say something against something – it’s really not important what – only to have the woman he was hitting on blurt out at the same time a contradictory thought, and without blinking an eye he changed his opinion to agree with her in the same damn sentence. Now, of course, alcohol and the bar scene played a part in his pulling this off, but he did and left the bar that night with that same woman. I couldn’t pull that off, but I could, if I felt like it, be a little less true to myself when trying to seduce the opposite sex; I may be a big meat eater but feign I was considering becoming a vegetarian if I thought that would gain me brownie points and lead to sex; I could ignore my own personal politics and agree with a woman about hers, if it mattered that much to her and I thought by agreeing it could lead to sex; I, like most men, could be as dishonest as I wanted to be, if I was attracted enough to the woman and wanted to get her in bed. As men we see this as harmless; the dance that we do; the pick-up, the seduction, and the sexual victory.

  Lying to women is, unfortunately, something that comes naturally to most of us. It’s not like in doing so we’re hurting that woman. I mean, in a bar, or elsewhere for that matter, what are the chances of finding the one? We’re all just experimenting; looking around and hoping. Along the way we’re going to share ourselves with someone. Sexual conquest for a young man is a rite of passage; and in doing so, we’re not hurting the woman; all sex is consensual, and, hopefully, as fun and entertaining for them as it is for us. As long as you’re careful and avoid an unwanted pregnancy or the transmission of a social disease, what’s the harm?

  Lying does come easy in a dating situation, but in this case, I knew it was wrong. I had a feeling, deep down in my gut that there was something special about Safia. That if a relationship developed between the two of us, it would be much different than any I’d explored in the past. I know I sound stupid; almost like I’m a cheesy, hopeless romantic, but in this case, I guess I was. I knew that on this first date I’d have to avoid the little white lies and be true to who I really was. I desperately wanted a relationship to develop, but it had to do so naturally and based on the truth. There was no other way. So, in other words, I went into our first date with a major handicap, I had to be myself.

  “I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me pick you up?”

  Safia and I were seated in a downtown bistro, a glass of red wine in front of me and a glass of white wine in front of her. I’d picked the place because it was a little more upscale than a steak and seafood place, but not so upscale as to be pretentious and make it look like I was trying too hard.

  “I told you, I was running errands in the city all day,” said Safia. “It just made more sense for you to meet me here than for me to head back to the suburbs just to be driven back into the city.”

  “And it had nothing to do with you not wanting me to know where you live?”

  Safia smiled. “A solid strategy for a young girl dating, wouldn’t you say?”

  She picked up her wine glass and took a sip; a twinkle in her eyes as she never broke her stare with me.

  “Oh, by the way, I saw your book today,” she said as she put the wine glass back down on the table.

  “My book?”

  “You are an author, aren’t you? If not, someone is using your name and photo on the back jacket of their book. I went into a book store.”

  “Checking up on me? Thought maybe I was lying?”

  “A man lying to a woman,” she said with a smile. “Like that would ever happen.”

  So far so good. I was afraid we’d sit down and have nothing to say to one another, but she was feisty; I could see she was willing to verbally joust with me; she wasn’t going to be the type of woman who took crap from a guy, and I liked that.

  “The Sinful Delusion?” she said. “Strip clubs? That must have been a bitch to research, you poor soul.”

  She was sassing me. “It’s not what you think,” I said.

  “Really? And what do I think?”

  She was looking at me with a big smile on her face; I think she knew there was no way I was going to be able to put a solid spin on this; that whatever I said, she’d be able to come right back at me and keep me on the proverbial ropes. She was toying with me; there was no point in coming up with excuses and trying to explain myself.

  “Well, i
t had to be about something,” I finally offered.

  “Naked women?” she asked.

  “I’m a fan.”

  She just smiled.

  “Did you buy it? It might surprise you.”

  “It would seem to me that one of the perks of dating a published author is you wouldn’t have to buy his book; he’d give you a complimentary copy.”

  “And there goes another royalty down the drain.”

  The conversation was good. As for the bistro and its food, it really didn’t matter. I could have been eating Chicken McNuggets for all I knew, I was so engrossed in our conversation and the act of getting to know one another.

  “I wasn’t sure you were interested in me. I thought your coming to Koffee Krisp was just a daily ritual of yours. Others were telling me differently, but you never seemed to make a move, even when given the opportunity.”

  “The story of my life, unfortunately; although I must say, your move was bold, swift and to the point.”

  Safia laughed. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

  “You didn’t show it.”

  “I’ve never asked a man out in my life; or been that bold with a man in my life. In my world, a woman just doesn’t do a thing like that. It would be scandalous; unheard of.”

  “And what world is that?” I asked.

  Safia just looked at me, smiling.

  “You have noticed that we’re different, haven’t you?”

  “Sure, you’re a woman and I’m a man; that’s a strong factor in favor of this date. One of the things I liked about you from the start.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said.

  I couldn’t help just staring into her dark brown eyes. We were different; that was obvious, but irrelevant. Frustrated with my lack of response, Safia continued.

  “I’m brown and you’re white. I’m Pakistani. Is that going to be a problem?” she asked.