Write, Mind

“Yikes, this mirror needs cleaning.” I say this to myself while checking my appearance quickly, not really looking at all. I’ve chosen worn jeans, a black t-shirt, hoodie, and my classic ones worn down from excessive wear and tear. This is everyday attire.  This is first date attire. There was a time when I’d obsess over every piece of clothing I’d pull out and put on for a first date, but these days, I’m over it. I am 31, jaded, and refuse to be uncomfortable but cool looking in the hopes of making a good impression. I brush my hair though, and then tousle it quickly; then brush it again. This is the most time I spend on anything as far as appearances go. I’m admittedly excited this date is a fellow writer, but not “Collared Shirt & Slacks combo” excited. I glance over at my bookshelf wondering if I should grab my Golden State cap; I consider it lucky. I don’t want to be lucky today, however. I want to be me.  I leave it on the shelf. I am 15 minutes early...

Nothing’s coming with me; not my clothes; not my sneaker collection; not the comic book collection I’ve spent almost 15 years building; not the pain I felt throughout my life, none of the pleasure either. I’m leaving behind my son and hopefully his love, all the memories of my first kisses, and all the hurt from every last one. The way I see it, we become a ball of energy and drift off. That’s the price of dying. To get in, you have to pay with everything you’ve ever had. The last time I got laid, it was with someone whose brain is scary smart. The type I like to have around simply because good conversation is hard to come by. After we did the deed, we lay there for a bit talking. She gets into my head and knows me so well that there isn’t much I can say that surprises her. “Yeah, you’re smart but you stand in your own way,” she says, “I can’t wait for you to get out of your head, you have so much promise and the day you let it out is going to be amazing.”  I remind myself ...

I have a date. I don't call it this, though. She's freshly removed from a relationship, not trying to rush, and I'm clearly not in a space for deep feelings or sentimentality or attachment, but I think she's cool and enjoy her company. The best way to get over one is to get under another. I have heard this mantra since I was a pup, and whether true or not, it has been one of my easier codes to live by. We haven't decided on what we're going to do, but I think a Jazz Club would be cool. I relay this thought to my prospective non-date and she thinks it's dope. After two weeks finagling this non-date into reality, we finally have plans. We meet up outside of work.  “This is going to be so cool,” I say, “I hope Poppa Burgandy shows up, his Flute game is magnificent.” She doesn't get the reference; I watch too many movies. On our way to the Jazz club, Non-date scoffs at our plans for a musical evening, tossing me a proverbial curveball instead....