Blind Dating 2006 [portable] • Instant
“Well,” she said, pulling up her hood. “This is the part where one of us says we should do this again , and then we both text each other three days later with a vague ‘how’s it going?’”
Leo tugged at the collar of his vintage Band of Horses tee. He’d bought it at a show last month. He wanted to seem authentic but not try-hard. The coffee shop—a proto-hipster joint called “Grounds for Divorce”—played a Sufjan Stevens B-side. A girl in thick-framed glasses and a shawl knit from actual cobwebs was reading a zine.
He watched her unlock the bike, swing a leg over, and pedal off into the wet, orange-lit street. He pulled out his flip phone. No texts. No missed calls. Just the quiet thrill of having absolutely no proof that any of it had happened except the memory—which, as Eternal Sunshine taught him, was the only thing that ever really mattered. blind dating 2006
He thought. “ Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind . The first time I saw it, I cried in the theater and pretended I had allergies.”
She scanned the room. Their eyes met. He lifted his book. She smiled—a small, guarded thing, like she wasn't sure she should. “Well,” she said, pulling up her hood
The silence came. Not the awkward kind. The waiting kind.
They talked for three hours. About how the L train was always broken. About the new Arcade Fire album. About how she’d once delivered a package to the actual Beastie Boys’ studio and pretended to be calm. About how he was writing a short story about a man who wakes up as his own voicemail greeting. He wanted to seem authentic but not try-hard
It was a blind date set up by his college roommate, Mark. “You’ll love her, Leo. She’s into, like, weird French movies and hates small talk. Just like you.” The only identifier was a copy of Haruki Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore on the table. Her idea. “If I’m not there, hold the book. It’s a signal,” she’d typed over AIM. AIM. The very word felt like a relic.
