I knock on her door and I hear a mumbled answer from behind the door. I interpret it as “Be right there.” When she opens the door she is wearing a little robe and holding her toothbrush and suddenly the mumbling is understandable. She smiles at me and her eyes fall to the flowers I am holding and she kisses me. She tastes minty.
I follow her in to the apartment and she takes the flowers and hands me the TV remote. Then she rushes off to continue getting ready and to find a vase for the flowers. I sit down on her slightly uncomfortable futon couch and flip through the channels. I pause on the sports channel but they are talking about hockey and I realize I don’t care. I flip it to the cartoon network and settle in to watch Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends. I think about finding something else because I am afraid this might turn me into a huge dork in her eyes but I did just arrive with flowers. With that thought I place the remote on the table in front of me. I end up watching a show and a half before she is ready to go. Before we can go she has to ask the inexplicable girl question, “How do I look?”
I pause and smile at her, “You look stunning Jen.” Was there ever a different answer to this question? Let’s be honest here, even if she looked like she was joining the circus my answer would be the same. It is nice to actually mean it but the correct answer is always positive and immediate. After I have answered I finally do take in what she is wearing; a black dress that makes me think some very distracting thoughts. She does look fantastic and I begin to wonder how I ever got the first date with her; let alone the third. I open the door for her and then follow her to the stairs.
Dinner is an experience and it puts a decent dent in my finances. I am glad the food was good because I have been places and spent more and had less palatable cuisine. Jen is all smiles as we head out the door. “Can we go see a movie?” she asks. I look across the street at the multiplex and see nothing of interest on the marquee. “Only if you pick it.”
We end up seeing some poorly written love story but she loves it. It is what is known as a chick flick. I think about the other choices that were available and I realize I am glad she chose this one. At least it did not have Meryl Streep, Jodi Foster or Renee Zellweger in it. I imagine the male star of the film getting hit by a car as he runs across the street to stop her from leaving him and I am able to make it through to the end. Of course my thoughts aren’t on Jen, the date or the absurd plot of the movie; they are on Sarah. My dreams were empty last night and I don’t remember anything about them except for the fact she was not in them. It is the first time in months I completely missed her. I am not sure what it means and I have been feeling uneasy all day. It occurs to me that my worry for a dream girl might be ridiculous and maybe her not appearing is a good thing. Of course I don’t believe that. I have thought at times that I was going insane and not dreaming of her might show that I am reconnecting with reality. Of course reality is over rated.
If this was a movie, her absence would probably lead me into a world of intrigue. I would find out she is a real person and that she is in trouble. Perhaps she and the others were all in a coma and an experimental drug connected their dreams to mine but the doctors cut it off and they are dying. Or maybe the girl is from another world and she is an alien in need of my help. Or maybe this is a surreal story and she is actually an old childhood friend who died and always loved me. Of course I am not in a movie or a beautifully crafted story so all these ideas seem stupid and impossible. It is more likely that I am insane.