The First Dates at the Airport: Chapter 1
Chapter 2
“Dear Stranger,
She was drifting.
Movement that gave subtle hints,
and second thoughts a moment to breathe.
Her hair in a tight, messy knot that bounced slightly as she examined each work of art.
Each movement delayed with a faint smile.
She turned towards me,
eyes catching a hint of light with a soft smile…I faintly nodded with downward eyes.
My body felt shy, startled by a pulse that made my legs wiggle a tad.
Her eyes were an olive green, but what drew me in were the feelings that lived in between.
They spoke of a comfortable kiss in white down sheets, greeting the sunrise with drowsy eyes and tender hands like sleep.
Hands that slowly moved down my chest, a smile and a giggle as her patience grew lower.
Moans that met the grasp of morning light and a morning dove’s faint song.
The elegance held power over me, my body almost drifting towards her as the wind passed by me into the next room.
It felt right to follow, safe to drift with her after a moment through to the next gallery. She found a marble statue, a male with curved tones in which she admired openly.
I found safety in a painting of the wind, an autumn breeze drifting over fainted wooden accents.
It grew silent, silently soft and warm.
In the next moment her boots made their way to the door, an ease made for the rest of the day.
I didn’t follow this time, noticing the wind and letting it go.
Whatever the girl in the gallery had, was a pleasure to hold and an honor to release. “
I don’t let it go, do I write more, or do I follow the number given to me for another chance once more? The poem was released, but I wanted to hold. Lila, what a beautiful name. What harmony and peace it holds. I wonder if it would do well on my website.
Whew okay, calm myself down.
Get rid of the rhyming. Bad habit. It’s my gnarly bad habit to rhyme as much as I write, as you can see my words just want to take flight. But I won’t or I shall, I never can tell.
But okay, okay. Special girl, dinner tonight. An art gallery was the right place to be in, just like I’d thought. I know this may be weird but as an artist, finding someone to date? An art gallery is undoubtedly a great place to run into a partner.
Mhmmhmm. Mhmmmhmm. It worked. Sort of.
The girl was more important than any artwork, though. She was stunning. I’m excited, meeting artwork. Very good.
I’ll give her a call in a little while, I’ve got the not so perfect spot to take her to. We’ll go have a beer, play some pool, see what happens and decide if we’re meant to be two fools. Lila, okay Lila. Let’s see if you’re ready to be picked up in this blue little Mitsubishi, meet Artemis. I know this sounds wrong, but I’ve been wronged before, having a woman understand my lifestyle is key to my core. I live in a van, a blue one at that. I’m 25 years old, and that’s just a fact.
My skill lives in misunderstanding the world is meant to be tearing.
I know how to live, how to climb great mountains, how to travel and meet new people amongst empathetic fountains.
Ascending the peaks, I’ve visited the valleys, my life as a straggler was prepared in dismissal of the richest tales. I despised that freedom was built on money, my core solid without much left to empty.
My value lay true to the age of new while admiring life built for those born after they were left.
I may not have value amongst many of those as Schizophrenia crawls through my brain and tears apart the old. Accepting my fate is accepting my journey, she’ll have to also leave behind something.
For I do not desire to meet her friends, but to gain her trust and whisk her away until the dream ends.
My dream is in my present, my life, my hobby, my work? This writing dismisses every lobby.
My disease, my art, it tangles my mind, I hope one day they find an artist with a sane mind.
They may have tested me, and as you can see I get worked up, now I’ll calm myself down before I loosen up.
It was 8:30, the bar opened with Lila streaming in from around the corner. I was dressed in my best: orange button-up, blue jeans, watch, and my boots. She came around the corner confidently, almost strutting in her burgundy dress from before. It still fit her perfectly, and was a bold move coming to a bar.
“Why hello again, stranger,” She said with her dimpled smile.
“Hello miss. Shall we…” Arm stretched towards an open bar door.
The bar was my favorite spot in the city, a natural haven streaming with plants and a naturalist-built layout. It was indeed a nice bar, but what made it special was the lights at night. The bar’s plants had lights streaming from every angle, creating a soft glow in an image that looked something like this…
The bar was almost empty, and first drinks.
“What would you like? I asked, going up to the bar.
“Lemon drop please”
“And I’ll have a Guinness, thank you sir.”
“Coming right up” As he gestured to me with a smile.
“You’re a regular here, aren’t you?”
“I come here quite often when I’m in the city, yes.”
“Interesting, you haven’t told me anything about yourself, you know, and you’re hiding things from me, I can tell.”
“I am”
“What do you do for a living”
“I’m a poor, no-good writer who got lucky one or two times. How about you?”
“I work as an online accountant.”
“Oh, so neither of us belonged in that museum then, now did we.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, writer, museum, art. Makes more sense than accountant.”
As she edged towards the pool table, entering coins from her beige purse. Clearly organized to a tea.
“Now what’s this dream”
“Oh, it starts now, tonight,” I said with a spry of confidence I forgot I had.
“What dragging me off to a bedroom is your idea of the dream, pickup master?”
“No, it begins with a drive after our first game of pool.”
She looked at me with pearly eyes and drew closer, much closer, interrupting her search for coins.
“Now you, you are interesting. A writer who wants to take me in a drive through the city of San Francisco. Where are we going?
“You sure do show no fear.”
“Is there something to fear?”
“I’m Schizophrenic.”
“And I have raging depression sometimes. What about it. I’m assuming you’re medicated.”
I was taken aback a bit. She’d come close enough to me where I could smell her, like a fresh lavender field.
“I like you. I’ll go get the coins. And yes, yes, I am.”
I grabbed our drinks and four quarters.
We played a game, mostly in silence. Darting small glares back and forth across the table in a competitive matchup. Each time I passed her to shoot, a warmth came over me, and our eyes met with an intensity of passion I could only have dreamed up on the first date.
“Where you’d learn to play pool,” I asked as I moved towards the eight ball, a small boast that I’d outplayed her.
“I had a table growing up, I’m from Santa Cruz originally.”
“I’m from Eureka originally. Different sides of California, ehh?
“Very different.” As she looked at me with a fierce intensity in an upwards glare of slight disgruntlement. But the tension was there. I love tension.
“California is really a diverse place full of diverse cultures, isn’t it? I mean look at us, one of us is a skilled pool player and the other one’s from Santa Cruz.”
California, for those that do not know, is a place of many states. Rarely could you find common ground between the people of L.A. and the people of Eureka. Santa Cruz is a surfing town, clearly, she grew up in a nice, high-priced place. Eureka, not as nice.
I sink the eight ball.
“Kind of like sinking a battleship, want to go see my galleon parked around the corner.”
“Only if we hold hands as we walk around the corner.”
“Deal.” As we walked out of the bar holding hands.
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