The Danger of the Dishonest Heart

He was nervous because he didn't know what pants to wear. He had worn the black ones in the past but decided it was time for a change - the bright red pants seemed appropriate and courageous, he knew he could pull them off. A good white shirt, the cleanest black shoes and a hand-knit cardigan with random patterns that seemed cool, and nothing else. He did not necessarily think he looked phenomenal, but that was okay.

He consulted the mirror as he shut the door. His reflection looked presentable to the world and he was ready to absorb any criticism that was thrown at him. In the elevator he thought of how he might have worn sweatpants if it were a different occasion. His crotch itched and his socks were a bit too short, exposing half of his ankles to the slight breeze of spring. Nevertheless, he convinced himself there was no way anyone would even look at his pale white legs, or make fun of them in any way. He was ready to go meet his date.

Confident in his wits and secure in his romantic knowledge, he thought meeting the love of his life was just a matter of time. Just because he was unsuccessful before, he knew it didn't mean he didn't deserve love, nor that he couldn't find it if he searched hard enough. It was all about opportunities, and today he knew he had to make the most out of what life had to offer. Not only that, but he planned things. He took the time to think about the future, to think about how things could unfold, and created a multitude of scenarios where he could still be old and happy - despite his consistent bad luck with girls.

High school was not generous with girls, neither was the first year of college, but he consoled himself knowing that most great people were far more interested in their work, than in their love affairs - there's a time and place for everything. Financial consultancy is indeed a hard field to be good at, but he had worked his ass off and just yesterday his boss patted him on the back for all the hours he had put in that week. What rational woman wouldn't consider a financially stable, mature guy, who read Balzac in the weekend and treated himself to Baudelaire after each deadline? In fact, he was convinced that love is similar to fortune, and when one doesn't have it, they must prepare in advance for when they do. Love is hard work and he was willing to give up his time for it.

Seven o'clock seemed like a reasonable time for a date. You could have dinner, go to the movies, get a drink or even go for a night walk - is what he told himself, and he was completely right. He decided pizza was a good choice, a perfect mix between the tasty and the simple. He didn't want to go over the top, pretentious is the last thing he wanted to be associated with. In fact, he knew that if the girl was as skinny as she looked like in the pictures, they could just get one large pizza. How practical!

When texting, he alluded to the fact that he likes when girls wear dresses. It just makes them look so cute, so feminine and so distinct from anyone else. He was thinking about prom and how even if every girl wore a dress, he could still point out who is who, unlike all the guys wearing the same black suit. His suit was dark grey and to this day he felt proud that he was different than every one of his old classmates. But it wasn't just his looks that separated him, he thought of himself as a misunderstood romantic inasmuch as others were unable to comprehend his complex, and ultimately fragile, self. Whether he could have been less defensive, he wondered up to this date, but found comfort by telling himself that others were simply not ready to see him.

Love is the word he clung on when he was sad, it was that one thing that would pull him back up from whatever abyss he was in. Well, not the love he experienced, but the love he dreamed of - the love he wanted to get in return for his mere existence. Deep down he knew he didn't actually need to be loved, after all he had survived all this time by himself and did just fine. It was meaning or some kind of validation that he searched for, someone to just pop up from time to time and reassure him that he mattered enough to this world, and his non-existence would turn into someone's sorrow. But until then, he had to keep searching and he had to keep thinking about it.

She showed up in jeans and a baggy brown sweater. He admired her, marvelling ather strength in her defiance of dating culture and its fashion rules. It was almost as if she had put on an expensive red lace dress, then took it off because she didn't want to surprise him that much. He didn't want to be blown away from the first date, just slightly moved like a bamboo stick in the gushes of the wind - grounded, but flexible. As she was approaching, he appreciated her figure and imagined his hand on her waist, doing the tango in the middle of the street for everyone to notice. He wanted to be noticed and was sure she wanted the same for she was human after all, plus he wasn't that bad looking. Of course, he knew he couldn't do what his imagination dictated, so he had to choose between a handshake or a friendly, Christian hug.

Her hands were sweaty and he found it a bit embarrassing and awkward, but knew how to play it off and make it seem as if everything was going well. His good manners resurfaced. Even if he staunchly believed in chivalry, he didn't want to leave the impression that his brains belonged in medieval times To put it simply, he wanted to appear genuinely nice, so he opened the door and made a joke about the whole situation, his face relaxing when he saw the corners of her mouth contract.

There were some things he knew about love, or better said, had thought of in his restless evenings, that he was sure few other people out there acknowledged. This should not be confused with arrogance, he knew and saw his friends got married and found love at a much younger age so it's not that his opinion on love was better - just different. But different wasn't the right word either. The fact that he chose one of his favourite pizza places to be in a position where he could be comfortable with himself, and have the protection of his self-love, he took to be representative of good planning. Refined. He thought his view on love was just a bit more refined.

When she proposed the idea of sharing a large pizza, he reinforced his beliefs. Nothing had gone wrong up until then, she had giggled and smiled and was responsive to what he had to say. He knew he was at least interested in him and he hadn't somehow disappointed her through his existence. Panic struck his mind and his heart went a bit stiff when she said she wanted the pizza with the most olives on it. He hated olives. Would he speak the truth? Would he just subtly suggest another pizza instead? He was running out of time and he could tell that because his hmms were creating an awkward silence. However as she started suggesting another pizza, heyelled a firm Yes, no problem. They ordered the olive pizza and for the remaining evening he was terrified of the fact that she had somehow figured out that he actually dislikes olives. This haunted him, but not enough to ruin the evening he had so carefully planned for, after all, he was ready for most scenarios.

He found solace in the idea of sacrifice. If her total fulfilment depended on that damn olive pizza, he in no way wanted to ruin such a guilty pleasure. Her olives were his canned fish, and it was just a small sacrifice he made in the name of her, in the name of the date, and in the name of love. How awfully romantic and idiotic.

All went as he had hoped and planned, they were enjoying each other's company and there were plenty of laughters. As it was coming to an end and he was getting ready to order the bill, he thought of her some more. There wasn't anything special or mind-blowing, she was just genuinely nice. Because she talked about her family, he deduced she was comfortable with him and that was a really promising sign; in no way did he want to push his luck and hope to get laid later on, he considered himself a gentleman. They split the check and before they departed, they hugged.

The walk back home was relaxing and fulfilling, though he secretly hoped someone would throw some sort of criticism at him just so he could retaliate. He felt strong enough to retaliate, as he did in the beginning, but now it was like he was backed up by something else, by her existence. Shoes off, clothes off, pyjamas on, it was already late and wanted to sleep just to wake up again tomorrow and experience life to its fullest. Turn off the light, twist and toss a bit before finding that comfortable position, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Could she be the one? Rationally, he had no reason to suspect that but his heart started imagining waking up next to hers the next morning. As if she somehow got in his house and gently tucked herself in his bed without waking him up. He felt tender and soft and longed for her presence and pretty face. He dreamed of being hers for eternity, being hers in his after-life as well, and fell asleep with a subtle smirk on his face - never to awaken again from his romantic slumber.