One Weird Day

Weather Forecast - Part 2

--- 2045, November ---

The restaurant parking lot is poorly illuminated and the rough asphalt looks like one big pool of water. Choosing relatively dry spots, I run to the door and pause there to pull my coat down and arrange my hair to cover the scar. Despite all efforts, there's still water in my shoes - thanks to yesterday's forecast for my tomorrow's cold.

These blind dates are a kind of a puddle in their own right. You are sure to get your feet wet, the question is how much. At my age of thirty three, when all the worthwhile men have been taken by luckier or quicker-thinking women, I have to be content with what's left – mother's boys, divorced misogynists and hopelessly stubborn bachelors. I wonder what's in store for me this time.

The place is dark and half empty but feels cozy. I look for the "young, serious, 5'9, brown eyes, wearing white shirt" guy. I must admit the place he suggested is nice, I should come back here on my own sometime. And there he is – the only white shirt is waving at me—the only beige coat, 5'5, green eyes, dark hair, loves kids and animals, interested in serious relationship.

The guy actually looks about thirty, and he does resemble the picture from the site, that's a good start. The picture didn't pick up on the glasses or the fact that he's slightly balding, but that's small fry.

"Selia?"

"Eric?"

What follows is an exchange of plastic smiles, complaints about the weather and the must-do compliment of "you look better than on the picture." I wonder what he really thinks about me.

"The weather is just terrible, right?"

"And they said there would be no rain..."

"I got here right in the midst of it, good thing I found an umbrella in the car."

"And when I started driving, there was such a downpour I had to pull over and wait for a few minutes. Just couldn't see where I was going!"

"I saw two accidents on the way. People simply can't drive in the rain. Waitress!"

"Right, one guy passed me and he didn't even have his lights on."

"So dangerous! On days like this it's better to stay home. Waitress!"

A girl with a notepad approaches. He orders coffee, I ask for a beer.

"That's role reversal for you!" he smiles. "If we were ordering food, I'd probably have taken a salad and you a steak."

Oh, he can make a joke. Nice.

As we go on with our small talk, the gray noise grows louder – at first I think it's coming from the people around, but then realize it's in my head. As the noise increases, it's getting harder to hear what Eric is saying. The scar on my forehead itches, I rub it slightly, trying not to draw Eric's attention, but he does notice.

"What's that?" he looks closely. "Seems like a fresh scar."

"I had a car accident three weeks ago. Another car hit mine and I flew off the road."

"Wow!" he looks at me anxiously. "Concussion?"

"Yeah, with some bruises and scratches, but I got off lightly, you know."

"Than, maybe, you shouldn't?... I mean, beer and stuff?..."

I wonder what he means by "stuff"?

He means sex, prompts the gray noise in my head. And he wonders if you haven't gone crazy as a result of the concussion, won't stab him with that bread knife that lies on the table next to the spoons and the forks. Eric is fond of himself and doesn't want to deal with some crazy chick. Apart from that, he's married, so he's really not looking for trouble. He just wants some time off family life. Last time he slept with his wife was a month ago, and his dream is to have sex with a stranger in a public place, but still he wrote to you, despite the "interested in serious relationship" thing, because he's afraid of picking up younger and bolder girls, and you had kind eyes on the picture.

Gray noise goes quiet.

"Eric, are you married?"

He frowns slightly, then smiles.

"No," he says, "You can see, there's no ring. Why did you ask?"

"You look like a married guy."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I prefer dating singles."

"I'm single. If you don't like me, just say so."

"No, I do like you..."

I take another swig from the bottle, contemplating him. Yes, I do like him. When he's not talking banalities.

The gray noise creeps in again – information, a whole ocean of it, raging around us, protected only by the weak dam of our limitations. My dam started leaking when the car flew off the road, and I didn't just hit my head, I hit it at some unique angle. I don't know if anyone has hit such an angle before, but my guess is that I'm the first. And now the leak was letting in all this unwanted information, which, it turns out, was filling the space around us – answers were crowding in, just waiting for the questions to be asked.

It started at the hospital when I woke up after the crash, pumped full of drugs, and the doctor had a headache. It took me a while to actually understand that it was him having the headache and not me. I just woke up and realized that there was a headache, but then, checking my sensations, found no pain. A doctor was talking to a nurse near my bed, so I called for him and asked: "Does your head hurt?" He looked at me, puzzled, and said: "Yes, but how did you know?" I didn't really have an answer, so I just closed my eyes and fell asleep—or maybe passed out.

What does Eric think about me?

She's got pretty eyes. Nice boobs, too. How far will she go on a first date? Maybe if she finishes her beer...Should I get her another bottle? But how will she drive home in this rain after drinking so much? Why did she ask if I was married? A mark from the ring? She looks distracted. What's with that concussion, maybe she has problems with her head? Should I get involved with her at all?

Well, that's nice of him to worry about me getting home. Also, he did notice the eyes.

"Have you finished your beer?" Eric points at my bottle. "Should I get you another one?"

I smile involuntarily. Selfishness seemed to beat good intentions.

"No, thanks." I stand up.

"Are you leaving?"

"Just to powder my nose." I reply, and suddenly add: "Want to join me?"

Then we kiss in a narrow toilet cubicle, and he tries to undress me, his hands shaking, but this whole sudden fantasy-come-true situation seems to be too much of a turn-on for him, so he's done while I'm still fully dressed. Actually, I expected just that.

"Sorry, I got too excited," he mutters as we return to the table. The bill is there already, so Eric leaves a few banknotes and helps me into my coat. It seems he's eager to talk now, while I'm suddenly not in the mood.

Outside it's raining again, and Eric holds an umbrella open for me.

"I'm sorry!" he shouts, trying to block out the noise of the rain. "Can we meet again? I just didn't expect it! But it's great, you know, it's actually kind of my favorite fantasy, to do it in a public place..."

"I know," I say, getting into the car.

"So, can I call you?"

"Sure."

He waves, then turns around and runs to his car, jumping over puddles.

TO BE CONTINUED ...