Dates

When we had planned to meet for dinner, that was two or three days back, I had agreed to pick her up at her place. At quarter to seven, when I should have been on my way, I was still undecided and fiddling with the mobile wondering if I should call her and cancel the date.  

We have known each other for a long time but if I add up the time we spent together, it would not add up to a month, maybe just a few days. That would be the time I call person-time. I prefer thought-time. With time measured in thoughts, relationships gain longevity, even seem immortal.

Somewhere in the beginning, I came to the conclusion that I can’t trust her. I have forgotten the exact reason but I can’t forget that conclusion. It was not the date itself that made me uncomfortable, though dates have been rare recently, and I felt that it must be the idea of going out on a date with a lady I can’t trust. I listened to the ticks of my watch, sitting in the dark in my car, with my hand on the ignition, waiting for some decision to dawn upon me. At five to seven, I started the car and it took me twenty minutes to reach her place.

‘You are late…you are usually so punctual…’ she sounded surprised and pleased with my deviation from habit. I had parked the car in her courtyard and got out to greet her.  

‘Traffic…you look good…’ I held out my hand. She leaned over and kissed my cheek lightly. It came out by rote.

During the drive to the restaurant, she told me about some incident at her house or about how she had been busy. Once in a while, I would take my eyes off the road, look at her and nod as if I was taking it all in. I hardly heard her. I prefer to ignore the silly chit-chat at the beginning of such meetings and pay attention to what the body language is trying to tell me. I try to understand her make-up, her choice of dress, if the underwear is discernible or not, the amount of cleavage revealed, the way she sits, with her knees tilted towards me or not, hands nearly touching or not, so on and on. I liked the message I derived. We were in fairly good spirits when we reached the restaurant. We walked in quite grandly, her arm hooked onto mine elegantly and we were showed to the table I had reserved.

I could see that she liked it when I kept staring at her, smiling, saying little. It always started that way. Then we asked about each other, the little common details of daily life, and then talked about our current interests, barely interested but quite eager to listen, it seemed apparent. Somewhere in between, we placed our order. I nearly cherished those moments, when friendship with its vagueness and fleeting companionship seems comfortable.

During soup or the main course, we touched upon the past. I think I brought it up this time. Or maybe she did. Some old common friend or incident, it hardly matters.

‘We were so young then…’ she said sometime later. I nodded and remained silent.

‘We have never been able to talk about it and get it off our chest…’she had continued. Or maybe, she said that in reply to some remark of mine. I can’t recall if I was sarcastic or bitter or flippant. I laughed it off.

I followed her with my eyes when she went to the restroom. I watched her skirt sway with her undulating wide hips. She still had a slim waist though her derriere had filled well with age. I nearly laughed loud at my observations. I knew always that I could never be her friend. I was like a brother when we were young but it was understood to be a charade suitable for those young times. Maybe, I had hoped to be something more than a friend. I was thinking about that when she returned.

‘A penny for your thoughts…’she said.

‘Worth a lot more…’

‘Whatever.’

Maybe, that ‘whatever’ triggered the final test. I waited for the dessert to be served. Then, I told her about a personal tragedy and how I was still trying to come to terms with it. She listened well, as if she was hearing about it for the first time.   

‘I thought of contacting you then…’ I confided to her.

‘You should have…it must have been so rotten then…on your own too…you should have told me…’

I listened to her without letting her know that I knew she was lying. A common friend who knew about my problems had told me some time back that he had told her all about my crisis. And here, she was pretending, acting so well. Those test results were expected, I admit.

The date continued as if everything was the way it should be. When I dropped her at her house, she kissed my cheek once again. She asked if I would like to come in but she and I knew that it was just for the sake of politeness.

This is where stories and movies will make the loud proclamation that he would never meet her again, feeling betrayed, without trust.

On the way back home, I drove slowly, feeling the cool night air caress the cheek she had kissed, watching the late-night cover and settle down under neon. I knew that I was cruising in a circle. I might hesitate and remain uncertain if I should do it again. I was certain I would be back for more of such dates.