I’m outside the bar with this girl. The date is coming to an end. Our first date. We’d been set up by a mutual friend of ours. Someone that thought we would jive well together. I think that’s what she said. Jive.
But it’s gone well enough. We met at this hip establishment in Bethesda. An enormous space with a coffee bar, alcohol bar, and tables placed about to resemble a dining room. And there’re all these large black and white prints of farming high up on the wall. Of bare feet in dirt. Close ups of tomatoes and squash and other hearty vegetables. There’s one of the girl too. Apparently she was volunteering when the photographer was on site. We rise from our bar stools to stand under it. In the photo, she holds a bunch of kale up to her face, blocking out her mouth. But her eyes are wide and excited.
I say it’s lovely. Or cute. Or something.
Soon we’re back on our stools and finishing our drinks. Paying the tab. Layering up. Then we’re outside. And it’s cold, but we dawdle in the parking lot by the curb for a while. Talk about the coming weeks. Of work and events and spare time.
At one point, when she’s telling me of her housemate’s late study habits, when her chin is resting on her thick wool scarf, and her head is tipping just slightly to the right, as if she’s trying to slide a memory back into her grasp, I ask if I can kiss her. I ask as though I’m quizzical of the time, or perhaps in need of a pen. Something light. Airy.
Can I kiss you? I ask.
And her head levels out. Chin parts from the scarf as her posture straightens. As her eyes take on the expression in the photo. Wide and excited.
Then I kiss her.
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