Leather Jacket

It was Saturday night and he wanted to play it by ear.

First, he had asked me to a concert, Blue Oyster Cult. Then, he backpedaled, nervously emailing that maybe we'd be the only people there under 40. I didn't care what we did. He looked hot from his photo and I wanted to go out. So we played it by ear. Which meant meeting for drinks at a bar of my choosing.

Five minutes after meeting, sitting at a booth at the bar, a man selling roses approached and leather jacket asked me if I wanted one. "No!" I found myself shouting. "No thanks, that's really not necessary," I said. But part of we was wondering why he was asking in the first place. Either do it or don't do it, but surely, don't ask me. I went on to say how I didn't understand why people bought those roses. He agreed, saying I probably wouldn't have wanted to carry it around all night, missing the point entirely.

We talked about our educations and our families and our ambitions and politics. He said John Edwards was going to be the next president. I wasn't so sure. He was very smart, and sweet and not at all creepy. But nothing about the evening made my heart beat fast even once.

I couldn't get over that he seemed dorky, asking me which beers to order, ordering them, and not liking them. The whole flower-buying debacle. It all seemed to be encapsulated in the leather jacket he was wearing, which was fine in and of itself, but looked like it didn't quite fit him.

He mentioned, more than once, that his apartment was very nearby. He would have suggested that we go there, he said, but it was incredibly small. Hmmm, I thought. He said he didn't even have room for a couch, so we would have to sit on his bed and it might be intense. I agreed that, at this point, it would indeed be, intense.

We went to a bookshop and had hot cider and he asked me, again, what I wanted to do. I said something that I immediately regretted: "Maybe we should quit while we're ahead." He had spoken at the same time. "What did you say," I asked. "Nothing," he replied.

"You said you were hungry," he said. I told him I could go for a slice of pizza. We got empanadas instead and ate them outside. They were delicious, and he made me laugh, reciting an old SNL skit-- something about Dana Carvey and Gerald Ford.

Then he walked me to the metro, gave me an awkward hug and we haven't spoken since.