AccidentalC99: That works. 8:30?
AHunt27E: I will see you then!
“I have a date.” I sit back, smiling for a moment until the reality hits me. “I have a date!”
I check the clock and then jump up as panic sets in. Nearly crashing into the wall in the process, I run into my bedroom and start tearing the recently organized closet apart.
“What do people wear to clubs?”
I haven’t the faintest idea. The closest thing to a club I’ve ever been to was on a a trip to Atlantic City shorty after I turned twenty-one. A lot of people there were dressed to the nines, but plenty of others were in jeans.
“Maybe a good combination?” I tilt my head to one side, examining a few of my options. “If I ever planned anything, I would have bought a new outfit before opening that damn app!”
I find a pair of slinky jeans and a flowy green blouse that’s nice but not too flashy. “It brings out your eyes,” Aunt Ginny always said.
Shower, shave, and makeup are my next tasks. I blow dry my hair, carefully forming soft curls and hoping it won’t frizz up. I get dressed and look in the mirror. I hate it all, change my outfit entirely three times and then end up with the blouse I chose first combined with a simple skirt. I pop in some gold hoop earrings and drop down on the couch to attempt to compose myself.
“Shit, girl! What are you so worried about?” I laugh at myself.
I have about fifteen minutes before I need to request a ride, but I’m nervous about being late, so I go ahead and contact Uber and wait outside for the driver to appear. John the Uber driver is pleasant but quiet. I wonder if all the ride-share drivers around here have to pick which side of town they work on but don’t ask. I sit the in the ba
ck seat and pull out my phone to look at Aaron’s profile picture again, trying to memorize it.
John pulls up in front of the Mexican restaurant, and I quickly tip him and give him five stars before I jump out. He thanks me, and I’m left standing under a streetlight alone. Just down the street, I can see the entrance to the Big O and a line forming there. I stand at the restaurant’s entrance, looking around and feeling very awkward. It’s still only 8:20, but I’m feeling paranoid. What if this guy doesn’t even show up? Do I go to the club anyway or maybe just stop in the restaurant for a margarita?
“You’re being ridiculous,” I mutter to myself and then quickly bite my lip.
People walk past me and head to the line, which is much longer now, in front of the club. Approximately thirty people are standing out front, waiting to get in, and I’m surprised that a town of this size has a line for anything, but I suppose it’s because all their IDs have to be checked. I’m glad to see that most of them are dressed casually, and I’m not going to stand out. To keep from looking completely out of place, I pull out my phone and poke at a few buttons, hoping I look like I know what I’m doing.
A few more minutes pass. At 8:40, I seriously start considering the margarita.
I glance up to see a man waving from across the street. I narrow my eyes to get a better view of him as I tentatively wave back, not entirely sure if he’s waving at me. I should have spent a little more time studying the picture, but it would probably be rude of me to look now. Still, something doesn’t seem right about his appearance.
As he approaches, I manage to conjure up his profile picture in my mind. I’m not entirely sure it’s even the same guy though there are similarities. In the picture, he was clearly younger, had more hair, less weight, no acne scars, and had dressed in a nice button-down shirt. Now he’s wearing a wrinkled band T-shirt and jeans with stains on the thighs and looks as if he’s just rolled off the couch. How long had I spent picking out an outfit and doing my hair? And what about the picture? Was it a picture of him from a few years ago, or did he doctor it up? Who would have thought a guy would go through all the effort of getting dressed up and using filters for his picture when half the guys on the app are holding fish?
“Hey there!” He laughs as he approaches me. It’s a nervous, staccato laugh that reminds me of nature shows involving hyenas. He runs his hand over his thin, greasy hair. “I’m Aaron. Wow, you look just like your picture!”
I manage to stop myself from saying, “Well, yeah, I look like my picture because it’s a picture of me.” He moves in with his arms out as if expecting a hug, and I step back quickly, extending my hand and forcing him to stop short. He smiles wryly as he takes my hand and gives it a quick shake.
“I can’t believe it,” Aaron says, laughing loudly, “but I didn’t even ask for your name before we talked about meeting!”
“Oh, um, right! I didn’t even think about it.” I shake my head, try to smile, and wonder if I shouldn’t just tell him he has the wrong person and run away, but I suppose it’s too late for that. “I’m Cherry.”
“Oh, are you now?” He winks, and I roll my eyes.
“Yes, and I’ve heard that one before.”
“Which one?”
“Whatever ‘Cherry’ joke you are about to make. I’ve heard them all.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He laughs again, and I cringe at the sound. “Shall we?” He points toward a long line of people waiting to get into the club. “They got good deals on bottled beer.”
Oh. Yum.
“I’m not much of a beer drinker myself.” I can’t stand beer.
“We can get to know each other a bit while we wait in line.” Aaron prattles on as we move to the back of the queue. “I drive a truck during the week, but my weekends are free, so we can get together then.”