She said, “That’s quite a rut you are in.”

I said, “Thank you. I made it myself. I guess ‘make’ is probably the wrong word. I dug it myself makes a lot more sense. But actually I was hoping you would not even notice it was there.”

She sat there, in the armchair. Staring back at me. Impossible to read.

I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t what to say,” I said.

She continued staring. Or gazing. I guess it was gazing. Gazing continuously for a moment that lasted forever. It was a moment that passed and it made me sad that I would never get it back. It was gone. Gone for good.

She finally said “Why do you look so sad?”

That made me feel so self-conscious. “You’re making me feel so self-conscious,” I said.

She looked away, downward towards the carpet. And she said, “I think I’m beginning to feel self-conscious, too.”

It’s kind of like we’re out on a date, I suggested.

“But didn’t you just tell me you’ve never been out on a date? How would you know?”

I had to think about this. But for some reason, I was having a hard time thinking. And an even harder time pretending I knew how to think. Something about it felt disingenuous. Well maybe not disingenuous. But it didn’t feel authentic. And that made me feel inauthentic.

Finally I said, “I didn’t mean to imply that I’ve never been on a date. But I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date with you.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Unless this is a date,” I added. “Is this a date? Are we out on a date?”

She looked like she was about to answer. But then I was compelled to interrupt. “I guess we are not out of a date. But all of these “is this a date?” “Is this not a date?” questions seem so antiquated, don’t you think?”

“Outdated?” She asked.

“Yes, it seems like we are not out on a date. But it does seem like we are a little outdated.”

And then I said, “I don’t mean that you are outdated. I only meant that we are outdated. But then again how would I know since I’ve never been out on a date?”

“You know more than you think you know,” she said.

“Well, at least that’s reassuring,” I replied. Because it was.


About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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