Fell in Like with The Drummer, Part Five: Still Holding Hands

(Still on the same hike, sorry everything takes 5,000 years for me to type through!)

 

“Your hand is tiny.” He said.

 

(Ha. Nothing about me is tiny, but he made me feel precious.)

 

“You’ve got REALLY nice hands,” I sighed, I’ll bet you could really hit somebody! In the good way, I mean!”

 

He deftly steered the conversation away from spanking and back onto all things pop culture. He said Howard Stern was one of his favorite podcasts and I tried not to give up on him just like that. Readers, can Howard Stern please just be a dealbreaker? I really hate to see the world in terms of dealbreakers, but how could the Drummer spend that much time with misogyny and contempt in his ears and still want anything to do with me? Which I guess he didn’t, eventually.

 

Anyway, aside from the Stern disappointment, which isn’t nothing, it was so, SO lovely talking to someone my age who was also (SWOON) an artist. Having the same reference points can make a guy feel like he’s the boyfriend for every stage of life, past and present. We were talking about how much we both love Rothko paintings and I said “Yeah, take that, Kurt Vonnegut” and he knew I was shorthanding to Bluebeard, kind of a Vonnegut deep cut if you ask me!

 

(I didn’t talk about that time Kurt Vonnegut was really awful to Jennifer Weiner, but I wanted to. Look it up, it’s vile.)

 

He shared the same uber-Nineties affinity for J.R. Bob Dobbs and the Church of the Subgenius (I watched a documentary about them recently and it looked like the same soulless meme nihilism that got Trump elected. But also, Slacker is my favorite movie so who knows.) as the fiancée I had when I was twenty, with whom The Drummer shared a first name. “Yeah, that was me!” He laughed. I’m him!”

 

In some ways, talking with The Drummer made me feel like I had a place in the world, like I just fit. Almost to the car, we talked about how amazing Jane’s Addition are and it was the sensation of unlocking a puzzle box: Yes. This. Him.

 

When we got to my little red car and hugged goodbye, he took off his mask, I think to kiss me. I deftly hugged my face to his chest instead and joked about how he could save up some (many) makeout IOUs. With his mask back on, he looked a little bashful and said “I don’t really know how to end things,” but he was perfect and glowing when he brought his fingers to his masked lips and blew a kiss. So cute. So seemingly full of promise.

Fell in Like with The Drummer, Part Four: OMG Holding Hands!!!!!

 

 

The Saturday after New Years, we had our first in-person date. The Drummer was coming into town from the suburbs to meet me at my favorite gentle hiking spot in a nearby state park. I picked out a red lace dress to wear under my warm fuzzy black coat with black leggings and worn-out black Chuck-Taylor-like lowtop sneakers. (Those were DEFINTELY no match for the cold muddiness of the trails!)

 

It was weird to get ready for a date without lipstick, and my old safer-sex anxieties seemed minute compared to the fear that this so-called liberal might somehow show up without a mask like surprise! No science! I sent him a here’s what-I-look-like-with-half-a face pic and quickly got one back. We both prefer bandannas, very we’re-all-Antifa-now.

 

As I sat on a wooden fence rail waiting for him, I felt frozen with nervousness. Also, with cold, fretting about the fraught etiquette of maybe needing to blow my nose during the date without seeming like I was gonna breath-murder him. If I went in for a hug, would I seem wildly irresponsible? If I declined a kiss later, would he think I didn’t like him? I felt a little lost without my in-normal-times general sluttiness to rely on!

 

Because I am me, I already fully liked him before he came walking up the trail, but also, he was all the way cute. He was a little taller than me and not as fat, but very solidly built. I’m generally a little afraid of white dudes (I mean, have you seen America?) but his forty-something-ex-hardcore-kid-ness put me at ease, especially his vague and lovely tattoos. His dark green fedora, rather than making him look sketchy, made him look dapper and like he definitely cared about this date! (Scream emoji!)

 

He leaned in for a hug and I couldn’t help but say “You’re actual!”

 

We talked easily, especially for walking six feet apart! I snuck glances at his hands, big and warm-looking, open and relaxed at his side like an invitation, or at least not NOT an invitation!