Day 208: Cherry Heering Manhattan: Bourbon, Cherry Heering, Bitters
I don't believe in fate. If some controlling force put into motion what happened last night, it would have a lot to answer for. Fatalism is an all or nothing proposition. If it's responsible for the joys, it's responsible for the sorrow. It would be responsible for my anxiety and depression, the outright theft of an amazing woman before her time and a hole in my heart which will never be filled. Oh yeah, there would probably be other things like the Holocaust, the Inquisition and the slave trade fate would have to answer for as well. Sometimes, though, chaos works in such strange and interesting ways as to question that belief in coincidence, if ever so briefly.
My date with Rose was going well. She's being interesting, I'm being charming. We're about an hour in and ordering our second drink. I had only brought up Dahlia once, briefly. We discussed a lot about art and travel and the Southwest. We had discussed writing and she asked what my blog was about. I think, "Here we go. This is the point where the date goes off the rails. I'll pull the band-aid off quickly and get back to talking about the weather."
"My wife died seven months ago." Those words are barely out of my mouth when she starts laughing a sort of disbelieving laugh, the kind of laugh that implies an inability to process the new stimulus presented. "My boyfriend died seven months ago," she replied. Then it was my turn with the awkward laughing.
All the nerves and worries melted away. Those mines I talked about earlier, for the night, they were all diffused and we danced on top of them for the rest of the night. We spent a lot of time talking about grief and how it affects the creative process. The different tragedies and horror stories turned the strangeness into a magical evening.
Despite it all, I'm not sure if Rose and I have much of a romantic future together. She's an amazing, interesting and intelligent woman, but a lot of desire is not so much a choice as a factor of body chemistry and the subconscious. I suppose the subsequent time we spend together will determine how that factors in. Besides, the whole point of this adventure is to figure out what desire means to me, a task requiring a modicum of restraint. If I can avoid falling in love, I should. I'm just not ready to care deeply yet.
Well said
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