Six and a Half Hours

Bastian leaned onto his left arm, coming off of it immediately while screwing up his face, with two pitched brows and one giant nostril hugged by his left cheek. He'd forgotten that his arm was sore from getting the first half of the Pfizer vaccine only two hours ago. His memory of daily events was straight up ‘early onset for dementia’ he and his sister would joke, as he could literally never remember anything unless it happened in his sweet spot, which was always ‘six and a half hours ago.’ Everything else that happened before or after felt like they were sucked into some inaccessible black hole.

It was because of this that he often referred to his daily planner, hidden in the back of his pants. Using his good arm, he dipped the tips of his fingers into his back pocket, grazing his right butt cheek to tug at the first coil available for prying, and brought the hidden planner back into the world for his eyes only.

‘March 20th - Send mom an anonymous potato.’

That couldn’t be right, he already did that. His phone confirmed that that wasn’t right because it was actually April. He flipped to the next page.

‘April 19th - Get Pfizer @ Pinnacle Bank Arena - take ibuprofen.’

He definitely didn’t take ibuprofen, the reminder he missed making his pitched brows and lips flatten into two prejudiced lines, judging himself.

‘Workout at Blue Moon Fitness’ was below this, which he skimmed over because he knew he wouldn’t be going to that, sore arm or not, and observed the next two items. ‘Take Bella out for a walk’ and ‘Date Night.’

“Wait, what?” He said audibly.

“What’s up?” Autumn asked, his nosy coworker with fake blonde hair and split ends to follow. She eyed his planner with a slight thrill.

“Nothing.” He said, without eye contact. He never gave Autumn eye contact. It was essentially granting her permission to not shut up, and funding her mission to ask 27 questions.

Eyes still on his planner, he focused harder on the four letters of ‘date’, hoping that they’d perhaps morph into ‘movie’ if he focused hard enough, or perhaps ‘laundry’ if he squinted his eyes a bit. When the pen marks didn’t follow suit with his magical powers he exhaled, leaned back and looked away, before abruptly leaning forward and peeking once more to see if that did the trick, at last giving up.

“Are you okay?” Autumn said.

“I’m fine!” He growled, grabbing his planner and getting up from his rolling chair in one swift motion, the momentum of his calves knocking the chair back a foot or two. He made a beeline for the exit and phoned his brother.

“What up Bashy Bash?” Dillon picked up, his girlfriend Jenna in the background, giggling loudly.

“Hey umm… Do I have a date tonight?”

“A date? Does Bastian have a date?” The giggling abruptly stopped, and Bastian waited for the verdict.

“You may. Honestly, it’s possible. Can’t be sure though. I know that we set up that Hinge profile for you last week and messaged a few people.”

“Yeah, I know. I told you not to do that remember? I also said that if you did, to make sure that you tell me everything! This date is less than an hour!” Bastian growled.

“Is Bashy Boy upset?” Jenna said in the background. He hated her, and hated Bashy Boy too.

Some more indiscernible conversation happened on the other end. Bastian waited for them to converse for ten seconds.

“Dillon!” He barked.

“Sorry Bash. Look, we know we set up a few dates, but we don’t quite remember since we’ve been on so many of our own,” Dillon said towards Jenna, probably with the gross seduction face he always gave her, which made her giggle again, which made Bastian cringe, “but you know what? It could’ve been mom or Sam. I know that mom wanted to set you up with her coworker’s daughter… And Sam has been talking about a blind date as well.”

Bastian sighed.

“Hey Bash, don’t sweat it. Either way, you may end up with a hottie. We only picked the best on our end, mom’s idea of your future wife may be a dud, but I know that Sam does some really good blind dates. That’s how Jenna and I met remember?” More giggling. More cringing.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He relaxed a little, as much as you can relax while cringing.

“Why don’t you give them both a call?” Dillon laughed into the phone.

“Yep.” He hung up the phone, and not because the giggling somehow had an infinite sound source of its own, ignoring Jenna’s need for oxygen, but because Bastian was beginning to sweat.

Work could wait. Nobody was coming in to lease an apartment anyway. His love life, still a never-ending search party that all of his family cared about like it was an unsolved murder was pulling at the seams of his sanity once again, and he would not forfeit this date. He just had to know if it was blind or not.

Maybe driving would help the sweat.

His Honda Accord modestly roared to life as she shifted gears to reverse. He tugged at his seat belt, when his mom’s face began buzzing in his lap, her red curls bouncing as if she was a gif on the shaky grounds of his trembling legs. He pulled out of the lot and onto the highway before answering, giving himself some time to collect his thoughts and wipe the sweat off his palms.

“Hey mom-“

“Hey Bash Baby, your brother just called. You have a date tonight?!” She beamed, as if new evidence was moving the murder one step closer to being solved. Bash Baby was his least favorite nickname.

“Yes, but-“

“Oh that’s great honey. Is it with Cynthia Matthews?! She’s Peggy’s daughter. Do you remember Peggy, my coworker?!” She screamed excitedly, inhaling an over dramatic sigh. “I hear Cynthia loves sushi, so I hope you’re going to sushi!”

“I don’t know mom. Dillon doesn’t know if he set it up and said that you might have.”

“Me? Oh honey, I wouldn’t want to impose! Only encourage or persuade, maybe force,” she paused to cackle, “but never impose.”

“Okay well, I’m going to try Sam then.”

“Oh honey, don’t do that. She is studying. It’ll honestly just go straight to voicemail.”

“Ok. See yah-“

“Let me know how the date goes!”

“But mom, I don-“

“Okay Bash Baby, love you to pieces. Buh-bye!”

Four more red lights before his house on Meridian Drive. He tapped the steering wheel to the beat of his thumb print radio, the only thing that might stabilize his growing nerves as his thoughts dragged him away from the road. What was he going to wear? His bedroom sofa chair was likely hoarding all of his button ups, their prints wrinkled by a failed journey to any hangers. He did have a cardigan, but there was definitely a stain somewhere. His dad’s letterman jacket might also be too risky.

The driveway was ready for him, vacant of his parents’ blue hatchback. He parked at a 45 and sprinted from his Accord to the back door, skipped the flight of stairs with a small leap and turned right into his bedroom, the smell of freshly sprayed Febreze making him lightheaded.

Wrinkly prints awaited him, laid out and peering up from his sofa like they were each waiting for a hug. He filed through the pile to confirm that they were all ineligible and turned to his closet. Lame graphic tees greeted his eyes from every angle, but one bright pink polo grabbed for his attention at the end of the row. A collar was better than anything else he owned.

He couldn’t.

His thigh began to vibrate and this time his dad’s face emerged from his pocket, grey beard consuming a small grin with yellow teeth.

“Yes?”

“How’s the wee man?” His dad choked, a cigarette surely being balanced in whatever hand wasn’t holding the phone.

“I’m fine dad. I am just getting ready for a date.”

“Wee man on a date? Is she the one?”

“Dad, I don’t know. I don’t recall who it’s with. Look, I really need to go.”

“Ah someone’s bein’ shy. It’s all good wee man, I know you’ll tell me tomorrow. Just please don’t go out with that Cynthia Matthews, that girl is trouble. What’re you wearing?”

“Trying to figure that out right now.”

“You know, I’ve got a couple of nice black and gray polos in my closet. You’ll have to dig through the sweaters, but you’ll find them.”

“Okay dad, thanks!”

“Don’t mention it. What are yah drinkin’?”

“Drinking? I wasn’t planning on drinking.”

“Come on wee man, you said she’s the one!”

“No, I didn’t say-“

“Just pour a glass of Merlot. If nothing else, just pour a glass of Merlot. Nothing seduces a girl more than wine and the absence of beer.”

“Okay dad, I really have to go.”

“Alright wee man. Condoms are in my night stand.”

“Oh my God, dad-“

His dad was gone.

He pulled a gray polo over his bone tight limbs, unable to fill the shirt out the way his old man did. A glass of Merlot he thought, hoping this would impress if his clothes betrayed him.

He phoned Sam as he settled back in the Accord.

“I am busy Bashhead, what do you need?”

“Did you set me up on a date tonight?”

“No, Dillon did.”

“Wait, really?! He couldn’t remember. Do you know where it is?”

“Am I Dillon?”

“Okay, sorry to bug you. Good luck with your test.”

“Oh, so you knew I was taking a test? Do you realize that-“

And then it happened. The sweet spot. He remembered Dillon and Jenna cornering him in the garage as he was looking for a flat head screw driver, flashing Jenna’s iPhone in his face to show him a photo of a girl named Kelly Dubois. She had dark brown hair, the most charming smile and a quote from Step Brothers, his favorite movie. He also remembered drooling, literally drooling. They laughed in his face and told him it was official. He would meet Kelly Dubois at The Green Gateau at 7PM. It was the perfect place to have a first date and he couldn’t possibly mess it up. His brother promised to even provide him with some good clothes. All of it happened six and a half hours ago.

Relief flooded his mind and he settled back in his seat, his left fingers raking his thin hair away from his forehead, as he ended the call with his sister, who hadn’t stopped talking.

As his memory faded, he pulled up to the Green Gateau within fifteen minutes, and walked through the front door to the host, hoping that the image of Kelly’s face would be recognizable amongst the sea of happy faces indulging in happy hour.

“One?” She asked.

“No, umm… I’m meeting someone.”

“Reservation?”

“I, umm… I don’t know actually.”

“It’s about a 45 minute wait if you don’t have a reservation.”

“Okay, can I make a call?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She said, looking annoyed.

He quickly whipped out his phone, far too quickly and it flew across the room, striking a nearby column with a thud. “Oh jeez!” He said, scrambling to collect it from the floor as his face burned red.

He picked it up and exhaled again.

And then he saw her.

Sitting three tables in, she was staring straight at him. Smiling.

He stood up slowly and walked over as if pulled toward her magnetically.

“Are you… Kelly?”

She nodded. “Are you… Bastian?”

“Yeah. Yes, I am. Do you… Umm.”

She waited for him to continue, the smile on her face slowly growing.

A waiter neared their table and he took his seat, speaking before the waiter introduced himself.

“A bottle of Merlot please.”