Second Date

It’s raining when we get out of the movie theater. Luckily, the train station is immediately next door. We scurry inside.

I look at the train map.

“My house is a few blocks away from Servalley Station,” Wave says, pointing to said station on the map. “Do you have an umbrella?”

I shake my head. I had no idea it was going to rain today.

“Well, maybe it will have stopped raining by the time we’re out of the train.”

As the train pulls into the station, I cover my ears. I hate how loud the train is. Luckily, it’s not very crowded. We sit next to each other.

We met on Ginger Paws, a dating app. Our first date was at an art museum. It was Wave’s idea. It was nice, because we could simply remark on the art in front of us, and I didn’t have to talk much about myself or use much cognitive effort to think about things that weren’t right in front of us.

This date, our second date, was my idea. I figured a movie date would be nice because it would involve at least ninety minutes of zero speaking between us. But after the movie comes the part of the date where you do have to talk. I think of a good question to ask. “What was your favorite part?” I ask.

“Of the movie?”

I nod.

“Hmmm,” Wave says, which lets me know she’s thinking. “I liked the part when the vampire was getting triggered by the scent of her girlfriend’s blood. Like, there was the part of her that didn’t want to hurt her girlfriend, but the vampire in her didn’t care who the blood was coming from. That was interesting to me.”

I nod, taking in Wave’s response.

“What part did you like the most?” Wave asks.

Unlike Wave and her “Hmmm”-ing, I am too busy mentally crafting my response to do anything to externally communicate that I’m thinking. My brain can only handle so much.

The vampire’s name was Illuma, but because Wave doesn’t seem to remember her name, I pretend I don’t remember it either. “I liked when the vampire was at the doctor’s office. I liked that you could see the progression of the doctor taking her vitals and slowly realizing she was a vampire. And the mixture of surprise, fear, and curiosity. And debating whether it would violate the patient’s privacy rights to warn others.”

“I really liked that scene too. I love when movies and shows involve doctors!”

This intrigues me. “Why?”

“The doctors always play an important role. The patient’s body is like a mystery, and each body is different, and the doctor has all these tools to figure out what’s going on and what to do. I think it’s really cool.”

I nod in agreement.

By the time we get off the train, it’s absolutely pouring.

Wave shrugs. “So much for hoping the rain would’ve stopped by now!”

I take off my jacket and put it over my head.

“Ready to run for it?” Wave asks.

I shake my head. No, I’ll never be ready to run through the rain. I hate wet fur, I hate wet clothes, I hate wet anything.

Wave looks confused. “Then… What do you want to do? Do you want to wait?”

“No, I don’t want to wait. I do want to go inside. But technically, no, I don’t feel ready,” I clarify.

“Ah, okay. Well, my house is number 73. Let’s go!”

I take off as fast as I can. The distance between Wave and me increases with every splashing step. I thank my cheetah genes as I reach the porch long before she does. But waiting for her on the porch gives me time to think. Was it rude to leave her behind like that?

“Wow, you didn’t waste any time getting to the porch,” Wave laughs, catching her breath.

“I’m sorry for leaving you behind. I hate the rain a lot.”

“It’s okay,” Wave replies, unlocking the door. “I don’t mind the rain too much.”

As I step inside, I feel the warm rush of air. I shudder. Wave turns on the light and easily slips off her shoes. “I’m going to get towels.”

I sit down, untying the wet laces of my boots. I sneeze. Wave calls “Bless you!” from the other room, and it makes me smile. She didn’t have to do that, but she did. She heard me and cared enough to say something. I am so caught up in these thoughts that I don’t think to respond with a ‘thank you.’

When she returns with a towel for me, I make sure to thank her. I wipe off my boots first. Not only are they wet, but I also just sneezed on them. My sneezes usually happen too suddenly for me to cover. It’s almost always the same story: I barely realize I have a tickle in my nose, and then suddenly I’ve sneezed onto whatever is in front of me. My doctor says it's called 'hyposensitivity.' Thanks, autism.

As I dry off the rest of my body, I take in the layout of Wave’s home. The entrance leads into the living room, and there’s a staircase nearby. The kitchen appears to lie beyond the living room.

“Now that we’re at my place, what do you want to do?” Wave asks me.

I look down, trying to focus enough to form a response. What are you supposed to when you go to your date’s home for the first time? I think of the movies and TV shows I’ve seen. Kissing? Sex?

“Do you… want some options to choose from?” Wave asks.

I nod. I feel like I’m being a bad date for not talking as much as Wave, but I just can’t think fast enough.

“We could have some food, play a game, cuddle…” I can tell she’s about to say more but stops to let me process.

Each suggestion brings up a slew of new thoughts in my head. I fidget with the cuff of my sweater.

“Take your time,” Wave says. The words are soothing.

Food is an unideal option. I can’t possibly engage with Wave if my mouth is already busy with food. Besides, I’m pickier than the average person, and I don’t want to put myself in a situation where I’m just rejecting all the food options. A game would be a good idea, because it would give structure to our interaction. The option of cuddling is offered so straightforwardly that I don’t know what to make of it. I can’t cuddle someone who is essentially a stranger.

“Game,” I say.

We survey the game options and settle on Bananagrams.

“What kind of music do you like?”

I blink, confused by the off-topic question. I know my answer to the question, but it takes my brain a moment to shift gears. “Punk rock.”

“Want to listen to punk rock while we play?”

I shake my head. “Too many words. It’ll be distracting.” If I’m listening to punk rock, I can’t do anything that involves too much thinking.

“Fair enough! Maybe we could play soft music? Like lo-fi?”

I nod.

We begin the game. I dive into my assortment of letters, easily rearranging them into words. I say “Peel,” to indicate that I’ve used up all my tiles and that we both need to take a new tile from the pool.

“Already? I feel like I’m just getting started!”

It isn’t long before I say “Peel” again. And then again.

“Wow, you’re good at this game!”

Words come easily to me when all I’m doing is combining letters. What’s much harder is forming words to communicate in a conversation in real-time. There are so many more variables to juggle: tone, facial expression, body language, mood, and any number of other factors. And it’s hard enough with only one person. If there are multiple people, the variables become infinitely more intertwined and complicated.

Then my body decides it’s a good time to sneeze. Not just once, but twice, with one dramatic gasp in between. All over the tiles I’m working with. Bloody hell.

Before I can excuse myself for the outburst, she asks, “Are you cold?”

I blink. I wasn’t expecting her to respond that way. “I feel…” I begin, quoting a mug at Mouse’s house that literally just says I feel… on it. It’s interesting how two little words and an ellipsis can invite you to notice things you weren’t aware of before.

I put my attention toward my below-the-head body, and I find that I do feel chilly. “I feel like I want to change out of my leggings. They’re wet.”

Wave smiles and nods in a way that makes me feel like I did something right.

“Let’s get you something dry to wear! Come to my room with me. My pants will probably be big on you, but I have a couple of pairs with elastic bands that might fit you.”

As we stand up, I catch sight of the tiles again. I feel a pang of anxiety that I forgot to apologize a moment ago.

“I’m so sorry for sneezing on your game. I—“ I begin a second sentence, but I don’t even know what else there is to say. I’m not one to ramble, but it feels very wrong to leave a sentence unfinished. I grab one of my braids so I have something to do with my fingers. “I had to sneeze,” I explain, stating the utterly obvious.

“It’s okay! It’s not your fault.” She shrugs. I don’t know how she’s able to come across as so genuine.

And just like that, I feel okay about letting it go. I leave it behind us as I follow her to her bedroom.