Magical Thinking - Augusten Burroughs [59]
As I walked away, I looked back at him.
He was already looking back at me.
I smiled the whole way home. I was walking and smiling, and because of this, because of my Happy Face, I probably looked like a very simple person, unencumbered by complicated thoughts. Like somebody who was just happy because there was macaroni and cheese in the world. And socks! Maybe people looked at me and wished they were more simple and idiotic, like that guy there.
Normally when I come home from a date, I replay the entire evening in my head. I pulverize it and then examine the grains of dust. Sometimes I actually write it all out, capturing the dialogue while it’s still fresh. I then examine what was said from every angle, trying to peer into the nuance and subtle meaning between the words. I project into the near and distant future. I make a sort of mental flowchart of how the date could lead to either a relationship or a disaster.
“What did he mean when he said . . .” or “Was he smiling because he was happy or uncomfortable?”
I obsess so thoroughly that after twenty-four hours of imagining various scenarios, I am sick of the other person and can’t bear the thought of a second date with them, let alone a committed relationship.
But tonight, this night after my first date with Dennis, it’s different. Something in the world feels supernaturally askew. As though something in space has shifted, creating a rare opening.
I come home and feel the distinct sensation of complete peace. I am exactly, absolutely, perfectly okay. At the same time, I know I could easily topple the feeling. It’s like I am balancing a china plate on my head. One abrupt move, the plate will fall and shatter. It is not something I have ever felt before, yet it feels more comfortable than anything I can name. Instead of pondering any of this further, I climb into bed and open a book.
I am not going to rush this. I am not going to write this. I am not going to force this.
I am going to feel this plate on my head. It’s nice. I like it.
It was a good date.
He is a good guy.
I am going to read a book.
I read forty pages. Then I turn off the light, which can be dangerous. But my mind is clear. I dream of disks. One red. One green.
Bring it on.
THE SCHNAUZER
I
n bed the Schnauzer lies on his back. His chest is muscular and tight with coarse hairs, which he clips short. His chest is like a bed in the military: you could bounce a quarter off it. When I first saw him without his shirt, as he reclined against the pillows, he laughed hard at something I said, and I happened to look at his stomach. There, I saw an extra bone. It ran horizontally just below his rib cage. At first this disturbed me. It was like seeing an extra toe. Could I love him despite this mutation? Then when he laughed harder, another bone appeared. And I realized they were not bones; they were abs.
I looked down at my own stomach which is not fat, which is sort of flat, but does not have defined abs.
I asked him, “What’s the biggest disability you could overlook in a guy in order to date him?”
The Schnauzer turned to me, and his blue eyes sparkled. “What do you mean?”
I nestled up against him and placed my head on his chest. “You know, like a missing leg, no arms?”
“Oh,” he said.
I sat up to watch him think.
With his left hand, he scratched behind his right ear. This caused the biceps in his arm to swell to the size of a ripe mango. He looked like a magazine centerfold, like he should have a line of staples right down the middle. “A limp I guess,” he said with a smile.
I laughed at him. “A limp! I can’t believe you said a limp.” I pretended to be appalled by his shallowness, although I, myself, would have problems with even a limp. “You’re certainly willing to cut people slack.”
He hugged me closer. He was smiling, the full smile that I like most. The one that gives him dimples and lights up his eyes and makes him look like a movie star. The smile that makes me feel lucky when I see it