Fungible Chicken Dishes / 20151103
On Wednesday night, I visited my grandparents who live on the Upper West Side. They are both in their 90’s. When you sit in a room with them, it feels like time and space and the rest of reality are sucked out of the window. Things are quiet and slow and conversations are eternally repetitive. Knowing this, I brought my new girlfriend along that night to meet them. I thought it would interesting for everyone.
Rochelle and I hadn’t been dating long. It had really only been an hour or so before I brought her to meet Papa Mort and NuNu Jean. We met on OK Cupid. We went to L’Etoile Wine Bar on 79th before embarking on the fun surprise I had promised. I think first dates should be special. Unique. Who wants to have the same conversations alomgside fungible chicken dishes over and over and over again?
When we went to my grandparents’ building on 81st street, Rochelle stopped me. She said she wasn’t ready to see my apartment. I smiled at her and said that I live in Queens. She asked, so where are we going? I told her this is the surprise. She said she wasn’t into anything weird and that she didn’t yet trust me enough to be going to strange apartments. I smiled and said don’t worry. But she did worry. She did not follow me to the elevator. She stood in place and wrung her hands nervously. The doorman overheard us debating. Hector kindly stepped in and vouched for me, saying I was a sweet man. He didn’t ruin the surprise. I told him about my plan the last time I was here. He likes that I am so close with my grandparents.
Rochelle wasn’t swayed by Hector’s testimonial. She stormed out of the building. I followed. We talked on the corner. We agreed to continue getting acquainted at L’Etoile. I would buy dinner. She said OK. Things picked up from there. We talked about our travels and got onto the subject of the strangest places we’ve pooped. She put her hand on top of mind at points throughout the night. She has a very beautiful neck, I kept noticing, and I actually like the short, plump bags under her eyes. We agreed to have dinner again on Friday.
She asked me before dessert what the surprise was in that building on 81st street. I told her I’d never share. It was her loss. She laughed. I think she found that endearing.
As Rochelle and I polished off our wonderful dinner at L’Etoile, both Papa Mort and NuNu Jean passed away, quietly and almost simultaneously, which is really quite remarkable.
Rochelle and I had a magical night. Though I do wish she would have come up to meet my grandparents before they expired. I guess either way, it would have been a memorable night.