Although talking to my father had temporarily put me into a minor tailspin, feeling like I wasn’t ready to be the kind of person that could be loved or could give love, in time, it had made me feel a little better about myself. If my father was reaching out to me, even if I felt I wasn’t ready, maybe I was more ready than I believed.
Sure, it was a huge maybe. But it was something.
For our date, Phoenix had only told me to dress casually for a walk at a nearby hiking trail. We had both jokingly agreed that going to a bar for a date would be like me going to a biker’s shop for a date—sometimes, it was just good to get away from work.
The setup for the date had me excited. I didn’t go on dates very often, but when I did, they fell into the same coffee-tea-snacks-dinner-movie-drinks routine so easily that it was almost boringly predictable. I didn’t want predictable, at least when it came to the activities.
I didn’t get as dolled up as I normally would for a date, given that we’d be outdoors and probably sweating, but I still put some effort into making my hair a little wavier, my eyes dolled up, and my clothes just revealing enough to give him a hint of what might come. I hadn’t made up my mind about anything physical, but I certainly wasn’t a gal who was going to remain a virgin until my marriage—I was about a decade too late on that one, anyway.
When I arrived at the parking lot at the start of the trail, I saw Phoenix standing with his arms crossed by his bike. He wasn’t looking at me, though I suspected he knew the instant I arrived. The way he was staring straight ahead, though, made it seem like he wasn’t actually staring at anything; it was like his eyes were gazing inward, toward some memory or idea he couldn’t shake himself from.
I parked the car, paused, and looked at him. He still hadn’t shifted his focus. Sunglasses made it impossible to see where his gaze was precisely, but the general direction told me everything I needed to know. He was slightly downcast and without a smile, as if the current memory was anything but ideal.
I wasn’t going to back out at this point because of courtesy and because I’d come so far from my apartment in Springsville. But I started to have what I feared was legitimate concerns about his presence.
I got out of my car, flipped my hair back, and strolled over to him, a hopeful and slightly nervous smile on my face.
“Phoenix,” I said, a half-shout when he still hadn’t turned to face me.
Finally, he did.
And it was not accompanied by a smile.
“Are you OK?”
“Me? Oh,” he said, finally smiling, but it felt like the act of someone caught red-handed. “Yeah, just... crazy weekend, that’s all.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Phoenix pointed his head toward the trail.
“That’s the hiking trail. About a mile and a half round trip. What do you say?”
What do I say? You didn’t even answer my question. I’d say I’d like to know if you want to talk about it.
But I suppose no answer is exactly the same as “no.”
“I say that sounds fun; lead the way.”
Phoenix let his smile slightly widen, but the second that he put his boot forward and stepped onto the dusty, dirt path, the smile faded, as if smiling required as much exertion as a heavy lift. I dropped behind him partially so he could lead the way, partially so I didn’t have to constantly look over at his dour appearance.
And the worst part was, I had no idea why. Maybe he was remembering his father, but if that were the case, why had he used the phrase “crazy weekend?” It had been over a week since his father had been laid to rest; while I understood mourning had no timetable, in conjunction with the use of the word “crazy,” it didn’t make sense that that was what troubled him.
But I suspected that if he did tell me, it wasn’t going to be on this date.It may not be for a while, if ever.Bikers were not exactly known for being vulnerable.
“How’s your day been?” Phoenix asked after a couple of minutes of awkward silence.
It still felt like he didn’t want to be there, although I didn’t think that had anything to do with me. It seemed like he just didn’t want to be anywhere but by himself.
“It’s been good,” I said.
Should I tell him the part about my father?
I mean, he hasn’t told you anything about what he’s going through right now, so why should you?
“It’s... you know, typical weekend.”
“That’s good.”
