I get the sense this isn’t a perfect date for Asani. He acts like being outdoors is a chore, something he’s not accustomed to. I can see him on a golf course, or maybe a picnic with a curated basket of artisanal meats and cheeses.
The cameraman—Johnny—motions us back. Ria met us here, as well as another man and woman with cameras and technical stuff, plus Alexa, to touch up my makeup. I’ve followed all the instructions given today—to walk where they want me to walk, to look at what they decide they need me to look at. They tell me when to smile up at Asani, and how close to stand to him.
It’s not really a date, but rather a series of logistical exercises to make two people look good together.
I’m not sure any exercise would make me feel comfortable with Asani, and I’m not sure if I can blame Johnny and the rest of the audience, or just us.
There is no us. I don’t know what I should be feeling, but I do know it should besomething, and not this mild irritation, like there’s a pebble stuck in the sole of my shoe.
I’ve already decided that there will never be an us, but I still have to get through this date.
“Look at all the birds,” I cry as we reach the stretch of sand beside the centre. Hundreds of seagulls and other birds I don’trecognize perch along the beach. Some of them walk along the water, some sleep on warm rocks.
An air of devil-may-care fills me and I stop to take off my sandals.
“What are you doing?” Asani asks.
“Waking them up. I used to do this with my brothers.” I tug his hand. “Come on.”
“No.”
“It won’t hurt them.”
“I don’t care. I am not running pell-mell into a group of birds like a child.” His face is set and he’s not as pretty anymore.
He actually stopped being pretty earlier today.
“Pell-mell,” I say lightly, trying to ignore his implication that I am childish. “Good description.” And then I turn and run through the birds with a whoop of laughter.
The result is a cacophony of sound and movement as every bird reacts to my sudden presence. Some take off with an offended shriek, some shift onto another rock.
A few actually seem like they’re playing, flying away only to suddenly dive-bomb me, and sending me racing away with a screech that echoes the birds.
I spend a few minutes running across the sand with the birds, laughing like a child during their first trip to the playground. And then I see the seals basking off the shore and I spend more time watching them.
I motion Asani over to see them, but he stays where I left him, arms folded across his chest, with an expression like a disappointed father.
I notice Johnny filming him standing like that.
Gunnar and I would run with the birds every chance we got. Sometimes Kalle would join us, occasionally Bo. Never Odin, or Spencer, but Spencer would always hold my shoes.
He would cheer me on. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be childish—it wasn’t often, but there were moments when his mischievous side emerged—but he hated the idea of a bird pooping on him. One summer, it was as if every time we played outside, he would get dropped on.
I finally, reluctantly, head back to Asani.
“That was great,” Johnny calls out to me. “I got most of it.”
“Good, because I’m not doing it again,” I tell him, grinning at Asani.
“Is that something you enjoy doing?” he asks, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“Yes.” I raise my chin. “I enjoy being childlike and having fun.”
“It’s just not… not very princess-like.”
The red flag swings high and there ends the journey for Asani. “I’ve never really followed the stereotypical princess behaviour,” I drawl. “Nor am I about to start.” I head back to the car waiting to take us to the plane.
“You have bird poop on your shoulder,” Asani calls after me.
