Page 10

By the time we see the crowd packed inside and the ‘cash only’ sign barely clinging to the door, I know he’s passed with flying colors.

Inside, we surf the ordered chaos of the bodega line until we reach the counter. I order a bacon, egg, and American cheese on everything; he impresses me with a sausage, egg, and provolone on poppy seed. He tries to pay, but I block him, insisting I cover breakfast as his reward for passing my test. I’m pretty sure I catch a look of admiration as I shepherd him through the crowd, using my body to guard the register.

We grab the drinks that come with our sandwiches, my usual coffee with cream, his surprising choice of Diet Coke. We trade idle complaints about our week, as if we don’t already know each other’s routines, and head south to Central Park to find a bench. On the way, we pass my favorite Egyptian restaurant again; this time, the mummies in the window seem almost friendly beside Kevin’s reflection.

"You almost got full marks," I say as I unwrap my sandwich.

He pauses. "I did? What’d I do wrong?"

"Should have got a coffee."

He pretends to wretch. "Can't stand the stuff, too bitter. Unfortunately, I get all my caffeine from tea and the occasional soda."

"What are you, a puritan?" I ask.

"No, I just don't like bitter things."

I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but the comment makes me self-conscious. I retreat into my sandwich, finding solace in gooey cheese, fluffy egg, and the perfect salty crunch of bacon. When I look over, Kevin seems equally content with his own.

He finishes his bite and then asks, "Oh, how'd you like my hieroglyphs?"

I cock an eye. "What are you talking about?"

"The emojis," he says.

I frown. I’ve had this debate so many times, and even though things are going well and I know he means no harm, I can’t help myself—something bitter rises up.

"Oh God, why does everyone do this? They aren't the same. Hieroglyphs are a true writing system. Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs represent sounds, letters, whole words, and even meaning markers." I fight the urge to squish my sandwich in my hands. "Emojis are not a writing system! The poo emoji doesn't have the nuance of any Egyptian hieroglyphics!"

My eyes go wide as I realize how unhinged I must sound. It’s not even ten in the morning, and I’ve probably already ruined our date. I swallow, bracing myself to see how much I’ve offended Kevin over what he must’ve thought was a cute gesture.

Instead, I see a man awestruck, like the most diligent student I never had in any of my lectures. His attention is solely fixed on me, no judgment, only a seeming concern about whether it would be rude to take another bite before I continue explaining.

When he sees I'm at a stopping point, he adds, "I had no idea. How do you decipher something like that if each symbol can have so many meanings?"

I just blink, waiting for the punchline. Kevin isn’t cruel or oblivious—this moment feels like uncharted territory compared to similar conversations I’ve had before. Yet, the longer I search his eyes, the more familiar it all feels—not because I’ve had this debate, but because I’ve sat with him like this before.

"You really want to know?" I ask before taking a swig of my scalding coffee in an attempt to buy more time.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to," he replies with a smile.

I gulp down the sip, the liquid stinging as it goes. "Okay, well, hieroglyphs have grammar. They could be used to record laws, literature, religious texts, poetry, even historical events. But because they are pictographic, they also had directionality, reading direction. In English, we read left to right, but Hieroglyphs can be written left-to-right, right-to-left, or top-to-bottom. The direction is determined by which way people and animals face in the text."

"And so they need to be directional to have grammar."

"Exactly!" A deep smile splits my face at the way he simply recites my own ideas back to me. Am I really this starved for decent conversation? "To your point, though, about emojis, I mean, European scholars mistakenly believed Egyptian hieroglyphs were purely symbolic before they were deciphered."

"Well, now I don't have the excuse of ignorance on my side," he says before tucking into another bite.

We keep talking as we eat, me rambling about why I hate emojis and how they’re nothing like hieroglyphs. He listens, tossing in a joke about resurrecting hieroglyphs. It’s not a real suggestion, but laughing with him, rather than worrying I’m the joke, fills me with a genuine ease I haven’t felt since before grad school.

Eventually we finish eating and start thinking about the main task of the day.

"So, costumes. Have one in mind?" I ask.

"I wasn't sure if I was supposed to dress like you since we are going together, so I hadn't given it much thought."

He balls up his lunch and chucks it in the trash can a short distance away with a deftness that surprises me. I try to do the same and miss by a wide margin.