Very Me

I ordered two rum punches that the bartender wouldn't set on fire. I said tell me more about this new guy. His name is Tom Wolfe, she said. Like the writer? Yes. He liked having the name of a famous author even if he'd read none of his works. I couldn't argue, neither had I.

The drinks were fruity and sweet, the kind of thing that gets you in the end. I said I'd gotten to the point that whenever something seems harmless I assume it's quite harmful. She laughed and said that was a strange thing, but I've got a few years on her. She'll learn. I'd already had half.

She asked me the same thing and I said Sarah, no famous last name, she struggled with reservations like the rest of us. Oh, making reservations already? It was just a figure of speech, I said, although it really wasn't that, and also it was the truth. We were going to nice restaurant, clubs, places where I had to wear a jacket. She said she thought it was funny that I had picked this place to meet. Didn't seem very me. I couldn't argue.

Would it have made a difference, I asked. A place like this, a reservation, a coat and tie. She swirled her unseasonable tropical beverage. Of course not. Did I really think it was about reservations? I couldn't answer her because I did. I felt foolish. And that meant Sarah couldn't see my foolishness, or saw it and refused to say. Not that I could blame her. Doing one thing and saying another, we've all been there before.