I agree to meet Rhino at a coffee shop in Portland. Agree. Fuck, I practically text yes before he even sends the “date” text. At this point I am so desperate and lonely and horny, that I truly believe the red headed rhino will be my savior. Who cares if he is boring as hell. The day of my date I carefully pick out my outfit. I choose a button down chambray shirt and a black and white stripped pencil skirt. I looked smokin’ hot or so I desperately hoped. I need to catch a boy, with a quickness. I need these holes filled, my heart and my vagina.
We meet for coffee and I arrive early, which if anyone knows me, is a miracle in it self. He is late. OK, he gets a pass, I am always late, he gets a pass. I see him walking down the sidewalk toward me and I am instantly disappointed. OK so he’s my height. OK so he’s wearing grimy, oil stained jeans. I have a running commentary in my head the closer he gets. Just push your disappointment aside and try and have a good first date after death, you aren’t marrying him, relax and have fun, not every person is like you or for that matter like Peter.
In my limited time without Peter I start to believe no one on this earth is similar to me or him. I find this fact very disturbing, I had no idea we were so kooky. Rhino walks up to me and excuses himself for his tardiness as well as his attire. However he did not use the word attire, that is strictly mine. Just wondering out loud right now if I am a snob. Hmm. Perhaps.
Rhino and I walk into the coffee shop and present ourselves to the barista. The barista asks what we would like and he states a complicated coffee drink that I don’t understand or care to understand. I wait patiently for Rhino to look at me as a cue to place my order. That look never comes. The barista, a very fashionably man, I must say, asks Rhino if that completes his order. He says “Yep” and retrieves his wallet and pays the $4.29 for his triple shot, nonfat, full fat, triple bean, whoo ha latte coffee, espresso. Unbelievable, this mother fucker isn’t going to pay for my hot chocolate. This mother fucker isn’t going to even acknowledge my existence. I know I exist because I can feel the embarrassment the fashionably barista feels for me. Begrudgingly, I pay for my hot chocolate and we find a cafe table outside in the balmy summer air. He picks the chair he wants and I am no longer stunned by his, not necessarily bad behavior, but behavior in which I am unaccustomed. Suddenly a brilliant thought crosses my mind. Since I only have hot chocolate, I can down this shit and get the hell out of here. We sit down, or I sit down, Rhino looks to his left then to his right then proceeds to sit in the flimsy wire chair, the coffee shop provided.
Rhino looks at me and starts to nervously spew extemporaneous questions at my head. I look in his direction, not quite able to put forth the effort to answer. Then something amazing happens…Rhino leans in and asks me if I have a social security number. “Well yes, doesn’t everyone?” I answer. I am elated, I begin to believe this date will be as interesting as it will be entertaining.
People that I perceive as a bit off have always intrigued me. When I was a child my mother would come home to random strays that I would take in, not stray dogs, stray humans. Humans of varying ages and mental capacity. I am not sure why strays interest me but they do and at this point in my life there is no need denying this part of my personality.
Rhino shakes his head and whispers “Oh no, no, no.” This date is getting very good, not in the way I had hoped but favorable none this less. I begin to mimic his body language hoping that I can extract more information from him. I lean into him and start to asking question after question, he has answers for every one. I learn that because I have a SS number I am now a mark of the beast. Umm, OK. The beast being the MAN. Now as a black women I have never been accused of being part of the MAN but apparently I am and my “number” proves it. I learn about something called, gang stalking, which was explained to me but I still do not understand and could not explain if asked. Rhino continues to speak to me about his many “truths”.
I learned on this summer afternoon that:
9/11 was an inside job.
President Kennedy was really killed by the driver of his own vehicle.
The world is ruled by five white men, who are part of the secret society of the Free Masons.
The Free Masons are evil.
Gang stalking is one of the most dangerous and unknown threats to Americans.
President Obama is in fact a muslim, that has agreed to be “owned” by the same five Free Masons that rule the world.
Rhino didn’t just state these facts, he had proof. He listed several books, that corroborated his views. He urged me to re watch the Zapruder film, especially at the 37 second mark. He told me to google the “Free Masons”. I am in awe. Perhaps the rhino is one of the strays I seem to acquire.
I have always yearned for knowledge but what I have learned this afternoon is that I despise dating, scratch that, I despise dating a cheap ass, paranoid, foil hat wearing, gang stalker.
My hot chocolate is cold and I am sad. Am I sad because my beverage is cold or am I sad because I have convinced myself that I will die alone, in bed, with my twenty-two cats nibbling on my soft flesh. In the mind of a grieving women, both hold equal importance.
I end the date with Rhino, telling him that I must go and take care of my children, trying my best to convince him that even though they are fourteen and eleven they are helpless without me. As I walk to my car after giving Rhino a limp armed hug, I begin to laugh hysterically. I feel free somehow, I feel youthful and decrypted all at once, overjoyed to have my first date after death out of the way. I decide to stop talking to all of these boys at the relief of my mother, my best friend and anyone else who cares about me. I hit the rules once more and am steady in my resolve to obey the rules and find a boy who is worthy of me. Or meh, maybe I’ll text the dealer and see if he wants company.