Chapter 4:
The Skeptic Inside Me Believes What He Knows
The Girl From The Grocery Store Across The Street Is (NOT!) A Robot, She's Just Incredibly, Incredibly, Incredibly WEIRD!
They say T-Rexes had bad vision. Of course I don’t believe a single word of that. I think it’s a movie invention—more precisely, from a very famous franchise.
You know the, right? The man goes like 'nobody move a muscle' and still the T-Rex ends up eating one or two people… I don’t remember exactly.
I watched that movie in high school, on a day when the chemistry teacher was absent and they left us with free periods.
I dropped out two months later, though let’s say—for now—that’s not important.
“Uhm…”
“I’m waiting for an answer.” She brought the phone a little closer.
I opened the ice cream wrapper. I was about to bite into it but changed my mind. I took her phone from her hand and swapped it for the ice cream. “I don’t like peanuts.” Lie.
“That has absolutely no relevance to—”
“Weird.” I said, taking her phone and handing her the ice cream instead. “Just that.”
She held the ice cream without biting it yet.
I held the phone without trying to open any app or peek at her photo gallery.
There’s an invisible wall that—even less so these days—people tend to respect, especially when they barely know each other.
That invisible wall has a name similar or identical to 'privacy.'
We barely knew each other.
She said three years, for me, a couple of hours.
No subjectivity here—maybe just different ways of viewing the objective.
We’d seen each other constantly for three years, but we hadn’t actually met until a few hours ago.
It’s open to debate, reformulation, refutation, or any other word in between.
Honestly I didn’t care because it was just different perspectives on the same fact.'Objectively subjective' or—if we want to get a little more pedantic—'Schrödinger’s relationship.'
“Can I?” I asked as my was thumb hovering over the screen.
“Go ahead.” She brought the ice cream to her mouth.
The importance isn’t in the ice cream itself, nor in its crunchy chocolate-and-peanut coating—which, honestly, I felt far more deserving of than a lemon one—but in one simple fact:
I pressed my thumb on 'add new contact.'
She bit into the edge of the ice cream.
Both things happened at the same time.
I added my number and handed her phone back.
She shoved half the ice cream into her mouth so she could hold the phone with both hands.
“Not that weird…” I said, leaning back a little.
“Mphhmpm...”
“What? If you don’t take the ice cream out of your mouth I’m not going to understand a word.”
On some 'who knows what' impulse I tried to pull the ice cream from her mouth. She swatted my hand away and removed it herself.
“The date’s over.”
“But we didn’t even—”
“End of the date.” She pointed at the door, taking another bite of the ice cream. Her phone was still unlocked on the blanket.
“Hey… if I went too far—”
“End…”“Let me explai—”
“Of.”“Come on, don’t be childish, okay?”
“The date.” She finished, standing up and opening the store door.
“Tsk… Fine, whatever. I was getting sleepy anyway.” I tried to glance at her sideways while ducking under the half-raised shutter, but the dim light didn’t help much.
I heard two sounds as I left: the shutter closing and a key turning in a lock.
What logic was I supposed to apply here? Was this one of those movie scenes where the woman gets mad and argues with her partner through a closed door?
If I thought about how she saw things (in her twisted, unreal way), maybe. But I really wasn’t going to. Not because we weren’t a couple (which we weren't), but because I didn’t know what to say—basically because I didn’t understand what had just happened.
“Haaa… seriously, I have no idea what the hell just happened…” I muttered to myself while lighting a cigarette as I crossed the street. “That was supposed to be a good move… doesn’t that earn me points?” Actually, it depends on the person in front of you. “Anyway, I don’t care.” Lie. “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been hit with a bucket of cold water mid-date.” That part was true. “But I’m never buying anything from her again. In fact, I’m putting up double curtains.” Lie again—one double, actually, because I didn’t have money for curtains either.
I stubbed the cigarette out in one of the hallway planters—even though I’d already been told not to—but if I usually didn’t listen, I definitely wasn’t going to now.
I just went inside and collapsed onto the futon.
Bad idea, considering it was so old that calling it 'padded' was an insult to semantics.
I rolled from side to side, tried to fake-suffocate myself with the pillow, resisted the minor urge to look out the window and the major urge to throw away whatever dignity I had left and go downstairs to try talking.I just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
My phone vibrated once.
You know the, right? The man goes like 'nobody move a muscle' and still the T-Rex ends up eating one or two people… I don’t remember exactly.
I watched that movie in high school, on a day when the chemistry teacher was absent and they left us with free periods.
I dropped out two months later, though let’s say—for now—that’s not important.
“Uhm…”
“I’m waiting for an answer.” She brought the phone a little closer.
I opened the ice cream wrapper. I was about to bite into it but changed my mind. I took her phone from her hand and swapped it for the ice cream. “I don’t like peanuts.” Lie.
“That has absolutely no relevance to—”
“Weird.” I said, taking her phone and handing her the ice cream instead. “Just that.”
She held the ice cream without biting it yet.
I held the phone without trying to open any app or peek at her photo gallery.
There’s an invisible wall that—even less so these days—people tend to respect, especially when they barely know each other.
That invisible wall has a name similar or identical to 'privacy.'
We barely knew each other.
She said three years, for me, a couple of hours.
No subjectivity here—maybe just different ways of viewing the objective.
We’d seen each other constantly for three years, but we hadn’t actually met until a few hours ago.
It’s open to debate, reformulation, refutation, or any other word in between.
Honestly I didn’t care because it was just different perspectives on the same fact.'Objectively subjective' or—if we want to get a little more pedantic—'Schrödinger’s relationship.'
“Can I?” I asked as my was thumb hovering over the screen.
“Go ahead.” She brought the ice cream to her mouth.
The importance isn’t in the ice cream itself, nor in its crunchy chocolate-and-peanut coating—which, honestly, I felt far more deserving of than a lemon one—but in one simple fact:
I pressed my thumb on 'add new contact.'
She bit into the edge of the ice cream.
Both things happened at the same time.
I added my number and handed her phone back.
She shoved half the ice cream into her mouth so she could hold the phone with both hands.
“Not that weird…” I said, leaning back a little.
“Mphhmpm...”
“What? If you don’t take the ice cream out of your mouth I’m not going to understand a word.”
On some 'who knows what' impulse I tried to pull the ice cream from her mouth. She swatted my hand away and removed it herself.
“The date’s over.”
“But we didn’t even—”
“End of the date.” She pointed at the door, taking another bite of the ice cream. Her phone was still unlocked on the blanket.
“Hey… if I went too far—”
“End…”“Let me explai—”
“Of.”“Come on, don’t be childish, okay?”
“The date.” She finished, standing up and opening the store door.
“Tsk… Fine, whatever. I was getting sleepy anyway.” I tried to glance at her sideways while ducking under the half-raised shutter, but the dim light didn’t help much.
I heard two sounds as I left: the shutter closing and a key turning in a lock.
What logic was I supposed to apply here? Was this one of those movie scenes where the woman gets mad and argues with her partner through a closed door?
If I thought about how she saw things (in her twisted, unreal way), maybe. But I really wasn’t going to. Not because we weren’t a couple (which we weren't), but because I didn’t know what to say—basically because I didn’t understand what had just happened.
“Haaa… seriously, I have no idea what the hell just happened…” I muttered to myself while lighting a cigarette as I crossed the street. “That was supposed to be a good move… doesn’t that earn me points?” Actually, it depends on the person in front of you. “Anyway, I don’t care.” Lie. “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been hit with a bucket of cold water mid-date.” That part was true. “But I’m never buying anything from her again. In fact, I’m putting up double curtains.” Lie again—one double, actually, because I didn’t have money for curtains either.
I stubbed the cigarette out in one of the hallway planters—even though I’d already been told not to—but if I usually didn’t listen, I definitely wasn’t going to now.
I just went inside and collapsed onto the futon.
Bad idea, considering it was so old that calling it 'padded' was an insult to semantics.
I rolled from side to side, tried to fake-suffocate myself with the pillow, resisted the minor urge to look out the window and the major urge to throw away whatever dignity I had left and go downstairs to try talking.I just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
My phone vibrated once.
[ (-_-) ]
To be clear and concise:
Yes, it was her.
Yes, I sat up on the futon faster than someone waking from a nightmare in a movie.
[Hey, I really wanted to explain what just happened...]
[ (>.<) ]
[Can’t you just write? I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.]
[(/._./) ]
[Uhm… push it aside?]
[ .-. ]
[Flip it over? Come on, seriously… write something…]
She appeared to be typing, then stopped, started again, stopped again.
[ (ᵕ—ᴗ—) ]
[I’m going to stop replying if you don’t talk. Seriously, I’m not understanding.] Of course I wasn’t going to stop replying. In fact, I’d stay up all night if necessary.
[… Sorry (╥﹏╥)]
[I think that’s my line.]
[…]
[What?]
[I… wanted to talk a little more… (っ╥﹏╥ς)]
[You should’ve thought of that before kicking me out.]
[(⇀‸↼‶)]
[That was a joke… Want to talk? ...I’m not sleepy.]
[ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)]
To be clear and concise:
Yes, it was her.
Yes, I sat up on the futon faster than someone waking from a nightmare in a movie.
[Hey, I really wanted to explain what just happened...]
[ (>.<) ]
[Can’t you just write? I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.]
[(/._./) ]
[Uhm… push it aside?]
[ .-. ]
[Flip it over? Come on, seriously… write something…]
She appeared to be typing, then stopped, started again, stopped again.
[ (ᵕ—ᴗ—) ]
[I’m going to stop replying if you don’t talk. Seriously, I’m not understanding.] Of course I wasn’t going to stop replying. In fact, I’d stay up all night if necessary.
[… Sorry (╥﹏╥)]
[I think that’s my line.]
[…]
[What?]
[I… wanted to talk a little more… (っ╥﹏╥ς)]
[You should’ve thought of that before kicking me out.]
[(⇀‸↼‶)]
[That was a joke… Want to talk? ...I’m not sleepy.]
[ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)]
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