The second Dream Date is an exchange of text messages.
A transcript of this episode is below.
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This is Dream Date number 2.
Screwing my courage to the sticking place, I finally give in and text you to ask if you want to meet up later, like we talked about. You text back immediately to say that that sounds like fun. So I text my friend Maggie and cancel our plans “Because,” I write portentously, “I have a date!” Exclamation mark. I text you again to say: “What do you feel like doing, btw? We could go and see a film? Or we could just watch something at my place. I have DVDs?” Question mark. Wink emoji. “Cinema sounds fun,” you message back. “But I don’t know what time I’ll be free.” “OK,” I write. “Let me know when you know.” An hour later, you text: “Sorry. Just got this. Yeah, sure. I’ll let you know.” And then an x, which means a kiss. I look up film times and try to work out if I definitely have time for a shower. OK, so… even if you text me in the next five minutes to say that you’re free, there isn’t a showing that we could make for at least forty-five minutes… so I do have time. I have a very quick shower. Then I check my phone but you haven’t texted. I eat some oat cakes with cheese. I had been planning to make a lasagne but I don’t know when you might suddenly be free and lasagne takes a while. Another friend of mine calls to find out if I want to meet for supper later and I tell them that I’m probably meeting someone else. “Kind of a date,” I say. “Oh!” they say. “Is this who I think it is?” “Yup!” I say. “Omigod finally!” they say. “I know,” I say. “I have to ring off. I’m not sure if I get notifications while I’m on the phone.” I check but you still haven’t texted. Sometimes I don’t get the texts that people send me, which is worrying; but you don’t use WhatsApp and email feels way too formal. I start reading a collection of poems that a poet friend of mine is going to put out and wants my thoughts on, but I can’t focus on the writing and I’m starting to feel angry about it. I spend five minutes drafting the message: “Hey. Just checking in. Sometimes I don’t get the texts that people send me. Do you want me to look up film times so that we can work out which one to aim for? No worries if not.” I spend another five minutes wondering whether to send it. I send it. Then I wish I hadn’t written No worries if not. I hate that phrase. And, anyway, I shouldn’t have written to you at all. This is not my first rodeo. I already know that we’re not going to the cinema today. I start to hope that you will text me even just to suggest we go for a drink so that I can tell you in person that I don’t feel as though this is going very well. But you don’t text me. Until I’m lying in bed much later and my phone buzzes and I’m immediately awake again, adrenaline pulsing through my system. It’s you. Your message reads: “Shit. Sorry. It’s been one of those days. Did you go to the cinema in the end?” I text back: “Haha. No. Just spent a quiet night in. I hope you’re doing OK.” After half an hour you write: “Not bad thanks. It’s just been one of those days. But we should totally catch a film together. Maybe when things calm down a bit? I’ll text you.” I text back: “Yeah. Cool. That sounds good. Let me know. Sleep well, yeah?” And then I wish I hadn’t sent that. Either way, I know that I’m not going to feel sleepy again for a couple of hours. I could have texted you later, in the middle of the night, as if I’d just woken up again to find your reply. And my text might have jerked you awake and you might have thought to yourself: “Huh. What are you doing still awake at this hour of the night?”
This web page and its contents © Charles Adrian Gillott October 2020