someone who inspires nostalgia?

my mom's side of the family. top left: my gram, my gramps, my aunt michele. bottom left: uncle mark, my mom, uncle bruce. corn fields, old cars and dresses made from scratch.

Yesterday I did. At a coffee shop, Grey Dog, in the West Village. It was a first date (met online). Embarrassing, yet not so very vogue. In this city lined with loneliness, it is most necessary, the willingness to try.

Hello, all-American boy, sitting at the table with your yellow-covered book. I see you in your collared shirt. You look like you might play golf. You look like you could throw a football. You look like you'd be great in bed.

'Can I give you a hug,' I said, craving human contact. 'I am drinking a cappuccino,' he said. He laughed a lot. I smiled a lot. I wanted to be charming. I wanted to be charming even in the silence. I like the silent parts the best. To tell him about my past, that was easy. High school highs and lows, senior superlatives, first pets, and movies with my mom. Avoiding the present. The future undefined.

Two hours full. Looking at the clock only once. Pictures of his golden retrievers. I do not volunteer. 'I am too self-serving,' I said, too self-absorbed. I am not the best person I know. But I'll get you some water. So much to drink, and me, afraid to use the bathroom.

left: Grandma and Grandpa Schmidt; right: Chick Randall and girl