PITFALL FICTION
The Date
How to lose a guy with one color
It was a blind date. Both Anya and Mika were set up by their friends. The instructions were simple: “Go as you are, keep expectations low, try and enjoy each other’s company.” Twenty-eight months of COVID lockdown had turned into self-exile. Since they both work from home, socializing was often avoided. Their friends thought this intervention would be healthy to get them out of their sweatpants, out on the streets, and resume human contact.
The restaurant was selected by their friends. It was a quaint Italian restaurant by the corner of Maine and Forkland Drive. A cozy establishment with the classic red gingham tablecloth and a small vase with a stalk of real flowers in the center. The big burly chef named Nino has enough tattoos on himself to make you feel safe when he’s in his kitchen. He’s been there for three decades adhering to his great grandmother’s recipes.
It doesn’t take a genius to decide what best to wear if you’re going out for a decent dinner at a restaurant like Nino’s. Dinner was set at 7pm and the rest was up to luck, effort, and intention.
Mika arrived first. He was ten minutes early. Anya arrived ten minutes after 7pm. Good thing Mika was a patient man. He didn’t realize it was past 7.
They both looked at each other, shook hands and smiled. It was one of those nervous smiles where you know you’re putting up a decent front to pull the lever and get the motion kicked in.
The server pulled Anya’s chair for her to sit and proceeded to ask them if they’d like to warm up with vino. The server, Emilio, is no stranger to this mating ritual. He has seen it all, from setups, proposals, breakups, to being stood up. It’s all part of Life’s entertainment, he says to Nino, who is his uncle.
Mika started off by complimenting Anya’s dress. It was a lovely brown color, or something like that. “It compliments your skin tone.” It was a good effort on his part after twenty-eight months of isolation.
Anya blushed and replied, “Thank you. It’s caramel. I’ve not worn it in a while. I’m glad I can still fit into this old thing.”
“Oh I wouldn’t be able to tell it’s old. It looks new. A good fit.”
“You look dashing in your teal shirt.” Anya tries to return the favor.
“Teal? Oh you mean blue?”
“Teal is blue. A shade of blue,” replied Anya.
“Ah, thanks. That’s a new word for me.”
A few moments of silence passed by before they were interrupted by Emilio and their wine. It was a house wine poured from a carafe. Emilio then proceeded to pour a dash of balsamic vinegar onto a small serving plate followed by a generous pour of extra virgin olive oil. “Enjoy your complimentary bread,” he smiled at the silent couple.
They hesitated not knowing what to do. It became apparent that both Mika and Anya don’t dine out very often.
Mika looked at the other patrons and copied what he saw. He picked up a slice of focaccia bread and dipped a tip into the balsamic oil combo. Anya followed suit.
Anya took a sip of wine from her goblet and swallowed it with the bread that was in her mouth. She didn’t quite know what to make of the awkward silence. She felt the air conditioning against her skin and took out a long-sleeved knitted cardigan from her tote bag.
“That’s a lovely sweater you’ve got there.” Mika tried to pierce through the silence.
“Thank you. It’s a cardigan.”
“Let me guess the color. Emerald green.” Mika was quite proud of his answer.
“It’s Bottega green.” replied Anya.
What in actual fuck is Bottega? Mika thought to himself. Never in a million years would he have figured THAT out.
Thankfully Emilio came to the rescue and placed a large pizza on the table. “Compliments from Chef Nino.”
Mika and Anya looked stunned for a few seconds. They looked at each other.
Emilio sensed the confusion. “This one is on the house. Enjoy your pizza while you decide on what to order. You know, to get the party started.” And with that, Emilio walked off.
Mika and Anya took a piece at the same time and placed it on their plates. Anya picked up her fork and knife and started to cut her slice. She picked a bite size with her fork and placed it in her mouth. Mika, using his fingers, rolled the slice from the thin end to the thick crust and ate it like a sausage.
“So what color is that lady’s dress over at that table? I say it’s purple.” Mika asked Anya playfully.
“That’s sangria.” Anya replied without flinching.
“And that man’s shirt over there?” Mika signaled with his eyes while rolling another slice like a blunt. “I say pinky orange.”
“That would be salmon.” Anya replied flatly.
“That lady’s blouse over there?”
“Pink orange.”
“Wait a minute, hold on. They look exactly the same! That was a trick question.” Mika stopped chewing. He took a big gulp of his wine. “I don’t get it. How can you tell the difference?”
Anya looked at the lady’s direction and discreetly pointed and replied, “It’s a bit more pinky orangey with that one. The other one’s more pink towards salmon.”
Mika did not get all that in. He felt like he was scratching his brain with a comb. It didn’t make sense at all. He couldn’t help but blurt out, “Is that how women see things?”
“What do you mean?” Anya asked while slicing her second slice of pizza and forking it into her mouth the size of a crouton.
“I’m seeing the same things but we’re describing them differently.” Mika sounded a bit more alive than at 7pm.
“I don’t get what you mean by differently because to me it’s been what they are from the beginning.” She took another light sip of wine.
“It’s like I see it for what I think it is, and I’m not entirely wrong, I think, but the moment you tell me the answer, it’s like a totally different thing!” Not sure if it was the vino but Mika sounded more excited. Mika placed both his hands on his head, flabbergasted.
“Didn’t you eat with your hands?” Anya asked nonchalantly.
“Yeah, why?”
“You’ve got them on your head now.”
“Oh yeah, I was getting ahead of myself. Sorry. I find this fascinating. Maybe that’s not the word.” He took a long gulp of wine. “That’s it. The word I’m looking for is terrifying, with a capital T.”
“Oh? Why is that?” Anya took her third slice. Mika rolled his fifth.
“Imagine, we’ll be constantly thinking about the same things but speaking two different languages. Don’t you find that a terrifying prospect?”
“Are you worried about being wrong?” Anya quizzed back.
“No, that’s not it at all. How can one be wrong if we’re not even speaking the same language? I would admit to being wrong if I know for a fact that it’s apples to oranges. But salmon and pink orange belong to the same palette called orange as a color, does it not?” Mika sounded exasperated.
“Yes. It’s orange but not quite. There’s a spectrum of orange colors.” Anya replied calmly.
“Like the expression same same but different.”
“I guess so.” Anya was unfazed. She even broke into a yawn. “Oh pardon me. I think it’s the wine.”
“Which in itself is already quite confusing, if you ask me.” Mika continued.
“What’s that? The yawn?”
“No, the color spectrum.”
“Oh, we’re still talking about that?” Anya looked at her watch.
“I think this is going to be a tough one Anya.” Mika sounded serious all of a sudden.
“What do you mean?” Anya’s focus was centered again.
“A relationship. You and me. I mean, you look lovely, but I feel like I would be walking on eggshells around you and being corrected all the time.”
“I see.”
Mika and Anya quietly finished their pizza and wine without ordering anything else, and decided to call it a night.
On the way home, Anya gets a call from her gal pal who called to ask about the date.
“So? How did it go?”
“It was alright, until it wasn’t.”
Anya explained about the conversation that took place.
Her friend interrupted. “Wait a second. What color shirt was he wearing?“
“Teal.”
“That’s not the color I told him to wear. Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. We even discussed the color of his shirt.”
“I mean, your date was supposed to wear a ginger color shirt. I picked that color because I know it’s your favorite color.”
“My date wore teal. The only other guy in the restaurant seated alone wore a salmon colored shirt.”
“He asked to wear orange but I said to be specific either ginger, clementine or lava. I mean that ought to narrow things down. They’re still orange but not quite. You get what I mean?”
“Yeah I get precisely what you mean. I mean, it isn’t rocket science.”
