This short story is brought to you by the author of Maggie's Milkman and Extraordinary Rendition.
A date, a bloody date, Rodney couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t
been on a date for about 6 months and that one had been an utter disaster, but
this one, well this one just might be the real deal. He’d met her in the
supermarket, he’d been looking suspiciously at a packet of something green
wondering what it was when she’d smiled at him and told him it was okra. He
didn’t really want it but didn’t feel he could put it back now. Their paths had crossed again in the pasta
aisle before she’d queued behind him at the checkout; either it was a crazy
coincidence or she was playing easy to get. Rodney took a deep breath and asked
her what he should do with the okra.
‘I might know what it is,’ she said ‘but I’ve no idea how to
cook it,’ she smiled From those humble beginnings, he’d managed to
get her phone number, managed to send a text, get a reply and arrange a time
and place; incredible - it never happened to him.
As he got ready he worried about what he would talk about,
what if the conversation dried up? What if he couldn’t think of anything to
say? He wasn’t very good at this game and didn’t even really like playing it,
but okra woman was worth it. Ah! he remembered the okra, he could tell her
about the curry he’d made; it was terrible but at least it was something to
talk about.
He ironed his shirt carefully and pulled it on, it was hot
out, nudging 30, should he wear shorts or jeans? What would shorts say about
him? But jeans on a day like this - far too hot. He needed to be relaxed, be
himself, he pulled on his shorts, slipped his trainers on and headed for the
door.
Boy it was hot, the bus had no air and the passengers smelt
like they hadn’t washed for a week. Rodney could feel the sweat run down his
back and on the back of his knees, he felt his face sting where sweat seeped
into the pores that were opened by shaving. He daren’t look down, there was no
doubt sweat patches on his shirt, all that effort to look his best all undone
in seconds by the wicked witch of the weather. How could he meet the lovely okra
woman looking like a dishevelled stick of celery? He had half a mind to go
home, but he’d come this far, he may as well go through with it, get it over
and done with, mark it off as an experience and remember to only date people in
autumn and winter in future.
He entered the pub and wished he hadn’t. Okra woman was just
ordering a G and T at the bar and she looked stunning, like she had just climbed
down from a movie screen. There was not a hair out of place or a crease in her
clothes. How could she look so perfect when Rodney had sweat running down his
face and his preciously ironed shirt looked like it had just been pulled out of
a case that had spent half a year in lost and found? This was going to be a
disaster.
Okra woman smiled and offered him a drink, he asked for a
cider. They sat and chatted. Rodney was just waiting for the ‘get out call,’
but none came. He was sure she was going to come up with some excuse somewhere
along the line but no, when closing time came she was still there smiling at
his stories and laughing at his jokes.
‘Are you going to walk me home?’ she said. Rodney nodded
still thinking that she was just indulging him. They must have looked an odd
couple, beauty and the beast. The meandered slowly to a part of town he didn’t
know. It was pleasant now, not too hot, not too cold, there was a slight breeze
that allowed Rodney to breathe in okra woman’s perfect smell, he wondered what
strange odours were emanating from his body for her nostrils’ delight. He was
hoping there would be a taxi somewhere for him so he could get home after the
inevitable blow out at the door step, why was she prolonging the agony.
‘It’s been fun,’ she said.
Here it comes, thought Rodney. What would it be, the vague we should do it again sometime, or see you around, or let’s be friends?
‘You coming in?’ Okra woman said with a smile. They weren’t
the words Rodney had been expecting to hear but they were welcome nonetheless.
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