She had the map he’d left her, figured how to use it. He’d marked on the map where she should stop for gas. No cameras. Pay cash.
But slowly, she learned to let the quiet wrap around her. Finally, the nervous chatter of her mind quieted, as well.
She hadn’t seen another car for hours. Above there were only stars and stars and stars, until the light of the rising sun brightened the sky.
She didn’t know the place she was going. Or how long she would be there. But she knew that for the first time in her life, she could taste freedom.
one
Now
Modern dating. Let’s be honest. It sucks.
Is there anything more awkward, more nervous-making than waiting for a person you’ve only seen online to show up in the flesh?
This was a mistake. The East Village bar I’m in is crowded and overwarm with too many bodies, manic with too many television screens, the din of voices, somewhere music trying in vain to be heard over the noise.
I’m early, which has me feeling awkward and waiting on something I’m not sure I wanted in the first place. I started off standing by the door, half-planning to leave, then finally made my way into the fray and slipped into an open place at the bar.
And here I sit on an uncomfortable stool. Waiting.
I should go.
My order of a seltzer water has earned me the indifference of the pretty, tattooed bartender with the hot pink hair and magnetic eyelashes, and she hasn’t been back since briskly placing the tumbler in front of me. She has a point. There’s no reason to come to a place like this—a hipster watering hole at happy hour—unless you’ve come to have a drink. One certainly doesn’t come for the atmosphere. But it’s important to keep a clear head.
I’ve never been here before. My best friend Jax suggested it, an old haunt of hers. Crowded, she said, anonymous.
Safer to meet a stranger in a crowd, right?
Safer not to meet a stranger at all? had been my reply.
A worried frown. And then what? Never meet anyone?
Would that be so bad? Solitude. It’s not the worst thing in life.
It was Jax’s idea. The whole online dating thing.
Robin, my childhood friend, who is basically Jax’s opposite, was against it. Love, she said, is not an algorithm.
Truth.
Anyway, who’s looking for love?
Only everyone, Robin would surely say.
I take a sip of my icy sparkling water and glance at the door. A roar of laughter goes up from the big group at the table in the back. I keep my eyes on them for a moment, watching. Three women, four men, young, well-heeled, coiffed and polished—coworkers maybe? Relaxed, easy, comfortable. The opposite of how I feel. I notice that my shoulders are hiked up. I force myself to relax, breathe.
The man beside me is uncomfortably close, his shoulder nudging up against mine twice, now three times. Is he doing it on purpose? I turn to see. He’s bulky, balding, a sheen of sweat on his brow. No. He’s not even aware of me. He’s on his phone, scrolling through pictures of women.
It’s that other app, Firestarter, the one just for hookups. It tells you who is in your vicinity, looking for a brief, no strings connection. There are people all around him, an attractive brunette alone at the end of the bar, also staring at her phone, a group of young girls—students judging from the New School sweatshirt and the pitcher of beer—at a high top right behind him. He’s on his second scotch at least, I determine by the empty glass next to his full one. But he just keeps scrolling through the images on his phone, looking and looking.
Strange. The world has become a very strange place.
Venturing another glance at the door, I watch a group of three young men walk in, floppy hair and skinny jeans, unshaven, one of them sporting that giant beard some guys seem to favor these days. It’s like he has a bush on his face. But there’s something virile about it, too, isn’t there? Very Game of Thrones.
This will be my third meeting from the dating app Torch, which according to Jax is the only way that people meet these days. She set up my profile, helped me figure out how to scroll through the guys who had posted their photos. Jax likes them buff and dumb; me, I’m partial to geeks. Bookish men in glasses, people who read and think, who hike, meditate.
Needless to say that’s the minority on Torch.
My first date was with Drew, an actuary and a Russian literature enthusiast. We met for sushi, got a little drunk on sake, and I spent the night at his place, a Lower East Side walk-up. I snuck out in the morning while he snored loudly.
As far as Jax was concerned, this was a successful outing. But it left me feeling a little hollow. Not sure if I’d been used, or done the using. He didn’t call, and, the sad thing was, I didn’t even want him to.