A Really Good Date

1981 Taradarma/black & white infrared film

Last night was the opening for a photography exhibit at the gallery where I am a member.  It was the annual Members Show, where any member could submit one photo to be included.  I let my dad pick this picture, which is one of his favorites of mine.  He likes it because it's a photo of him and my sister walking on the beach -- but also because it is mysterious and tells what could be a rather dark story.  Who are the people walking on the sand?  Why is that man following her?

The show was well attended and the range of work was impressive.  I went with L. and she is well-versed in the visual arts and photography in particular.  She asked me what were my favorite prints, and then why.  It's been a long while since I've critiqued beyond saying, "Because I like it."  It was a good exercise for me, answering L.'s questions.  And then I asked the same of her, and she showed me and talked about the work.

Later we had tapas at a restaurant just down the block from the gallery.  I have never had tapas before, if you can believe it.  I didn't know what I was doing -- the menu and the wine and the manner of presentation all foreign to me.  I muddled through and ordered in my very flat Spanish accent, and when the waitress read back our order, L. and I looked at each other and she said, "Well, she certainly pronounced things much differently."  Well, yes, with flare and certain knowledge.

Later, at her house, we sat on the patio drinking port and discussed a wide range of topics.  One of the more in-depth topics was racism in this country, and our perspective (or lack thereof) as white people.  It feels extremely awkward for me, at times, to talk about racism because what the heck do I know?  I can only speak of it with the awareness of an outsider.  Words get so in the way, and misinterpretations are easy - generalizations will do that.  So I got specific and talked about my report on Frederick Douglass when I was in 5th grade; how I admired him and his accomplishments.  I recalled what an eye-opener The Autobiography of Malcolm X was to me in my teens.  I told her he was my hero.  She she said he was also her hero.  Ah, accord. 

Late at night, curled up next to her with the cool Delta breeze blowing the curtains, I reflected on how extraordinary she is: a thoughtful, wickedly smart introvert with a healthy balanced love of conversation and friends.

In the morning, she told me she had so much fun last night.  She said, "You are a really good date!" A high compliment, especially since I know I am much more than just a date for her.

Do you remember a particularly good 'date'?  What made it so special?  How long has it been since you've been on a date?   I suggest you go on one ASAP.  And make it good.