Getting started.
I’ve always found Tinder and Bumble, and anything that lets me swipe aimlessly, entertaining. More than entertaining, addicting.
I’m sitting in my car, parked, overlooking a lake 20 minutes away from my house. That’s where we’re beginning this story, it’s not the beginning or the end, it’s somewhere in the middle, and we’re going to jump around a lot but this isn’t a novel. It’s my story and it’s messy, so you get to be confused and lost with me.
I’m sitting in my car, listening to a train behind me and the waves in front of me. In the distance I can see lights from houses whose residents are still awake and moving about, they’re slowly turning off one by one, I’m assuming as families are getting ready for bed.
Romantic, calming setting, right? Now pair it with the four beers I’ve had, the work clothes I’m still wearing, the pitch blackness around me and the turning in my stomach as I wait for the guy I’ve been talking to on Tinder to meet me. I wouldn’t have agreed if I knew it would be this murder-y and not romantic at all.
Not that I expect Tinder meetings to be romantic anymore.
He arrives, gives me a kiss on the cheek and we walk to a bench overlooking the water. He points at a light on the other side and tells me it used to be a holding for murderers and rapists who were in transition from jail and psych units. Awesome. Murder-y moment #2, score.
He’s nice, calls me beautiful. His arms are as big as truck tires and he’s probably also as smart as one. I make out with him for 15 minutes before leaving.
He texts me the next day and I let it “naturally fizzle out” after he told me he was in a bowling league with his dad and that’s his favorite part of the week.