July 12. 2000

If one more person asks me what's going on with Elijah, I am going to bite a chunk out of their neck. Here is what's going on with Elijah:

We went out on the Fourth of July. He called me that morning while I was in the shower and said "Hello. This is Elijah Grubble, not to be confused with Elijah Periwinkle or Elijah Pomo, which is not to imply that either of those Elijahs would be calling you." Elijah Periwinkle is the big boss at my job, and Elijah Pomo is the small boss. Shocker of shockers, those are not their real names, but neither is Elijah's real name Elijah, so it all fits together like one of those big wooden puzzles for two-year-olds that consist of five pieces.

I called him back, and we made plans to see a movie. He suggested Getting to Know You, which impressed me greatly because a) it had Heather Matarrazo (the chick from Welcome to the Dollhouse) and b) she wasn't getting naked. I am always impressed when guys pick movies which contain no naked chicks. Their stock goes way up in my market.

We met at the Film Forum and proceeded to wait for the wildly popular and understandably sought after ticket girl to finish her desperately important personal phone call and allow us to give her vast sums of money for the honor of being allowed to buy popcorn without the option of butter and room-temperature beverages without the option of Diet Pepsi. He paid for the tickets, I covered the snacks.

We made biting, sarcastic comments about random people sitting near us, and nudged each other during particularly nudgeworthy preview moments. During our feature presentation, we did not whisper, we did not brush arms, but we did laugh at all the same parts, and often we were the only ones who did.

We had gone to a matinee, so it was still early when the movie got out. We had discussed the possibility of dinner earlier that day, but nothing definite had been decided. I knew I wanted to see fireworks, but I didn't know if it would be too intimidatingly date-like for him. I didn't know if it would be too intimidatingly date-like for me.

But, it was early. So, we walked to Washington Square Park and he tested his blood sugar. He pricks his fingers five times a day and doesn't even flinch. We watched a woman twirl a pair of those dance ribbons around in the air, and I wondered exactly how marketable a skill that was. We saw a man with a severely swollen foot beg for change in between puffs on, I swear, a corncob pipe. I gave him a dollar. And then it was time for dinner.

He suggested Benny's Burritos. I found that wholly unromantic. Suddenly, for some reason, I wanted romance, damn it. So, Italian. Always, always, Italian. He got the salmon, I got the linguini. We got wine, I got a loopy. White wine = loopy. It just sorta happens. He made me laugh. I made him laugh. We laughed. He mentioned how he had never "dated" someone he'd worked with before. I told him we weren't "dating." He said, "We're not?" I said, "No." I smiled. He smiled. We split the check. It was almost time for fireworks.

And so, fireworks. We walked down the Hudson, not holding hands, not purposefully bumping into each other. He bought a $2.00 Diet Pepsi from a street vendor. We pushed kids off little silver scooters and made them cry. No, we didn't. But we wanted to.

He stood a little bit behind me, to my left, when the explosions started. I stood with my arms crossed across my chest, eyes wide, head tilted up. I felt like a little kid. That's what fireworks do to me. I wished I was on a date so I could lean back into Elijah's chest. But I wasn't. I wasn't on a date.

Half an hour later, we were walking the few blocks to my apartment. It was slow-going, as we were being herded like cattle through the west side streets, but that was okay, because it gave us more time to talk. When we got to my door, I told him I had a really nice time. He said he did, too. Then…then…he leaned forward and kissed me. On the cheek, he kissed me. See you tomorrow, I said. Tomorrow, he said.

He turned to walk away, and I turned to go inside. Then I stopped, and looked back at him. He had stopped, and was looking back at me. And that is when I knew. I had just had a date.

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