My Dream Date Dress Up For Our First Date
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I am on a date with my boyfriend, the handsome and mysterious Dr. John Green. He is wearing an open-collared white dress shirt that he has rolled up at the sleeves to show off his arms, and black leather pants.
I am wearing a red tube top, high heels, a short skirt, and my favorite pair of blue jeans. We are going out for dinner tonight in our neighborhood restaurant called “The Old Country Grill”. It’s supposed to be one of those old-fashioned family-run restaurants where they have great food and friendly service.
The decor looks like something straight from the 1950s, complete with an antique cash register by the door, old wooden chairs, and a menu written out by hand on heavy butcher paper. They even give you a little cloth bag when you order so you can carry your leftovers home in it.
It reminds me of the first time I went there when we were dating about two years ago. We ordered the steak fries special and split the garlic mashed potatoes because neither one of us could afford anything else since we had just started college, but boy did it taste good! We’re both still living at home for now though, so maybe this year will be different?
I walk into the restaurant and take a seat in the booth across from him, smiling as he stands up and walks over to me to give me a hug and a peck on the cheek. We sit down together and the waitress comes over to take our drink orders.
She tells me that the drinks are extra expensive since they make them fresh each day and I laugh, saying she’ll just have to charge him double then, which he does agree upon after hearing her explanation.
When our drinks arrive, we both raise a toast to one another before sipping slowly through the straws. We smile at each other while looking into one another’s eyes until finally, I say “So what would you like to do afterward?” and he says “Well, we could go back to your place and hang out there if you want…”
“Nah,” I reply quickly. “We should go somewhere new tonight.” Then I lean closer and whisper: “I got this idea that I want to try out sometime recently…” His eyes light up and his cheeks flush red as mine did when I said “some time recently”, but he doesn’t know why.
“What is it?” he asks curiously, leaning back in his chair to look directly at me.
“Let’s ditch our clothes and see how long we can hold out in public,” I giggle playfully and feel myself blush deeper. I’m sure he can hear the excitement in my voice; it’s obvious I want this. So we finish off our drinks and leave the restaurant before any of the staff sees us, and get into our car to drive around town.
He turns on some music and we sing along together. After driving for a while, we park by the waterfront so we can watch the sunset over Lake Merritt, holding hands. The setting sun casts a pinkish-yellow glow over everything, but the cool breeze keeps us both shivering despite the warmth of the summer night. He looks down at me, smiling.
“You ready?” he asks me quietly. I nod, taking a deep breath. We get out of the car, closing the door behind us so no one outside knows we’ve arrived. He puts his arm around my waist and we walk down to the shore of Lake Merritt where it meets the Bay.
I notice how smooth his skin feels under his fingertips. There is a pier stretching out from the dock, but the railing is too high for us to climb onto, so instead, we go down to the sand, which isn’t much softer than the concrete it’s made of.
We stop at the water’s edge, close enough to feel the gentle waves lapping against our feet. We stand in silence for a moment until suddenly I hear a rustle from behind us, and turn to see a large shadow moving past the wall of the pier towards us. When it gets closer I recognize it as a huge brown bear, which is only a few meters away, sniffing at our legs and snorting softly.
“Oh no,” I say, “we forgot to lock the car!”
I grab John’s hand and pull him back toward the shore, walking backward until we’re standing up above the high tide line. The bear follows closely as we hurry back to the sand. When we reach dry land, we look back to find the bear gone.
“Where did he go?” I ask him. “Maybe it was just passing by,” he replies, but I’m not satisfied with this answer. For the next hour, we walk around Lake Merritt until we happen upon another pier, this one tall and narrow rather than broad. I
t extends out into the lake from a small landing on the shore and is supported by many sturdy steel pillars that look like they could support the weight of a ship. We decide to explore this pier for a bit more and walk onto it. The railing is higher here, so I’m able to stand comfortably.
The metal supports are covered in thick green moss that looks like it’s been growing there for decades. It looks as though it would be impossible to climb over even for a human, and I’m reminded of the time we went hiking together in the mountains.
While standing there, John looks at me and smiles. “Are you nervous about trying out my idea yet?”
“Yes,” I tell him honestly. I’m sure he saw me squirming with apprehension earlier.
“Don’t worry,” he reassures me, “I thought you might be when I first heard it. I’m still a little scared myself.”
“Why?” I ask with surprise.
“Because this is so far outside your comfort zone, especially since we’d both have to be naked… I mean completely nude.”
“Okay,” I say, “so let’s get rid of all these clothes then!” I gesture down at our jeans, sneakers, T-shirts, and jackets. He grins at me and reaches into his pocket to retrieve the box he bought in Berkeley, which I remember being very small but heavy.
It contains two plastic bags with rubber bands that snap shut to keep them closed; inside each bag, he has folded up a pair of black boxers in his size. I smile and take the bag from him, opening the lid to find them neatly folded. I pick out a pair for myself and put them on, feeling a little strange that he’s watching me.
But when I glance back up he’s looking straight ahead at the lake, a slight frown between his brows. As I slide the other bag over my head, I hear the sound of a distant motorboat approaching, but I don’t pay it any attention until suddenly it comes into view and pulls up alongside the pier.
Two men dressed in dark suits step out and walk quickly down to the end of the dock towards us. They stop a few meters short and stand silently looking at us for a moment before speaking up.
“Hello gentlemen, sorry if we interrupted you,” one says.
“No problem,” John replies casually, “we were just leaving anyway.”
“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourselves while you were here,” the man continues, “but you need to leave now.” His partner hands him an envelope which he stuffs into a briefcase that he then slings over his shoulder. Then they turn and walk back into their boat.
“What was that all about?” John asks, looking at me curiously.
“They seem really angry,” I reply, turning to see what they left behind.
When I bend over to check, there is nothing there except some trash lying at the base of the railing – cans, bottle caps, and plastic wrappers. But the ground is slippery from the seaweed and dead grass, and when I stand back up again, a wave pushes me off balance and I stumble to the side.
In the process, my shoe slips through a crack in the railing and falls into the water below. Before I can reach for it, my foot slips through the hole too, so instead, I lean forward as far as possible and stretch my arm across the railing for purchase.
The cold lake water laps against the bottom of my bare foot, and I feel its chill penetrate into my skin. But the real pain comes from holding my hand in front of the sun for so long without shade.
As I try to steady myself, I see a shadow cast over me. I turn my head to find myself staring up into a pair of eyes the color of old copper. The next thing I know, a hand grabs hold of mine and pulls hard on it, forcing me back towards the pier.
The water splashes up around my feet and I’m able to grab onto the railing again. My heart pounds as I watch John struggle to pull himself ashore with a big splash. When he’s finally safe, I help him remove his shoes and socks, then we run back down the pier towards my car parked a short distance away. As soon as we’re seated in it, he turns to me with wide eyes.
“You okay?” he asks, concerned.
“Yeah,” I answer, “just got a little wet.” I rub at the top of my foot as we drive off in the direction of his dorm room. “But how did you do that? Did you jump in the water?”
He nods. “That’s right. I slipped my shoe through the railing, but then I couldn’t get my hand out. So I jumped in and swam out after it, and then climbed out on the far side where I could climb up and grab it again.”
I stare at him, not believing what he just told me. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” He looks at me with a wry grin on his face. “So you should be careful about what you step on when you’re barefoot out here.”
***
The drive to the school takes almost forty minutes because it’s on the outskirts of town and there are no convenient freeway exits near campus. I’d never been to Berkeley before today, so when we arrive, I pull the car up alongside the curb in front of the main administration building and kill the engine.
As we sit there and look up at the towering structure, I remember something: a girl who lives in my dorm had mentioned seeing an unusual-looking tree along this street. She said it was tall and thin like a telephone pole, and she described its branches as resembling tentacles stretching all the way up into the sky.
I’ve only ever seen one tree in my life before this, but I can recognize another one when I see it. The tree that came to mind is a redwood – those huge trees native to California and Oregon. Now that I think of it, maybe it wasn’t her idea of a tree that looked like a tentacle after all, but rather a telephone pole or something similar.
There are many of them around the campus area, so if they have that kind of shape…
John and I decide to split up at the entrance of the building. He goes inside first while I go to a small café located beside the building for lunch. The menu is simple, featuring burgers and salads. It seems pretty expensive too, and I don’t want to waste money unnecessarily so I order a tuna salad sandwich and coffee. Once I finish paying, I walk over to where John sits at a table outside.
“Hey,” he says, smiling. “How about lunch?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine, thanks – we’ll meet you inside.” I look around to make sure no one is listening. “Did you find the tree?”
He shakes his head. “Nope, but we might not have time to do that anyway since our class starts in ten minutes.”
“What do you mean? How come?”
“Because we forgot to register for the course yesterday.”
I frown. “Wait, so now we’re going to be late? What are you talking about?”
He shrugs. “We went to the office to ask about registering, but we were turned away. They wouldn’t let us until after orientation was over.” He leans back in his chair. “Apparently they need more than half of the students to register for a certain course before it can actually take place.”
My mouth drops open, and my stomach begins to ache. “Why didn’t you tell me that? We should’ve gone back last night instead of coming to breakfast with you. Then we would’ve known that we needed to hurry!”
“Well, we didn’t really know it yet.” He shrugs again. “Besides, you’re already here and I don’t want to miss out on any of the fun. But we do need to go in and talk to someone before we forget what happened.”
After a moment of consideration, I agree to stay and wait for him to return. A young woman approaches and I wave her down and ask her whether she knows where the registrar’s office is. Her name is Rachel, and she tells me that it’s right across the street from here.
Since this café is closed for the day, I follow her directions and make my way through campus grounds to the other side. When I finally find the administration building, I stop by a bench outside to rest for a moment.
This isn’t exactly the most convenient location to use as a meeting place, and I wonder if John will be able to figure out where I am if something goes wrong. After all, even though we’ve spoken a lot on the phone, I still don’t know him very well – he could be anyone. Or perhaps he’s one of those people who’s never home and always somewhere else.
While I’m sitting there, I notice a young boy walking past the bench. He’s dressed in baggy trousers and a black t-shirt. His hair has been dyed a strange shade of green. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. He walks past without stopping as if he’s invisible.
I sit there in silence, feeling his presence lingering behind me on the wind, then turn back to watch the buildings pass by, wondering why I feel so tense. The wind dies down completely once he’s far enough away, and I start to relax a little. I guess it’s just his appearance that puts me off.
Once I get up, I take another look around and head inside the administrative building. The inside is much larger than I expected it to be. The floor is covered with polished marble tiles and there are a variety of tables set out on the wide space between each row of offices.
Some people are scattered among them, speaking quietly. There seem to be several departments, and I begin to wonder which one we’re supposed to talk to. I approach an older man with graying hair and a dark beard. “Excuse me,” I say to him. “I’m looking for the registrar.”
“You’re lucky – she’s available today. Please follow me.” He points me towards a door in the middle of the room, leading to another hallway.
Rachel is waiting for me, so I follow her inside a large office, where a young woman sits at her desk reading a book. She smiles when she sees me. “Hello. You must be new to the university?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Are you the registrar?”
The woman nods and gets up, holding her hand out toward me. “Come in and sit down.”
She motions for me to join her at a long wooden table. “Have a seat, please. Would you mind if I asked you your name?”
“No, not at all,” I reply. “Is John here too?”
Her expression turns sour. “John doesn’t come here.”
I blink twice. “Oh.”
“What brings you here?” Her tone sounds annoyed as if she thinks I’m wasting her time.
“I was hoping to sign up for one of these courses,” I say slowly. “But I didn’t think we had enough students enrolled to run it, and so I came here to ask whether we’d have enough people for the class.”
She sighs loudly and looks at me as if she can see straight through me. “We won’t have enough for that course either.”
“Really? Why not?”
“There are only thirty-three signed up for that class,” she says. “And there are four hundred students here. We need at least fifty to meet the minimum requirement of ten for each class.”
I stare at her blankly. It seemed like such a popular subject.
“Do you want to try one of the other classes?” She shakes her head sadly as if she’s disappointed by my lack of imagination. “Or would you prefer to attend this one anyway, even though it means we’ll only teach half of the curriculum?”
“Of course not! I want to take that one – it sounded wonderful!”
“That’s why there aren’t many people signing up,” she replies sharply as if trying to shut me up. “It’s just too difficult.”
“Why?” I insist. “I thought people liked studying literature.”
“Because we’re talking about poetry!” She slams her hand against the table, making me jump and almost spill some coffee. “Look,” she continues, leaning across the table towards me, “we don’t have any choice but to teach you something.
But we can offer you a special deal: one class per semester; no exams; three years’ worth of credits – and a discount on future semesters. What do you say?”
“Fine,” I answer quickly. I hate to admit defeat. “I accept.”
She beams at me as if I’ve given her the best news ever. “Thank you very much. Now let’s talk money.” She pulls a form from the shelf beside her desk and hands it to me.
I sit there dumbfounded, reading the fine print. “One hundred dollars?” I ask.
“That includes everything, even lunch,” she says. “Please sign here.”
After paying her, I return to Rachel’s office with my receipt clutched tightly in my hand.
“Well done,” she tells me. “We’ll need to get you a student card and give you our standard lecture schedule, but that’s not a problem. Just wait until next semester to enroll in anything.”
“Thanks.” I feel a bit deflated now. I’d been so excited to hear I could study with others who wanted to read poetry. At the same time, I also felt like I’d failed my parents since they were counting on me to bring home a better education than this.
Rachel asks me for my credit card number and then types the information into her computer. Then we go back outside into the sunshine and walk along a path between the university buildings and onto the quadrangle lawn. “Now tell me what you’ve got planned for today,” she suggests. “I haven’t seen you around campus before.”
I smile nervously. “Actually, I’ve never attended college in my life.”
“Oh! You poor thing. Where did you come from? Was it hard getting over here?”
“My parents live in America,” I explain. “But my father passed away recently, and so we decided to sell their house there. They left all the furnishings behind.”
Rachel nods sympathetically. “So, you’re going to be living in our dormitory halls?”
“No,” I reply. “This is just temporary housing. I’ve already rented a place in the city.”
“What about food?”
“I’ll be buying most things locally, or taking them from my family’s pantry.”
“Good thinking. And I know someone who might help you find a part-time job – if that’s something you’d be interested in.”
“A job?” I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of work will it involve?”
“The best kind! Working with people, and learning from them. Come on.” She grabs my hand and marches ahead down the street toward a shopping mall.
The End