I should text her.
It was five minutes past eight. I scrolled through Hinge once again, making sure that I knew what she looked like. Weeks of conversation built up to this moment, finally meeting in person. I wasn’t nervous, it had just been a while. Sitting in the comfort of my car in a well-lit parking garage, I fought every urge to panic, the urge to say that I couldn’t meet tonight — work emergency, the urge to just leave the parking garage.
Deep breaths.
The possibility of her being a catfish entered my mind yet was quickly put to ease by a friend’s review. “She likes soup, she’s real.” Despite a plain appearance, her beauty shined through. She was the type of woman that would dazzle in a simple white shirt and blue jeans.
I should text her.
I surveyed the parking garage once again, hoping for a sign of life. Dozens of cars filled the second first floor yet no one inhabited them. The parking garage wasn’t my preferred location yet the lot next to the brewery was filled, a surprise given the forecast for rain later in the evening. Maybe it was a blessing to be in the parking garage this time around. I played with my hair, searching for the right balance of casual yet neat and was failing in my quest to do so.
Bing
Shit. She’s going to say she’s not available.
“Is she real?” It was the aforementioned friend.
I’m still waiting for her. Jury’s out.
“She’s real. Relax. It’s a Friday night.
He made a good point, putting me at ease just a smidge. I put away my phone, returning to look in the rear view mirror. Cars passed by in both directions — entering, exiting.
Maybe I’m not ready to date again. I need to meet someone in person first, then back to Hinge. I paused on that thought for a bit. When online dating worked for me, it worked well. A little too well. Yet here I was, back to square one.
Bing
I was prepared for the slap back to reality that a good friend can offer.
“Heyy! Sorry for the wait, I just parked!”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
No worries! Where did you park?
“Fourth floor of the parking garage. It is crazy packed!”
Sounds good! I’ll walk up.
I do not know why I offered to do that. Wouldn’t it make more sense to meet her on the second floor — the floor closer to the brewery? Or even better, meet her at the brewery. I blame the adrenaline. Exiting the car, I pulled my jeans down towards my ankle and began to search for a stairwell only to be met with yellow caution tape and a white piece of paper marked with thin black Sharpie: “Stairwell Closed. Maintenance.”
Now, I was left to climb the ramps. Maybe the ramp would be useful in alleviating some of the nerves. Maybe I could excuse my red face because of exercise. Or would it be a bad look to do so?
The LED lights overhead became my northern star, following them little by little as they flickered. Walking by each car, the space began to open. The higher we went, the less cars remained. Daylight was dwindling and so were my nerves. I was mindful of my pace — not a brisk walk but a walk with intent. Three more right turns and I would meet Heather.
One right turn. Another right turn. One final right turn. Here I was, on the fourth floor. The large sign on the concrete wall confirmed it. But there were no cars.
I’m here! But I don’t see any cars.
A few seconds pass. No dots.
“Weird because there are a ton of cars around me. I’m standing by my trunk.”
You’re in the parking garage by the brewery, right?
This time, a minute passes. It feels like an hour.
“Yep! Here’s the ticket and everything.” Not only did she provide a receipt, she provided a proof of life. This was huge news.
Interesting. Maybe we should just meet at the brewery.
No response. I paced back-and-forth, unsure of what was the right decision. One minute passes — nothing. Another passes — nothing.
Bing
“Is she real?”
Fuck off.
Bing
This time, she delivered a picture of the concrete wall, the sign, the same garbage can. And this time, I wasn’t sure of what to think. There were no words attached. I stared at the wall, completing this real-life version of a Highlights magazine. Does this line-up. Is this mark on the wall in hers as well?
I didn’t know what to do at this point and prepared to make my descent towards the first floor. But in the process, a car began to pull up. And for some reason, I couldn’t walk. I just looked as it slowed near a stop and turned into an open parking space to near perfection. The ramp towards the third floor was scarce and the parking selection simply could have been a coincidence. But it didn’t feel like it. I couldn’t stop looking.
A black Volkswagen Jetta had no business being this intimidating. And as the driver’s door opened, I didn’t want to know who was stepping out. My interpretation of a calm walk more than likely looked like that of a child searching for a bathroom.
“Hey,” the voice called.
I stopped. Why the fuck am I stopping. I stopped stopping. They began to follow.
One left turn. Another left turn. A third left turn. Somehow, a filled parking garage now felt so empty. I couldn’t look behind; I could barely keep my body upright. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. I was now jogging.
“Bro, what are you doing?” Another left turn. More left turns.
I’m on the ground floor now. No one is behind me. I’m at peace. I took the moment to catch my breath, unsure of what just took place. A random stranger exiting their car glanced in my direction but kept to themselves. I wanted to tell them that I was being followed. Then again, I couldn’t prove it.
Bing
“I’m here by the steps. Where are you??”
I’m on my way! Walking up as we speak.
I could see the entrance to the brewery and its well-lit steps. I could also see that there was no one there. I scratched my head.
Hey…I’m walking up and I don’t see you. Is this a bad joke?
No response. I surveyed the area once again, thinking maybe there were other steps. Technically, there were other steps, by the courtyard. But there was no way she would pick there to meet, right? Right?
The courtyard itself was constructed with mood lighting. The entrance to said courtyard was constructed with no lighting, with the intention of people not using it as an entrance. A gate on the left provided direction — if you were able to see it. And the sidewalk provided sprained ankles. Cautious with every step, I embarked on another journey, only to see a figure in the path.
Could I fight this person if I needed to? This was my decision making in life when entering poorly lit paths. I couldn’t tell if I could take them.
Ring. Ring.
I couldn’t see if the person was holding a phone to their head. Or if they were holding anything.
Hey! Is that you?
“Is who me?” I don’t see you.”
There was a pause in the conversation. Not a pause in my stride.
I’m walking up to the courtyard.
“What courtyard?”
I could not turn around quickly enough.
This is a really messed-up if you’re pranking me.
“Are you good?” She remarked.
Honestly, we may find out in a few seconds. Suddenly my feet were moving quicker. My heart rate increased with every step. And then I tripped. Oh for fucks sake.
I scrambled, searching for my phone to no avail. I couldn’t hear her anymore, I couldn’t see anything. Scrapes were immediately felt as well as a clear pain to my knee. At least my ankle feels fine. With every swipe of the floor came more discomfort to my hand, as if the ground was glass. There was no voice calling out for me, only cicadas mocking me. I kept swiping. And then I couldn’t. Literally. I squealed. Suddenly, I possessed the power of night vision and my hand was clearly underneath a foot. A large foot. It pressed. Why wasn’t it stopping?
Dude!
There was no noise. No breaths. No words. Just pain. And it shifted to my back. Another foot.
What the fuck man?! I screamed. This time, I could lift myself and felt the pressure finally shift off of me. This time, I could hear the breaths, the footsteps. The surprise in their voice.
“Sorry man, didn’t see you there.” Yet I still couldn’t see him. I never saw him. It also meant it wasn’t her. I brought myself up to a seated position, wondering what this night had become. No girl, no phone, just pain.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
And there it was, a foot away, masked by a poorly placed pole.
Hey.
“Listen, this is incredibly fucked up of you. I’m outside of ‘Box and Bow’ and—“
‘Box and Bow’? I thought we were meeting at Black Box.
Speechless.