First Artist Date

I wanted it to be a proper date-like date. I dressed as I would have been dressed on a real date. It is a real date! – Yes, well then on a date with another person. I put some light make up on and I decided that I looked good. Amazing indeed. Free, feminine, intellectual. Miss May as “Eagle” said.

I know having a date in Starbucks might smell a bit cheap although “three pounds for a coffee??” I felt like having a toffee nut latte with cream on the top. Latter was a bit stupid from me because by the time I found a seat it just disappeared.. Doesn’t matter with my new membership card it was free anyway.

So the place is pretty crowded. Mostly tourists I guess. I’m sitting at the corner of the ground or rather underground floor. The dark brown walls give a warm welcoming feeling. It is like November in here. November – my lover. So my Artist decided we are in the right place.

I can hardly hear the loud chatter of these Asians behind me. Florence and the Machine is banging in my ears. No, wait, now that I’m listening I can here their weird language. I increase the volume..

The toffee nut latte is pretty nice. It is sweet enough so I don’t need to put sugar in it and not too hot so I can drink it straight away. My Artist says now I can do whatever I like. If I wanted to I could jump up on the table and sing and dance together with Florence. If I wanted to I could go to those guys and ask if they are on a date too. But I don’t think they are anyway. They don’t seem to be gay at all.

If I wanted to I could ask that girl at the next table if she wasn’t cold. Okay today it is quite warm.. fifteen degrees, but mini skirt without tights.. well.. brave choice.

I was hoping that I will have internet in here. In case we cannot continue our clever conversation. But there is none so I really have to push myself to impress my Artist. I don’t want her to get bored. If I can see that she is bored then I feel bad. Discouraged. I don’t like to feel discouraged. Luckily she wants to impress me as well. It is much easier this way. She is quite entertaining. She says that I need to believe in myself – in her if you like – to not to lose each other. If we stay together we can be strong. Very strong. Now, I’m in a good mood. I’m happy so I’m willing to believe her.

Next week we are going to repeat out little meeting. Still don’t know where or what we are going to do but it will be fun for sure. My coffee is at its end. I want more but my Artist asks me not to have more. I need to look out for my body. Our body.

I feel like dancing. Florence makes me want to dance. I’m not jumping on the table but moving my head and my whole upper body actually.

We’re talking about winter. That it is different from home. Even though there was quite a bit of snow in the past two years. And finally Britain discovered the need for winter tires.. Is it strange that this is amongst the first things that come to mind if I think about English winter? My Artists says yes, it is a bit strange, but I shouldn’t worry about it. I’m not worried – I’m telling her. Last winter and the one before I spent in the country side. Now I’m in the big city I don’t know how it will feel. There are no endless fields with rabbits and dears and wild hunting spaniels being crazy about chasing them.. chasing everybody or everything that moves. I used to have a laugh when the snow was bigger then them and the warmth of their body melted some of the icy bits just to make them glued to their long hair as snowballs. They were furious about it so when we got back from walking I helped them to get rid of the balls. They should have just thrown them at each other as every normal person does. All right I know I am being ridiculous. But I liked to think about them as persons and not animals. My Artist smiles at this thought. She likes the idea too but I have to admit that I didn’t like them in my bedroom. Oh I was furious when Lucas got in and then I had to chase him around the six bedroom house visiting every room -of course- before I could take him down to the kitchen. Oh God, he was naughty. She says she likes to remember the good old things we used to do. She remembers too even though I didn’t know she was there. But she was watching and sending me signs. I just wasn’t able to understand yet. It was Halloween last year when she was at her strength or maybe I was more sensible than usual, when she sent me that mémoire about my grandmother. I missed her very much although she’d passed away for many years by then. I felt I had to do something for her. So I wrote that mémoire. A year later I sent it to a flash story competition. I still don’t know the result but am pretty sure the lucky winner won’t be me but winning doesn’t matter anyway. It was for her. Making her story spread to find as many people as possible.

It’s getting dark says my Artist. We can’t see it since there are no windows down here but I know she’s right. We should get going. But I’m telling her that I cannot wait for our next rendezvous. She says she feels the same way. But anyway she’ll be there I just need to listen. I will.

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