The Blind Date

The pavement vibrated under my feet as I approached Danny's, the bar where I was meeting my roommate for the night. I opened the double doors and stepped into the old building; it was one of those dilapidated dive bars that was kind of a shithole but had nice drink specials. The long, narrow building looked as if it could barely hold the crowd of people I was currently wading into. Somehow, the space managed, though. Rickety wooden barstools lined the bar, which was set against the back wall. Past the bar there were booths set up all along the walls, and smaller circular tables strewn about the floor space in the back half of the building. Finally, a small stage sat all the way in the back for live shows and entertainment. As I worked my way through the crowd at the bar, the blurred jumble of chatter and laughter around the building was suddenly cleaved by the crackle of scattered applause and an ear-splitting screech of a cheer from the back of the place, near the stage. I scowled and let out an exasperated sigh as I pressed on through the crowd; of course, it was fucking karaoke night.

"Alright, everybody, our next singer for the night is Rose," the DJ cut in once the noise had settled down. "She'll be on soon, so everybody make some noise!" A few scattered claps sounded from around the building, but most of the patronage carried on as usual. Eventually, I found my roommate Ryan sitting at one of the circular tables with a couple of empty shot glasses in front of him. Clearly, he had started celebrating without me. I made my way over to him and sat down in the chair across from him.

"Finally! I told you to be here at eleven. Where the hell have you been?" Ryan asked. He looked me up and down and frowned. "And what are you wearing? I told you to dress nice, Matt!" I looked down at my gray t-shirt and blue jeans. It was the same thing I usually wore on the rare occasion that Ryan was able to drag me out to the bar.

"Relax, man, I'm only a half hour late. I just had some homework to do," I said, earning a frown from Ryan. It was a half-truth, really. I did have some work to do, but mostly, I just didn't really want to come out all that much. Bars weren't really my thing, and Ryan knew that. I wasn't sure why he had insisted on going out when we could have just had drinks back at our apartment. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Your clothes are...well, it doesn't matter now," Ryan said, with a sigh. "Look, at least go to the bathroom and fix your hair, dude."

"Why the hell should I—?" I started to protest, before shutting my mouth. The fight wasn't worth it. "You know what, fine. Whatever. I'll be right back." I stomped off toward the restroom and went inside, frowning at the sight of the graffiti plastered everywhere: the walls, the bathroom stall, hell, even the mirror had a few stickers stuck to it. Besides a single solitary stall, there with absolutely zero privacy, so, more often than not, you had to stand next to a bunch of strangers and piss in a communal urinal that was a literal trough. I went over to the sink and inspected myself in the mirror.

Ryan had a point; I did look pretty rough. My jet-black hair sat on my head in a tangled, wind-swept mess. I smoothed it over as best I could, but it wasn't being very cooperative. I swept my bangs out from in front of my green eyes, frowning at the bags under them. I had some stray stubble growing in on my chin, but it was too late to do anything about it now. There wasn't much else I could do besides fixing my hair. I frowned, wondering why Ryan was making me go through all this trouble when we were just getting a few drinks. Suddenly, a group of three guys swept in like a hurricane, jostling me a bit as they passed by on their way to the piss trough. One of them was blonde, another had a baseball cap on, and the last guy had a wispy mustache and patchy beard.

"Dude, my friend told me he was at a frat party last weekend, and some Polly chick there got absolutely shit-faced and gave herself eight tits," the blonde guy said, as the three of them unzipped their pants and went about their business. My ears perked up at the word 'Polly' and I immediately became intrigued.

Polly was shorthand for Polymorph, the name given to an extremely small subset of people born with a rare genetic mutation called Cellular Polymorphism, which allowed them to manipulate their body at the cellular level, at will; what's more, each and every cell in a Polymorph's body behaved on the same level as an embryonic stem cell, providing nearly limitless potential for change. The onset of CPM naturally led to a monumental leap forward for the fields of science and medicine, but also caused a major shift in society at large as we learned to integrate Polymorphs into everyday life, affecting everything from laws, technology, and politics to the entertainment industry and beyond. The chances that any given person would be born a Polly were unbelievably rare; Polymorphs made up less than one percent of the world's population. This was the first time I had heard about anyone actually meeting one on campus. I knew Ryan was in a fraternity, and God knows he went out partying damn near every weekend; I wondered if he had heard anything about it.

"What the fuck?" the bearded guy said, his voice snapping me back to reality. "That's messed up, man. That kind of stuff just seems... wrong, to me."

"I wouldn't say that kind of thing too loud, man," the blonde guy said, his voice hushed. "People are going to think you're one of those Purist assholes."

"Woah, man. Don't lump me in with those nutjobs!" the bearded shot back. "Look, I think Pollies deserve the same rights as everyone else. All I'm trying to say is, eight tits is six too many."

"Well, the more, the merrier, I think. What did she look like? Maybe I can ask around, get her number," the guy with the baseball cap piped up.

"Jesus Christ, Mike, keep the Tabbie shit to yourself," the blonde guy said, chuckling. "Anyway, I don't think it even matters at this point. If I were her, I'd go off the fucking grid after pulling a stunt like that. Hell, she might even look like a guy now, for all we know." They were silent for a second as they finished pissing and zipped up their pants.

"Hey, you, at the sink. You that eight-boobed chick?" the guy with the cap, Mike, called out to me. All three of them burst out laughing. I just rolled my eyes and ignored them. If I was, at least I wouldn't have to worry about my damn hair. I took one last cursory glance at myself and made a last-ditch attempt to fix it. Thankfully, it decided to work with me a little bit, and I got myself looking at least somewhat presentable. Admittedly, I did feel a little better as I left the restroom and made my way back to the table where Ryan was sitting. He took a moment to scrutinize me as I approached, flashing me a thumbs-up as I settled into the chair across from him.

"There you go. Happy now?" I asked flatly, shooting him a glare.

"Yeah, thanks for asking." He said, smugly. "But, more importantly, now you're ready for your birth...date!" My glare immediately hardened into a scowl.

"Another date?! Goddammit, Ryan! You said it was going to be just you and me tonight!" I snapped.

"Well, duh! That would ruin the surprise!" Ryan said, clearly proud of himself. "Look man, this isn't going to be like the last time... or all the other times before that. She's really cool, I promise." After my fallout with my ex at the end of the last semester, Ryan decided to take my love life into his own hands, setting me up on a few different dates once we got back on campus. Each match was worse than the one before, and after his fourth disastrous attempt, I made him promise me that it would be the last. He said he wouldn't do it again, and yet, here we both were. I opened my mouth, fully prepared to give him hell, just as the next song came on, drowning the bar in sound. It was one I recognized immediately.

"Wait! This is Phoebe Bridgers. Chinese Satellite," I said. "I love this song." Ryan's eyes lit up, and a smug grin flashed across his face. I craned my head to see who was up on stage. The stage was pretty dark, so I couldn't see all that well, but the girl up on stage looked like a redhead. As soon as she started singing, my breath caught in my throat. I stared, entranced, as the girl poured her damn heart out on stage, and it wasn't until the song finally finished that I remembered to breathe.

"Holy shit," I said. "She was really good." I looked over at Ryan, and his grin widened.

"Yeah, man! That girl up there, she's—" he started to say, before I cut in.

"—got good taste, too." Ryan rolled his eyes, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but the DJ's voice suddenly rang out over the noise of the bar.

"We're going to take a short break before we get back into it, but first, everybody give it up for Rose!" A few scattered cheers broke out around the bar. Unable to help myself, I added my own, admittedly overly enthusiastic cheer to the mix then turned back toward Ryan, who just rolled his eyes at me.

"Oh my God. Matt, listen to me: Rose is the girl I set you up with," Ryan said flatly.

"Wait, what?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Yeah! You both like the same depressing-ass indie music. Phoebe Bridges. Um... that other sad girl... Julien Baker? Oh, and that band with the sad, old, divorced guy — The Nationals!" I raised my eyebrows at that; maybe Ryan had actually put some proper thought into this, after all.

"Well, you got Julien Baker right, at least. I'm not really sure how you messed up Phoebe Bridgers, considering I literally just said her name thirty seconds ago. And Matt Berninger, the 'sad, old, divorced guy' the guy from The National isn't divorced, dude."

"Well, all of his songs sound like he's divorced." Ryan said, shrugging.

"All of whose songs?" a girl, who must have been Rose, asked, as she sauntered up to the table from the direction of the stage. She pulled out the third chair and plopped down in it. My heart skipped a beat as soon as I saw her face. Fiery red curls tumbled down the sides of her head, stopping to rest just above her chin. Her lips were painted with a deep red lipstick, so dark it was almost black. Her eyes were pools of pale blue that shone in the soft yellow glow of the bar lights, and they were both surrounded by a carefully applied accent of eyeliner that complimented them perfectly.

My gaze drifted down to her body, which proved to be just as eye-catching. She was fair-skinned and slender, but she also had generous curves which were accentuated perfectly by her blue jeans and black tank top. Suddenly, the sound of Ryan's voice snapped me back to reality.

"That guy from the National. Matt Bazinger, or whatever his name is," Ryan said with a shrug, looking over at the girl.

"Yeah, that's it, Ryan, you nailed it," she deadpanned. "It's Berninger."

"God, now there's two of you," Ryan said, rolling his eyes as his gaze flitted between the two of us. The girl turned toward me, and a warm smile spread across her face as she held out her hand.

"You must be Matt. I'm Rose," she said.

"N-nice to meet you," I said, flashing a smile of my own as I grabbed her hand and shook it. "Um, you absolutely killed it up on stage, by the way. I love that song."

"Aw, thanks," she said, her smile widening as a hint of color crept into her cheeks. As I held her gaze, I could have sworn her irises looked dark green, even though they had been blue just a few seconds ago. I blinked and saw that they were indeed the same steely blue shade from earlier. The sound of Ryan's voice pulled my attention over to him.

"Soooo... shots?" he asked, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the bar, where a large group of people were trying to get drinks. He evidently hadn't noticed anything strange; I chalked the odd experience up to a trick of the light.

"I'm game," Rose said.

"Yeah, count me in," I said. God knows I'd need it tonight.

"Hell yeah! I'll be right back," Ryan said, slinking off toward the bar. Suddenly, it was just me and Rose at the table. A moment of silence between us grew into an uncomfortable gulf as my nerves got the better of me. She drummed her fingers on the table, each digit dipped in the same dark red as her lips. Eventually, mercifully, she broke the silence hovering between us.

"So, Ryan told me it's your birthday...?"

"Oh, um, yeah!" I said. "Well, almost. Once midnight rolls around, I'll be 22."

"Well, happy almost birthday, then," she said, smiling sweetly.

"Thanks." Her smile faded as the conversation stopped dead in its tracks as I searched for something else to say, all the while cursing both myself for my awkwardness and Ryan for throwing all of this on me in the first place. Rose threw a glance over toward the bar, then back at me, looking uncomfortable. God knows I was. I prayed that Ryan would come back with the shots soon; I figured some liquid courage would help calm my nerves. Thankfully, I didn't have to wait too much longer before Ryan came back to the table, shots in hand.

"I'm back!" Ryan exclaimed, his voice cutting through the tension that had built up in the air. He set down three shots of caramel-colored liquid at the center of the table. He slid a glass to each of us, then hoisted his own into the air. "To the birthday boooooy!" He dragged out the last word dramatically, waiting for us both to join in the toast. A wave of heat found its way to my cheeks as I rolled my eyes at him. Still, I couldn't keep from cracking a smile as I raised my own glass into the air. Rose joined in as well, and we all clinked them together and drank. My throat burned as the cinnamon-flavored liquor slid down my throat, but I managed to swallow the shot without embarrassing myself, thankfully. A hush descended over the table for a few seconds, and I hoped someone else would be the first to break it. I didn't know what to say next, and things were starting to feel awkward all over again. Ryan's gaze flicked between the two of us as he got up from his seat.

"Whelp, my work here is done, so I'll leave you two alone." Ryan said, as he gathered up the shot glasses on the table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some important booze-ness to attend to at home. Have fun, you two! Happy birthday, Matt!" With that, he shuffled off toward the bar. Rose stared wide-eyed at the empty chair where Ryan had been just moments before.

"Well, then...I guess it's just us, now, huh?" she asked, getting up and moving to the seat across from me.

"...I guess so," I said, the words crackling with a hint of irritation. I didn't mean to sound pissed, but I still fuming at Ryan for dragging me into his schemes once again. All I could do was hope that this one might actually be different from the others. Rose and I seemed to have at least a little bit in common, so it was admittedly already better than Ryan's previous attempts at playing matchmaker, but that really wasn't saying much. As I sat there, lost in thought, Rose had her blue eyes trained on me, her lips pressed in a slight frown.

"Are you...good?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. I nodded, then went quiet for a second before letting out a sigh. Rose had absolutely nothing to do with Ryan's shenanigans, so I wasn't about to take it out on her.

"I'm sorry. I'm just pissed at Ryan. To be honest, I didn't know I was walking into a date when I came out tonight. I thought I was just meeting Ryan for drinks," I said.

"Wait, what?" she asked, clearly confused. "He didn't tell you about it beforehand?"

"Nope. He said he didn't want to 'ruin the surprise'," I said, making air quotes around the phrase. "So, I found out about... five minutes before you came to the table? He told me a little bit about you, but not much."

"Um...wow. Okay then," she said, raising her eyebrows. "That's...kind of shitty."

"Yeah. Honestly, I really should have known he was up to something. He did tell me to dress up, but he wouldn't tell me why. Anyway, I'm sorry for being late," I said.

"Don't worry about it; you didn't know. And I didn't dress up, either, so it works out," she replied, chuckling. "I prefer to keep things casual, especially on a first date. These things are hard enough without all the added stress of dressing up, you know?"

"I-I know what you mean," I said, as the memories of my disastrous past dates swirled around in my head. "Um, you look great, by the way!" I smiled at her, trying desperately to push away those thoughts and focus on the present.

"Thanks! I'm glad you think so! It took me a while to decide what look to go with," Rose said. Her painted lips curved upward, revealing a gleaming smile, and her eyeliner was perfectly contoured around the top and bottom of her eyes, forming little wings that drew my gaze to those gorgeous blue eyes of hers. Her makeup game definitely was on point tonight. "Anyway, given that Ryan kind of just threw all this on you, I understand if you may not want to go through with this, but if you're up for it...maybe we just grab some drinks, get to know each other, and... see where things go from there?" She was quiet for a moment before she spoke up again. "Uh, that way, there's no pressure." As pissed as I was at Ryan for dragging me into this, it would have been rude of me to back out. Plus, I was already at the bar, so it would have been a waste of a trip to leave without getting a drink or two.

"Um, yeah, that, uh... works for me," I said. "So, what did you want to drink?" I started to get up from the table, but Rose motioned for me to sit back down.

"The first round's on me — it is your almost birthday after all," she said, grinning. "What do you want?"

"Oh, um, thanks! I'll take a rum and Coke, please." I answered, running a hand though my hair.

"Gotcha. I'll be back in a bit," she said, reaching down and grabbing a small blue purse at the foot of the table that I hadn't noticed when I sat down. She got up and headed toward the bar, leaving me alone with my thoughts, and it suddenly hit me that I was now on a date. I took in a deep breath and let it out, trying to fight off the stress that was gathering inside me. My heart hammered on in my chest and sweat slicked my palms as I wrung my hands out under the table. No pressure, my ass. Anxiety settled in the pit of my stomach as I counted out each agonizing second, trying in vain to calm my thundering pulse. As I eyed the empty shot glasses in the center of the table, I realized that I could really, really use that rum and Coke. A couple minutes later, I spied Rose approaching the table, her purse dangling from her wrist as she clutched the drinks in each hand.

"Here you go," Rose said, placing my drink down in front of me before shuffling back over to her side of the table. The glass was one of those little straws in it, the ones that only let you drink a tiny bit at a time. I moved the straw aside and took a large swig directly from the glass. When I set it back onto the table, she was staring at me with a hint of a smirk on her face.

"What?" I asked, feeling a sudden blaze of heat rush into my cheeks.

"Sorry, I just thought it was a little funny that you didn't bother with the straw," she said. "You nervous?"

"Yeah." My eyes drooped down to the dark brown void in my glass as I absentmindedly swirled the little straw around in it.

"Yeah, me, too," Rose said, her lips pursed as she took a small sip from the straw in her own glass. She looked around the bar and let out a sigh. "I haven't done anything like this in a while, honestly."

"Neither have I," I said, letting the sentence hang in the air. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in and took another, smaller sip from my drink, this time through the stupid tiny straw. I didn't want to get drunk too quickly. I wracked my brain for something to talk about, but I didn't even know where to start. All I really knew about her was that we had a similar taste in music. "So, um, anyway...you like Phoebe Bridgers...?" The words tumbled out as a statement at first but had somehow morphed into a question I inwardly begged her to pick up and run with. I felt like a bit of a mess, honestly, and I hoped Rose hadn't picked up on that.