Marlon and I are dressed as if we were going to attend a symphonic show at the Sydney Opera House, and not at all like two people on their first fake date.
I ignore the one-over that the junior trainee gives me and order myself a chicken burrito, while Marlon orders himself a bowl of nachos, and surprisingly an extra order of share fries between us.
“Aw, aren’t you feeling generous?” I tease.
Marlon scoffs, “90% is for me Garcia.”
Once the food is collected and ready, we head on our way.
“So, do you know where to go?” I ask as I grab a fry and pop it into my mouth. The sweet salsa taste melts on my tongue.
“I do,” Marlon says, “It’s uh - I used to take Christine here sometimes.”
Before I can respond to that, Marlon reaches forward and turns the volume up a little more. An evasive action. I turn to him, noting his blank expression as he continues driving, and decide not to push the topic right now.
“Hey Garcia, if this was an actual date…” Marlon begins again after a moment, and when he notices my sour expression, he rolls his eyes. “Not withme, I mean in general. Ifyouwere on an actual date, what would the perfect one look like?”
I’d actually thought of this, many times, with many different faces. There is no limit to my imagination, whenever I delude myself over what I’d love to do on a real date.
A candlelit dinner. A quaint picnic on a meadow. Stargazing. Many of my ideas have been influenced by the countless dates I’ve read about in romance books, or watched in movies. As a result, a lot of my own fantasies are just copy-and-paste from fiction.
So, what didIactuallywant?
“Something to do with books, maybe,” I profess, and it’s ironic that a real date I’d love to go on would include the catalyst of fiction itself.
“Or something like what my parents used to do. They told me about how they used to go comic-shop hopping, because it’s a shared interest of theirs,” I continue, and shake my head, “It’s cheesy, I know. God, if I could choose, I’d want to have a date right at the heart of the library that the Beast gives Belle inBeauty and the Beast.”
“I remember that scene.”
“Yeah.”
“And so, what, you and your beau would just go around looking at books?”
The hint of amusement in Marlon’s voice tells me further he couldn’t possibly understand.
“Well, yeah, then at the end of the day we could, I don’t know, watch the sunset, maybe? I’ve always loved the sunset.”
I found the sunset, and the oranges that it casts across the sky, to be so beautifully romantic. The way that the light dips into the darkness, as though greeting an old lover, to rest in its arms. Day and night, coaxing each other in.
When I catch Marlon’s eyes watching me through the visor, I shrug, and continue, “Though honestly, to just be in each other’s presence, really, is what I care most about. While I fantasise most of the time of these fictional romances happening to me, I feel that when it comes to love, you find what suits you both the best. Something that not even books could record. It’s unique, just for you.”
“You have a way with words, Garcia,” Marlon professes.
Houses begin to fall away as we enter a parklands dirtway that leads into some ominous looking forestry. The car tilts slightly as we head uphill, and eventually the trees tear away to a clearing. We’re high enough that we’re able to see over suburban streets, the household lights below casting constellations.
It’s a beautiful spot, for a nice date. If I were therealgirlfriend, of course.
The soft glow of the dashboard is the only source of light inside of the otherwise dark car, once Marlon pulls us to a stop. As if reading my thoughts, he pulls out a little galaxy lamp from his bag, and I chuckle at the action.
“So, you stargaze in the car instead of the real thing?” I tease.
“Why are you disappointed?” he counters, clicking the lamp on, “Did you want to do the real thing with me?”
I glower at him, though it’s useless because of the dark.
“Never ever,” I retort.
Marlon laughs, placing the galaxy lamp between us, resting upon the car lever.
