Ten Tiny Love Stories Page #2

And I had this really weird dream.

I dreamed of a dolphin.

It was out of the water.

It was drying in the sun

and its skin was about to crack.

I was looking at it

from above and crying.

And in the dream,

I remembered

that my mother had said to us

when we were little,

that she really wanted

to spend New Year's Eve...

of the year 2000 with us,

no matter what.

Of all the things

that were to come, for some reason,

that was the one day

she wanted to share with us...

more than anything else.

So, in the dream,

I said to her,

"Okay, Mom...

I promise.

We'll be together that day,

no matter what."

And I was thinking about that

later on, on my way home.

And how I wanted to tell

my sister about it... the dream.

We're twins and

ever since my mom died,

we tell each other

our dreams of her.

It's a deal we made.

I knew she wanted to hear

about the rest of my afternoon,

but I wasn't really thinking

about that anymore.

I wanted to talk about the dream.

I wanted to tell her.

I wasn't thinking

about Simon anymore.

Elias set me up

on a blind date

with this guy from Argentina

called Felipe.

Elias is a friend

from Mexico

with a heart the size

of Mexico City.

His wife Ann, said,

"Elias is

all good intentions,

but there's no guarantee

his friends aren't creeps.

And they come from countries where

women aren't as confused as we are,

so they can smell a desperate

American woman a kilometer away."

She cracks me up.

So Felipe is a cameraman

who shoots commercials.

And before we even spoke

on the phone,

he sends me this card asking me

if it was convenient

to call me, let's say

at 7:
00 on Tuesday.

And I'm thinking,

"Why has Elias set me up

with this gay guy

from South America?"

And he assures me the guy isn't gay,

but merely polite.

So I send him a card

in the mail,

and I say, " Tuesday at 7:00

will be fine. Thank you very much."

So, 7:
00 on Tuesday comes along

and... it's 8:
30,

and the man hasn't called.

For a moment,

I'm thinking I'd call him,

but I realize I don't have

his phone number.

I could have gotten it

from Elias,

but I didn't want him

to think I'd been stood up.

He never called.

I was disappointed

but once I let it go,

it didn't crush me...

which is my specialty,

being crushed by a**holes.

So two days later, at 9:00 am,

the phone rings, and it's him.

And he asks,

"Am I waking you up?"

and am I by myself?

Am I by myself?

Then he tells me

this story

about how he was shooting a commercial

the day before he should have called,

and they shot until 10:00

the following day,

and he slept for 20 hours,

blablabla...

and can I

ever forgive him...

So he wants to go out,

to meet that same night.

And he offers to pick me up.

I say I'd prefer to meet him.

So we agreed to meet

at Jerry's Deli at 7:30.

So I ask how I'll recognize him,

and he asks what I look like.

I say, "You go first."

So he says he has sandy hair,

and he's tall,

and that some people confuse him

for a young Keith Carradine.

Do you? I don't remember what

a young Keith Carradine looks like.

So he asks me

what I look like. I say,

"Don't worry about it.

I'll find you."

Then I pretend that I'm late for work

so I can get off the phone.

But before that, he says

he plans to pay for dinner,

that in Argentina

it's a custom and do I mind,

and that in this country,

it's very confusing

and he wants

to clear that up front.

I say, "All right."

But after

I get off the phone,

I feel bad, because

I feel like I'd been had.

He's polite in a way

that makes you feel cheap.

So now,

I'm on the defensive

and I'm mad at myself,

and I don't know why.

Anyway, I rent two videos of

Keith Carradine, and I like what I see,

but I have to keep reminding

myself while watching

that it's not the real Keith Carradine

I'll be meeting for dinner.

It's only his Argentinean

stand-in.

Then I thought

I'd call Elias and his wife

and tell them

the guy has resurfaced

and that we're going out

tonight, but I didn't.

They'd feel happy for me

and I'd feel like sh*t.

I exercised that afternoon

and I wanted

to take a nap.

But I lie there, unable

to think of anything else

except this dinner date, as if

it were the only date I'd have had.

So I can't stop

thinking about it.

I'm just so mad at myself.

Here I am, filling my head

with hopes and expectations,

and as soon as I see myself day-dreaming

about visiting Buenos Aires,

I scream out loud

because I am so angry at myself.

I want to cry.

So eventually,

I did fall asleep.

But then I had this dream

that there are all

these birds on my balcony.

They can't fly,

they're jumping around like crazy.

And some of them are pecking

at the glass door,

like they want to come in.

They're like children

playing in a playground,

but they're only birds.

And in the dream, I'm aware

they're from the Galapagos Islands.

And then

I'm in the bathroom

and I'm washing my hands

over and over,

and then when I wake up,

I drive myself nutty

trying to figure it out,

trying to interpret it.

I try to twist it

and turn it every which way,

but...

nothing happens.

Then I try to call my girlfriend Carla...

she's great with dreams...

but she's at some

Weight Watchers meeting...

or something like that.

And in the afternoon,

the dream just fades away.

It's like somebody else's dream,

stale and trite.

And I realize

that dreams are about...

getting to know

yourself better,

so that you can

better yourself.

I guess I feel hurt

and I can't unwrap it.

So then I shower

and I guess

dressed quickly,

and I look in the mirror

on my way out...

I'm looking good,

believe it or not.

And when I get

to the valet at the Deli...

I'm so self-conscious,

even getting out of the car,

I'm afraid to look around

for fear that he's there,

laughing at me.

Laughing at what?

Jesus!

I mean, calm down.

So I go into the Deli,

and there's the guy.

It must be him,

he's got sandy hair, he's tall,

he's not particularly handsome

but he's okay.

And something about him

makes me feel at ease,

so I feel reassured. I walk up to him,

and I say, "Felipe?"

And he looks at me

like he doesn't speak Spanish,

and he says, "No. Sorry."

And I feel like I'm going to faint

with embarrassment.

The back of my neck

and my ears are burning,

and I turn around,

trying to be real cool,

and right in front of me,

there's this guy by himself in a booth,

grinning and waving at me.

He is so much shorter than I imagined

and has jet-black hair.

And he's grinning

like he's been watching me

making a fool of myself

and he's enjoying it.

He waves me over and to make it worse,

he's handsome.

So I convince myself not to collapse

and pull myself together.

I walk over to him,

we shake hands, and I say,

"You look nothing

like Keith Carradine.

You look more

like Dudley Moore."

He laughs out loud and...

he takes it well.

But we both know

he boned me good.

He did. He did.

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