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Date Night

A reflection about being a girl, dating a girl, in a man's world.

by Alejandra Jimenez

Edited by Yoko Zhu

I wear button down shirts.

My hair is short and dark brown.

Curly and thick.

Puddles of water form in my hands.

They enter my hair.

I tuck my hair behind my ears.

“I love your mullet,” they say.

But, the volume just gets in the way.

So, a mullet it remains.

My dad tells me to wear skirts.

“You have great legs,” he says.

“Thank you,” I reply.

I tuck my hair behind my ears.

He likes bright colors.

And skirts.

“You have so much potential,” he says.

I smile.

“But your hair looks messy,” he continues.

I took a girl on a date.

She has big green eyes.

The kind you draw to not forget.

Her lips are full and vibrant.

Her voice, the same.

She wears skirts.

Although, sometimes baggy clothes.

Her shoulders are like Barbie’s, almost untouchable.

Her skin, too.

We sat at a high-rise table.

I have short legs

good legs for a skirt, I think.

I wrapped them around hers.

They felt longer now.

Ravioli filled with peas and a side of greens.

A negroni sitting between us.

I hate gin. She loves it.

“Do you like the salad, ladies?” says Richard.

He wears polo shirts.

White maybe or blue.

His voice was friendly.

“Can my friend and I join you ladies?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, but we're on a date right now. I’m afraid you can’t,” she replied.

He listened.

So instead of sitting, he stood.

He talked about politics.

He asked her where she’s from.

“Los Angeles,” she replied.

“And you?” he asked.

“Georgia,” I replied.

I was born in Florida.

The waitress signaled to me.

Thumbs up.

Then, thumbs down.

I heard the chatter of their voice.

But no words.

Maybe the negroni was too strong.

Or Richard was too far from my side.

His breath marked our table

Like a ring of fire, the heat had burned my skin

His eyes were still on her

And his hands inched forward.

The fabric of my pants felt tight

I wondered about a skirt

But the waitress kept signaling

Thumbs up then thumbs down

I wondered why my thumb went down.

Why me?

Then I thought,

I should grow my hair out.

Maybe wear a skirt.

But I wouldn’t want Richard to sit with us.

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