The Horrible Date Scale

    Rose’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Gray could hear it from his place across the small table.

“Are you going to get that?” he asked.

            Rose pulled the phone from her pocket and hit the ‘ignore’ button without looking at the screen. “I know who it is,” she said softly, blushing.

            “Let me guess, it was a friend with an ‘emergency’,” Gray made air quotes with his fingers, “to rescue you from this terrible date?”

            Her blush deepened. “My sister, actually. But she is my best friend, so I guess you win.”

            Gray watched her slide the phone inside her purse, and set it on the empty chair next to her.

“I guess this date isn’t too terrible then.”

“Well,” Rose hedged. “On a Horrible Date Scale, where one is ‘This is hell, someone save me,’ and ten is “I tolerate you,” I put you at…”

Gray felt his body lean forward, eager. He stopped himself, hoping she didn’t notice. Rose was still debating, her head cocked slightly, lips pursed as she considered.

“Eleven,” she said at last.

 “And what is eleven on the scale?”

“I thought this date would suck, but I was pleasantly surprised.”

Gray was shocked. And delighted.

 Rose apparently took his silence the wrong way, because she quickly started backtracking. “Oh, crap! I hope you aren’t insulted. Sometimes my mouth talks faster then my brain can think.”

 “I’m not insulted.” Gray grinned. “In fact, I’m flattered that I rated off the Horrible Date Scale.”

“Yeah? Well,” Rose replied. “You are only a point above, so don’t get too cocky.”

They both laughed, but then an awkward silence descended. Gray played with his cup of hot chocolate, circling his finger along the edge. He glanced at Rose and then down at his drink. Feeling suddenly tongue-tied, he scrambled for a topic. Any topic.

Rose fiddled with her napkin. “Is your name really Gray Smith?”

“Only because Black Smith was already taken.”

“Seriously?”

 “Yeah, by my brother.”

“Your parents named your brother Black Smith?” she asked, incredulous.

 “Well, his name’s really Obsidian, but that’s basically the same thing isn’t it?”

 Rose was staring at him, her mouth slightly parted.

 “I guess that isn’t much better, huh? My parents are both artists. They sort of have an obsession with color.”

A pause, then she said, “What, they couldn’t find a more exotic name for gray?”

Gray grinned, amused by her quick retort. “Not for lack of trying. My mom always says gray is under appreciated. The color, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Rose echoed, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling too.

“My mom once painted an entire wall in her studio white, just so she could paint strips of every color gray available over it. It was quite beautiful when she was finished.”

            He paused, realizing he was going off about his family instead of answering the original question. “What was the question again?”

            “How did you get stuck with Gray?”

            “Oh, right. They looked for other, more glamorous options, but they claim that none had the same ring. So, here I am, just plain Gray Smith.”

            “I like it, actually,” Rose admitted.

            “Thanks.”

            “Are you an artist too?”

            “Unfortunately the artistic talent seems to have skipped a generation, much to my mother’s disappointment. I can do fantastically awesome stick figures though.”

            Rose’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Show me.”

             “No, no,” he waved the suggestion away, not sure what had possessed him to reveal such a silly talent.

            “Oh, come on.” She pushed a napkin across the table to him.“Please?”

            Gray hesitated, but Rose was already fishing around in her purse for a pen. She pushed the pen across the table too.

“Go on. Amaze me.”

            “Oh… alright.” Gray grabbed the pen and napkin and hid them behind his cup.

            “Hey,” Rose protested, leaning so far across the table her chest pressed against the edge.

            “Uh-uh,” Gray said, hiding the drawing with his hand. “No peeking.”

            Rose sighed, and sat back. Gray kept an eye on her while he quickly scribbled and sketched. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the tabletop while she waited, sipping her latte and nibbling a rice krispie treat. He finished the drawing, and presented it to Rose with a flourish.

       “Wow,” Rose exclaimed. “You really can draw great stick figures! All my drawings look like they were done by a two year old.”

“Stick figures are the only thing I’ve mastered. You should have seen what happened when my parents let me paint my bedroom when I was thirteen.”

            Rose laughed, and Gray’s insides warmed. He liked the way she laughed, the way she didn’t hold back but just let it all out, loudly and without any self-conscious. Her nose wrinkled adorably, and the freckles on her cheeks became somehow more pronounced, as if the merriment in her eyes made them glow.

            “So, what about you? What do you do?” Gray asked. He took a bite of his donut, and swigged his hot chocolate. He felt a glob of whipped cream on his nose and hastily wiped it off.        

            “I’m an editor for a small magazine.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah,” she smiled. “It’s nothing amazing, not yet, but I love it.”
            “That’s awesome, Rose. What’s it called? ”

            “Whimsy.” Her cheeks colored, and she looked at her lap. “It’s kind of, well…it’s kind of nerd-tastic. I mean, it’s all about fantasy and magic, and…stuff like that.”

            “So, is it like a literary magazine?”

            “Exactly, yeah. But specifically dedicated to the fantastical and magical,” she gave a sort of self-deprecating little shrug and bit her lip, eying him.

            “Cool,” Gray enthused. “I love that kind of stuff. You know, I think I read Stardust at least, oh… ten times?”

            Rose pushed a lock of strawberry-colored hair off her forehead, and gaped at him, clearly surprised. “I love Stardust! Have you seen the movie too?”

            “Yeah, I was so stoked when I heard it was coming out.”

            “Which did you like better?”

            Gray chewed on a fingernail, as he always did when faced with a decision, no matter how large or small. He wondered if there was more to the question than just picking a favorite. “I don’t know if I can choose. They were both great.”

            Rose nodded in agreement. “One of the rare times a movie turned out as good as the book.”

            Gray was relieved he ‘passed,’ despite being pretty sure that the question was just a question. Dating always seemed to make things that should have been easy, like answering questions, hard. Or maybe he was just paranoid.

“Perhaps I’ll give you a copy of Whimsy sometime,” Rose said.

            “I’d like that.”

             “Yeah?”

            “Definitely.”

            They fell quiet again, sipping their drinks. Gray tried to steal glances at her without being caught. He tried to think of another book, another movie, another anything to ask her about. He snuck another quick look just as she did the same. Their eyes met. They both grinned sheepishly. Gray looked down, feeling heat warm his cheeks.

             “Okay, so you are not an artist. But what do you do?”

             “Kelly didn’t tell you?” Gray asked, surprised. He had hoped that Kelly, the friend who had set them up, would have told Rose.

Rose paused, the rice krispie treat halfway to her mouth. “No,” she said warily. “Does it need some kind of warning?”

“No,” Gray chuckled self-consciously. “No, it doesn’t.”

He was not ashamed of his profession; he just found that having it out in the open right away prevented disappointment. But now he caught himself hesitating because he was afraid. Not afraid to reveal his job. No, he was afraid he would be disappointed by her reaction. It scared him to know that he cared so much already.

“I’m a dancer,” Gray confessed. “I’m part of a dance company, and when I’m not doing that I teach dance, to kids mostly.”

            Gray watched Rose carefully for her reaction. Would she expect him to start throwing down moves like Channing Tatum in Step Up? Would she envision him prancing around on stage in a tutu? Would she dismiss him as too feminine, too girly, or assume he was gay? None of those reactions would be new. He had been made to feel like a pansy, like less of a man, by both men and women. But he had also been accepted and supported by friends, and strangers alike. He had met people that expressed authentic interest, without judgment. Because of those people he could do what he loved without shame or embarrassment.

Gray crossed his fingers under the table. Hoping. 

            “Let me see,” Rose said, studying him up and down, eyes slightly squinted.

            Gray tensed.

“Hmmm…I think…contemporary?”

            Gray blinked, completely nonplussed. He nodded, unable to speak.

            Rose grinned, smug.

            “How did you…?”

            “I watch So You Think You Can Dance,” she explained, then started giggling. “ I didn’t think I would be right, even though I like to think watching it makes me an expert.”
            “I had some friends that made it on the show,” Gray said.

            “Seriously? I probably saw them, and maybe I even voted for them.” She stopped, and cocked her head. “That’s kinda bizarre, isn’t it?”

            Gray nodded again, still partially stunned. “We had a connection, before we even knew each other.”

            “Have you ever thought of auditioning for the show?”

            Gray shrugged. “I don’t know, sometimes. But…I really want to be a choreographer. I’ve been doing some work for our dance company, and it’s just…” he ran his hands through his hair excitedly, making his brown hair stand up on end. “It’s just incredible too see what you imagined, what you’ve created, come to life.”

            Rose watched him with an unreadable expression, almost as if she were trying to see him from the inside out. Gray had to force himself not to squirm. He was used to people watching him, true, but this was different. There were no one else sharing the spotlight with him this afternoon, no space between him and his audience, and no one to help him if he screwed up.

            “You lied,” she said. 

            “What?” Gray yelped. “When?”

            “You said you aren’t an artist,” Rose said. “But you are. It’s just that people, dancers, are your medium, and the stage is your canvas.”

            Gray loved that analogy, was surprised he, or his parents, had never thought of it. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.”

            “Do…do you want to walk?” She asked, nodding to the window, and the street outside.  

“Sure,” Gray agreed.

Outside the chilly air nipped at his skin. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, glancing sideways at Rose. She was walking in perfect time with him, a small smile playing on her lips. 

He saw the stick-figured napkin peeking out of a pocket in her purse and couldn’t keep a full-blown smile from exploding across his face.

Rose slipped her arm through his. Gray’s stomach fluttered at the unexpected, but welcome contact. They walked in companionable silence for a while.

            “Be honest,” Rose said at last. “Did you only agree to go on a date with me because rose is also a color?”

            Gray stopped short.

            “And,” Rose continued, turning to face him. “It’s even a shade of gray. Rose gray.”

            Gray started laughing, no chortling, and couldn’t stop, bent over, gasping for breath, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, with Rose looking on, giggling too.

            “I didn’t think about it at the time,” Gray wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “But you’re right, I probably did.”

“You know, you are living proof that life is never what one expects.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well, when you expect things to be dull and boring – no offense, but what was I supposed to expect from a date with a guy named Gray?”

            Gray grinned to show he wasn’t hurt, and motioned for her to continue.

            “Anyway, those likely dull and boring moments…well, don’t they often end up being the best, the brightest moments? Don’t they surprise us with their unexpected…unexpectedness?”

“Like strips of gray on a white wall,” Gray mused. “Beautiful in their plain, ordinary, extraordinariness.”

            “Exactly!”

Gray smiled, and offered her his arm again. Rose took it.

They walked on. Basking in the spring sun, and in the magic of ordinary, extraordinary moments.

           

           

           

      

 Embrace the magic of ordinary days!

~Steph

  

 All Stick Figure Art drawn by Jason Landis.

Photography by Stephanie Landis

           

           **Stardust is written by Neil Gaiman.