The next few days I alternated between she’s perfect I love her and you literally didn’t talk, but what’s love without a bit of self-delusion? 

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It was in the loneliest moments of the day that my imagination would play its most treacherous tricks on me; I wandered off to a fantasy world full of Rock & Roll festivals, road trips through lavender fields, fancy five-star hotels, greasy street foods in alleyways, godforsaken dive bars, dogs galloping on sandy beaches, hand-written letters, thoughtfully constructed couples’ costumes, low budget horror films, made up board games, and many other etceteras. 

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Around 1 PM, on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday, I grabbed my phone out of sheer compulsion and saw that someone had started following me, which is not a common occurrence; ordinary men rarely get unexpected followers. @babyfox (unguessable). I wondered —I still do— if Marty had anything to do with it, but it seemed like such an un-magical thing to happen that I didn’t give it much credit. But who knows, maybe.

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That night, after an initial courtesy exchange of likes, she started the conversation by laughing at how I was in every picture taken at the moment of the Happy Birthday song and sending me a couple of them.

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She said she was surprised that I disappeared just like that, so I told her about the simpler world, the one with bakers and butchers. The world where chance plays a part. She said she liked that world too. Can you jerk off to a text that says “I like that world too?” Yes, you can. 

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I didn’t wait long to ask her out. She accepted. Life was good. 

On our next free night, we went to a small, unpretentious, nameless bar with a pool table, a Mortal Kombat, a Mrs. Pacman and a jukebox. It was my favorite first date spot because you got to escape the rigidity of two chairs and a table if needed. Moreover, The Jukebox Test is the ultimate compatibility test. Despite everyone I know telling me I’m an idiot for even paying attention to those so-called superficial things, in my mid-twenties I had decided to promote it from a rule of thumb to a set-in-stone kind of rule. As it turns out, The Jukebox Test is a great recipe for loneliness. 

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We arrived at the bar at the same time. She was dressed simply, jeans and a plain tank top, barely any makeup. The door was open to the street so you could hear the music from outside. I couldn’t identify the song they were playing but it was some 50s or 60s music. Before entering, as if rehearsed, we both did a little swing move and started laughing. It’s these kinds of moments that, in my view, make life worth living. 

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We put our names down in the queue for the pool table and sat by the bar while we waited for our turn. We ordered an Old fashioned and a Gin & Tonic and read the rest of the menu just for fun. When she extended her hand to pick up her drink, I noticed a tiny rose tattoo she had on her wrist. I told her I liked it. I did like it. We talked about tattoos for a while. She showed me the six she had —some of them in well-hidden places— and explained to me the meaning behind each one. I showed her mine, which were all in my arms, and had no meaning at all. “My cousin is learning how to tattoo, so he uses me as a guinea pig,” I explained.

 

“I could never do that,” she said. “But how cool to have a tattoo artist in your family.”

 

We talked about our families, which led us to talk about Christmas, then about Christmas movies, then about romantic comedies in general. We were rating every Adam Sandler movie we could think of when they called our names. Our pool table was ready. ​

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​We agreed that she would arrange the balls, and I would go pick a couple of songs in the Jukebox. I was pleased to see that they had updated the disc collection since the last time I had been there. I put in a coin and chose two Arctic Monkeys’ songs. I went back to the table, as excited about my upcoming songs as if they were going to play a live show for us. She was placing the last ball inside the triangle.

 

“I put Arctic Monkeys,” I said from the other side of the table. 

 

She turned her head up and smiled mischievously. “Who the fuck are Arctic Monkeys?”