A Rose By Any Other Name

Should I continue to wait for my blind date? Or should I bolt out of Garibaldi’s as fast as possible? I looked at my watch. It was eight thirty. It did not seem that my blind date, Atticus, would be joining me. Above me, the hum of the ceiling fan droned on repeatedly as I contemplated my choices. Impulsively, I made the decision to stay and enjoy dinner alone, especially since I'd already ordered a bottle of wine. I could use a glass of it for a variety of reasons, so this was an easy fix. The hell with Atticus.

My friend, Phoebe, had arranged tonight’s blind date, and I had agreed to come solely because of his name: Atticus. Ever since I was a young girl, I'd been in love with Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. No, I didn't secretly long for tall men in three-piece suits with horn-rimmed spectacles adorning their faces as they sweltered in the summer heat, but I did want a man who wasn't afraid to stand up for his ideals and for others.

A short while later, the waiter approached. Was I ready to order? Yes, please, I was. The grouper, a baked potato, and a side salad. Garibaldi's was famous for its delicious preparation of local seafood. I'd been looking forward to this meal all afternoon, and I was damned if Atticus would ruin it.

I glanced at my watch again and learned it was eight forty-five. Only fifteen minutes since I'd last given my watch a look. Despite having given up all hope of seeing Atticus, I still pulled out my phone. Nada, zippo, nothing. Why was I surprised?

I glanced up to find a man approaching my table. He stopped in front of me and smiled.

“Atticus?” I croaked in disbelief.

“No,” he laughed. “I’m Mike. May I join you? I couldn't help but notice that you, just like me, may have had greater expectations this evening.”

I returned his easy smile and laughed, gesturing for him to take a seat at my table. He was attractive in a down to earth sort of way. But it was his smile that assured I was making the right decision in allowing him to join me. It was kind, warm, and engaging. And I had to admit that his skills of observation were admirable as well as his ability to laugh at the worst of situations.

“I don't know about your date, but whoever would have thought it of a man named Atticus?” I asked, convinced he would understand my point.

“Atticus?" he asked in apparent disbelief. "Well, therein lies your problem. Who’s named Atticus these days? Your date was probably eighty years old, wore a crumpled suit, and walked with a cane!" We both laughed at the visual his words evoked. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Of course, my date's name was Pippi.”

More unabashed laughter ensued. The situation was turning out to be quite comical - and quite different than it had appeared only moments earlier.

“As in Pippi Longstocking?" I asked. "Well, my date might have been eighty and used a cane, but I'm afraid you would have been babysitting and pulling bubblegum out of Pippi's braids all night long!”

Our laughter and heart felt merriment was easing the newness of our acquaintance. I was more attracted to this man named Mike with every word spoken and each laugh we shared.

“Would you like a glass of Merlot, Mike?” I asked.

“Yes, please.”

I learned that Mike, born and raised in Charleston, had studied law, choosing to becoming a Pro Bono Civil Rights’ attorney with a practice in the city for almost seven years. I nearly choked on my wine.

“You cannot be serious? You are truly a lawyer? And a Civil Rights one at that?” I asked.

But Mike said he was absolutely and utterly serious, and I could call him 'Atticus' if I wanted. This was pure, unadulterated irony.

Later, after I insisted upon paying my own bill, Mike walked me to my car. Stopping beside my Volkswagen Bug, I watched as he stood, his hands in his pockets, and used the toe of his shoe in an attempt to dislodge a rock from the pavement. Was he nervous now that the end of our evening was at hand? I leaned against my car, slightly amused and unsure how to respond.

Before I could give the situation much thought, Mike looked up suddenly, and in complete seriousness, he said that he thought an unfortunate evening for both of us had turned out to be quite fortuitous. He was thanking his lucky stars he'd met me, and since he considered the drink we'd just shared to be our first date, it would please him immensely if I'd agree to see him again. Would I be willing to give him my number?

I smiled, and told him that I couldn't agree more. Like two giddy high schoolers, we exchanged numbers. Mike promised to call the next day and said he already couldn't wait to see me again for a second date.

Driving home, I could not wipe the smile off of my face. Never would I have imagined that a blind date with a man named Atticus would ever be such a disappointment, while meeting and spending an evening with someone who had a familiar, common name like Mike would be so amazing. Such propensities had likely encouraged Shakespeare to pen his famous prose:

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

And right now, Mike smelled far sweeter than Atticus ever could.