Kiwi Of My Eye

As Sean’s Uber driver took a left turn a little too hard to beat the red light, something rolled into his foot. He was immediately aware of it, but ignored it for a moment… just until he could be sure he was fine. Just until he was done bracing himself… just until this erratic Uber driver completed her tire-squealing, dinner-jostling, center-of-gravity-shifting turn.

She straightened the car out and stared ahead as if that was a completely run-of-the-mill turn. Sean was sure it was standard somewhere… on some racetrack… but turning from Los Feliz onto Vermont… no, no, it was not standard there. Not standard turning practices in the Hollywood area, Miss.

Sean then tilted his head down towards his foot. Enough alcohol in the system that he felt the need to move his whole head in order to redirect his stare. He squinted through the dusky dark of the car… orange street lights gliding past quickly, illuminating this object on the floor for a fleeting moment and then disappearing, like a playful riddle so that Sean could attempt to identify the object. A few more deep orange stripes gliding past quickly. Sean still trying to piece together the images of this object. This Uber driver could slow down just a touch so he could figure out what he’s looking at.

She’s eventually forced to slow down because the cars in front of her won’t blast through a yellow light. A stripe of orange light lingers just long enough so that Sean can put the final pieces of this object together in his brain. A kiwi!

The briefest moment of excitement of figuring it out. And then it quickly faded because, well, it was just a kiwi, on the floor, rolling into Sean’s foot. Sean looked back up at the driver, noticing her eyes were peering through the rearview mirror at him.

“You got some great amenities in here.” Sean joked.

The driver furrowed her brow. She didn’t even speak a word. She just relied on Sean to see the expression of her eyes in a two-inch by eight-inch rectangular mirror.

“Most of the Ubers I have been in just do water, maybe some chips. But I do enjoy fresh fruit.”

“Fruit?” The driver chuckles in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Got a kiwi down here.” Sean picked the kiwi up and held it in the light for the driver’s benefit.

They were sitting at a red light, so the driver, ever-the-safe-citizen, turned around to see it more clearly. And that was the first real clear look Sean got of her face. He was legitimately taken aback, to the point of maybe an inch or two of a recoil. She was beautiful. Sean even thought to himself that he doesn’t use the word beautiful or even think it, but here he is thinking it. Her cheekbones were pronounced and looked like they were carved from granite. Skin that was smooth, olive tones, earthy brown almost, with an overall feeling of natural, untouched beauty. Wow, there he is thinking that word again. And her eyes, you could say dark brown, but it wouldn’t do them justice to ignore the character, the life, the curiosity lying in them, it was, let’s try a different word, incredible? He rarely uses that word either but at least he’s getting his thesaurus on.

“Oh, that’s what that guy was doing.” She laughed. “The guy before, he was really drunk. It’s from him, I think.”

She reaches for the kiwi and as she grasps it, their fingers graze and she doesn’t pull her hand away at all. She let’s it linger and even appears to stroke Sean’s fingers. A strange sensation of a soft and smooth touch from a pretty woman’s fingers, coupled with the coarse hair of the kiwi poking him. She pulls it from him and tosses it in the front seat.

“I’ll get rid of it later… unless you wanted it.” She joked.

“Well, kiwis are a wonder fruit. Higher in potassium than bananas, Vitamin C comparable to citrus fruits, high in Vitamin E and Vitamin K…”

“Wow. So, what am I doing eating bananas and oranges and blueberries and kale?” She laughed.

“I don’t know, you should just be eating kiwis.”

“Sounds like they don’t have a good marketing team working for them. Are you available?”

“Am I avai– available? Oh, uh yeah, I don’t know what you had in mind. Now… or you meant later?” Sean is clearly flustered.

“I meant for the kiwi marketing job.” She smiled.

Sean was, if we’re still talking produce, beet red. He was also redder than the stoplight. He was so red, people at this intersection are stopping even more than before… if that’s possible.

“Ah.” Sean grinned, so embarrassed, but determined to get a laugh to ease the awkward situation. “I thought you were impressed by my knowledge of the kiwi. Which, you know, is a common thing to be impressed by.”

The light turned green in front of them. The light mixing with Sean’s complexion made for a real Christmas Story in the backseat of the car. The driver turned back to the road and let out a little snicker. She began driving again. Turned left. Began driving at an acceptable speed considering the neighborhood road they were on. She reached back towards Sean, eyes still on the road. Sean saw her phone in her hand.

“Here. Call your phone so you have my number.” She said bluntly.

Sean was pleasantly surprised. He grabbed the phone and did just as this racecar-driving beauty instructed him.

“My friend, the kiwi.” He said as he called his own phone. A long chuckle from the front seat. Music to his ears.

*******

Her name was Cay, Sean learned before he got out of the car.

He sat in his apartment, carefully adding the contact so as not to misspell it. He savored typing in the letters to spell out ‘Cay.’ He admired the shiny new name in his contacts list, seeing that face of hers as he read the name.

He already texted her so that she would have his number. Next, it would be a matter of figuring out step two. He hated this. Honestly, Sean didn’t want to be the guy who thought, ‘You have to wait several days before texting or calling.’ He didn’t want to be that guy. He was interested, he wanted to text her right away. There was something to the ‘not waiting’ and showing you aren’t some stereotypical guy who waits out that ‘three day’ rule. What a dumb rule. What does 72 hours do? It would just give the girl a chance to forget you.

He stared at her name, looking for the answer. Should he text tomorrow? It was late already. It was so late… it already was tomorrow. So, if he texted her tomorrow, that would be texting her today, was that too soon? Perhaps, he needed to wait 24 hours. Send a text late the next night. But then would that be weird to send a message so late at night? Would that be perceived like he is just trying to hook up? Maybe he could do a well-timed ‘evening text’ where he would be approaching 24-hour status, but it wouldn’t be too late, but it would also be late enough in the day that enough time would have passed. Plus, if he did an exact 24 hours, that would seem too formulaic.

This had to appear spontaneous… unplanned. It was 12:13 A.M. He got out of the car about 10 minutes prior. So… that was 12:03? That means this text cannot come at, say, 8:03 or 9:03. It would need to be in the 8:20 - 8:30 range. Right? That would be good? Was this too planned out? Maybe in order to seem spontaneous… this should actually be done spontaneously.

As Sean overanalyzed, not what to say, but when to say it… his phone buzzed in his hand. He almost dropped it. Appearing on the phone, a text from Cay.

That sure makes things easier. Now, he didn’t have to decide when to text. He could just immediately text back–

Wait!

Not immediately. Sure, you were just dropped off, but you have to be at least somewhat of a busy person. Not someone just holding the phone staring at his new contact in his phone. Maybe he was going to the bathroom. Washing his hands.

Wash, wash, wash.

Then, there would be the drying of the hands.

Hanging the towel back on the hook.

Maybe it falls.

He would have to pick it back up and hang it up correctly.

Alright, what’s that been, 24 seconds? Okay, he waited long enough.

He opens the text message up. She said hi. She said he was cute. She said he was funny. She wanted to hang out sometime soon.

Well, this was just getting easier and easier for Sean. Not having to worry about games, about timing, about seeming busy. Just talk to this girl. She was down to Earth. She was cool.

Time for Sean to be like Ronny, Bobby, Ricky, and Mike and cool it now.

*******

It was a night of texting back and forth for almost an hour. Getting to know each other slightly. It was pretty great. Sean loved this part.

The next day had a phone conversation… initiated by Cay. Sean liked that. She was making this easy. He had completely relaxed. They talked about when they should meet up. Working around their schedules.

She said maybe tomorrow.

Tomorrow came around, Sean checked in several times trying to pin down a definite yes or no and a time.

Sean didn’t hear anything until the day after. Cay apologized. That was nice. She got busy with work. So long as she didn’t get hurt working… knowing how she drives.

They decided one of the next two days would be good.

When the next day rolled around and Sean tried to pin down a time, once again, no response all day.

The very next day, Cay apologized again, profusely this time. She said this time she would pick a definite time. Later that very night, 8 P.M. She picked a place and asked Sean if that was alright.

It all sounded perfect to him. A definite time and definite place. Now, there was no guessing or wondering.

Sean got to the place at 7:50 which was fantastic because he was never early. But he was so anxious to be ready for the date, he actually got ahead of his usual late schedule. And he would have 10 minutes to relax his breathing, relax himself, and just be himself. Prepare himself for a nice night.

They actually had Kiwi Martinis on the menu. Sean found it instantly hilarious. Should I order two so that she has one when she sits down? He wondered. Yeah, that will be funny.

He ordered the Kiwi Martinis right at 7:59. That might be the perfect timing where they show up after she has sat down.

Nope. They made them much quicker than Sean expected. They came out three minutes after he ordered them, so unless Cay was the most punctual person on the planet, then that wasn’t going to work.

Anyway, it will still be funny.

By the time it was 8:10, Sean felt it wouldn’t hurt to have one sip. Just to see how it tasted.

Wow. Too sweet. Well, he would have to have backup drinks ready to order for them. This wouldn’t be to enjoy… this would just be for a laugh.

By the time it’s 8:20, Sean figured he could at least have a few more sips while he waited. What’s the harm?

By 8:30, the Kiwi Martini had grown on Sean and he had been enjoying it. Phone ringer on. He made sure. As fast and reckless as a driver that she was, she sure was late.

By 8:50, and 0 text messages from Cay later… Sean had started on Cay’s Kiwi Martini.

By 9:10, he had finished them both. And now they tasted horrible. That was, at most, a one drink per night type of drink. Sean’s tongue was green. And his face was red as he realized how stupid he looked sitting alone at a table with two empty martini glasses with frilly wedges of kiwi in them. He was a regular street light of embarrassment.

By 9:25, the kiwi garnishes were gone. Devoured. Sitting in Sean’s stomach, sloshing around with questionable green alcohol.

He figured, at this point, he should wait until 9:30. Give it the full hour and a half. He had also, at this point, sent out two texts checking on where she was.

9:31 on the dot, he asked for the check and paid it.

As he slumped out of the place, he just hoped everything was okay with her. He legitimately feared she may have been in an accident. Maybe she was in a small fender bender and was uninjured. That would at least explain this. Not that he should hope her car got hit. That’s horrible.

Sean walked the long walk from one end of the restaurant slash bar that was suggested to him by Cay… to the other. Sean wondered what was so special about that place that she picked it out. Looked the same as a million other places in Hollywood.

Hollywood, a place in the movies… and a totally different place in real life. He had his ‘meet-cute’ and he assumed it would turn into a ‘date-cute’ but that’s not usually what happened in Hollywood. What Sean saw next… that’s what’s very Hollywood.

There, right next to the front door that Sean was slumping towards, was Cay. Making out with some guy in a fitted black t-shirt, perfect haircut, and without a doubt in Sean’s mind, a tongue that has never touched a Kiwi Martini. A tongue that was also in Cay’s mouth.

He just kept walking straight out the door, horrified. Hoping she wouldn’t see him. Hoping he could waltz right out, the ghost that he was. And he did. And she did not notice.

Sean headed home, depressed, alone, defeated. Having fulfilled his Hollywood story. Completely unaware of the bullet he dodged. Completely unaware of the several cops that rushed right past him on the sidewalk, towards the place he just came from. Having no idea Cay had a large bag of cocaine on her that had torn open. That had been spilling on the pavement outside, on the floor in the bar, leading up to her like a White Line Brick Road. And that it had spilled on the black fitted shirt of the man groping her.

So, when the cops showed up, there were no excuses either of the two could give that didn’t sound like excuses. Cay’s excuses were just that. That unlucky man, they were legitimate, but ignored.

Sean never had any idea this was for the better. That this was one of the luckiest nights of his fairly uneventful life. And why would he ever suspect any of that? The truth is, people dodge bullets all the time and never know it. And they can’t appreciate the bullet they didn’t see whiz past them. All they remember was that they’ll never drink another Kiwi Martini again. And even eating kiwis… even with all those health benefits… they’re just too painful to even eat most of the time.