Lonely in a big city

This was going to be a long night for Ali Bloom. She moved her soft, dark hair away from her face as she analyzed Marks Facebook profile picture intently from the comfort of her bed. She thought he was relatively average looking as she particularly zeroed in on Marks photos that he posted with his mother; she smiled. Ali thought this could be a great talking point for tonight but then quickly closed her laptop before she got too ahead of herself and planned out the entire nights conversation. She had been working on that in therapy. Tonight, was going to be a night of reinvention, a fresh start, a tabula rasa. She opened her closet and scanned her wide variety of clothing for potential outfits. As she looked for the perfect piece to don, her excitement started to fade as she felt like a stranger in her own room. Was she pretending to be someone she wasn't? Was she compensating for that gaping emotional hole left by Mathew and his damn oversized ego? No, this was her shot at redemption, she knew what she wanted and she wasn't going to screw it up.

Her jet-black heels dug firmly into the ground as she waited outside for a taxi. Her left hand grasped her dress as it blew swiftly with the wind like it did for Marilyn Monroe. Her confidence was palpable. She called for the cab with her free hand and scurried into the vehicle with great anticipation for her date; the first one. She had been on first dates before, but none like this, as this one was blind. Her friend Miranda had set this up and Miranda was known for picking the good ones. A self-proclaimed matchmaker, Miranda was sure Mark was "the one" for Ali. Ali fancied tall, medium built, well groomed men and that, was Mark. Not to mention he had Facebook pictures of his mother, surely a home run.

Mark stood at the bar inside of a traditional Italian restaurant that happened to be owned by a purebred American family with no ties to Italy whatsoever, classically New York. He ordered a Jack and Coke as he waited for his date. He wanted to get there early and scope the place out incase he needed to plan an exit strategy should the night not go so well. This had happened before with Mark, so he was well adjusted to the New York dating scene. He scanned the crowded bar for some resemblance of the pictures he had seen on Ali's profile. As he shuffled his gaze toward the front of the restaurant, there she was. Ali and Mark locked eyes, the tension building inside both of them like a rope being pulled in a game of tug-of-war. Who would let go? As Ali approached Mark at the bar, he smiled. "Would you like a drink?" He asked. "Oh, please" she responded bluntly, and the night was off.

Ali took her glass of Merlot from the bar to the table as the waitress sat them. They headed to a corner table in the back of the room and took their seats. As they finished the "small talk" conversation about weather and their mutual friend Miranda setting them up, Ali started yearning for deeper conversation. "What's your body count?" she blurted out. Mark looked surprised and nearly choked on his drink. "Body count? We're talking about murder, right?" he said with a jest. Ali aknowleged his futile attempt at humor with an eye roll. "You know what I mean" she said as she blushed through the multiple layers of makeup she had applied earlier. Mark was reluctant to reveal his number, as he felt it would deter Ali's interest in him. She pursued further. "oh common! It can't be that bad. If you tell me yours, I'll probably tell you mine." The sarcasm was evident, and Mark took the bait. "32" he said with a striaght face. "But that's only the times I fully remember, the others probably dont even count." Ali sat back in her chair and wondered if he was joking again. Her eyes widened. She started to ponder a response. "I knew that would scare you away" he said with an embarrassed expression. "I was a crazy kid, but I think that's all out of my system now." Ali was quick to reassure him that 32 wasnt so bad. Afterall, her number was 13 and to be fair, that was nearly half.

As the night progressed, it was clear that they had chosen to remain honest with each other, allowing the conversation to venture deeper. They talked about their lives, ambitions, failures and what they thought they needed in life to feel whole. They trusted each other, and bonded in the impression that they both had relatable vulnerabilities and were simply looking for a companion.

The night ended in typical Hollywood fashion, a walk to the doorstep. With each step they both experienced the growing anxiety that came with the anticipation of an eventual goodnight kiss. Ali jangled her keys, Mark cleared his throat, they were done talking. They locked eyes on the stoop of her modest NYC apartment. "May I kiss you goodnight?" he asked politely. She smiled and without a response, they shared a moment full of passion. Mark left Ali that night with a feeling he had yet to experience in all his 63 years, love.

As time blew by, Mark had yet to hear from Ali since their first date. It had been a few weeks and he had thought about her often. Her soft lips, their sweet embrace, the way she laughed at his jokes. Ali thought fondly of Mark as well. She never returned his texts though, as she was busy with work and setting up her retirement plans. She didnt feel that she had time to allocate to a new relationship. Months later, she sent Mark a text. "Hey... what was the name of that Merlot?" she said. Mark responded "I guess were both just lonely in a big city".