Again, But Better

I took her out. It was a Friday night. I wore cologne. To get the feeling right.
Babe and Chad are dancing too. Pilot’s smiling and singing at me on my left. I join him,
throwing my arms about as the chorus comes in.
“
And that’s about the time she walked away from me,”
we scream at the top of our lungs,
laughing and throwing ourselves around. “
Nobody likes you when you’re twenty-three
.”
We bounce and laugh our way through the weird mix of oldies the band continues to play—
mostly classic rock and punk rock from the early 2000s. When “Eye of the Tiger” comes to a close,
Pilot asks if I want to get another drink. Another familiar tune starts up as we head to the bar.
Pilot orders a beer. He turns to look at me as the bartender fills his order. I hold eye contact, the
lyrics to the latest song automatically flowing out of me, my head whipping side to side with the
beat. “
This is the ANTHEM, throw all your hands up!”
He laughs.
When the bartender returns with his drink, I lean up against the bar. “Um, water, please,” I
request before turning back to Pilot’s eyes. Music pulses around us so I lean in as close as I dare
(not very close; there’s still at least a foot of space between us). “Do you not like to dance?” I talk-
yell with a smile.
“I’m not really a dancer,” he says as my water is placed in front of me.
“But anyone can dance. We’re all dancers!”
He grins and rolls his eyes.
We stroll back to approximately where we were standing earlier, but we’ve lost sight of Babe
and Chad. The band has started playing the Beach Boys “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” We sway back and
forth, casually singing along. We’re not close enough that we’re touching, but now that Babe and
Chad have moved, it feels like it’s just us here, out alone together.
Fifteen minutes later, we head back to the bar. I order another water. “
When we live such fragile
lives, it’s the best way we survive. I go around a time or two, just to waste my time with you,
” belts
the lead.
“This band is like my iPod on shuffle,” I comment, lazily leaning up against the bar and gazing
out at the singer. “Except without the Beatles. Where are the Beatles? And also Lady Gaga.”
Pilot snorts. “Don’t forget Taylor.”

---

“Oh my god, it would be amazing if they played some T-swizzle rock style.” I sigh. “You should
play at bars like this, with your music,” I suggest cheerily.
He grins at the floor. “That would be cool.”
We head back out. Twenty minutes later, we’re at the bar again. Pilot orders another beer. He
watches me as we wait for his drink.
“It’s been a really great day,” he says, “a really great day, I’ve had a lot of fun—” He’s smiling
with teeth, like an adorable goof. Heat spreads across my chest. We have an eye contact moment
before he continues. “… with Chad, of course. What would Paris be without Chad to see it with?”
he finishes. I convulse in laughter.
Back on the dance floor, a song I don’t recognize finally blasts though the room. It’s a punk-rock
song I’m not as familiar with, but it demands movement all the same. I sing blindly, making up
words. Pilot is still smiling. I’ve never seen him hold a smile for such an extended period of time.
He’s standing right next to me now, and we’re bumping into each other as we jump and sway. My
skin sings in response: 
Houston, we have contact
.
He keeps turning to smile at me. I smile back and follow up each burst of eye contact with a
giant swig of water. It’s a good excuse to break away and center myself. I’m slowly morphing into
an anxious ball of nerves. 
What’s happening right now? Are we flirting? Like, flirting more intensely