I know you probably shouldn’t get into cars with people you only know from the internet. I have read about every missing white girl in the past two decades, I’m well aware of how fucked strangers can be. But, I feel like having an internet presence is the new getting set up by a friend? Like, he has a following, that means he’s not crazy, right?
He tells me he likes my blog. I kind of die a little bit because then I don’t have to explain to him that I am crazy and overly serious and going to talk to him about my dumb theories like how I think the NFL is good for feminism. This is already the best dude I’ve met this month and we haven’t even left my street.
I ask him to write about whether Pink Floyd is the original chillwave band because I think so but I’m not into either Pink Floyd or chillwave enough to speak with authority.
“I used to take a lot of drugs and listen to Pink Floyd.”
“Did it make you feel like you were one with God?”
I wrote a bunch of questions in my notebook, I say I’ll pull it out when the conversation dulls but it never does. We drive to his neighborhood on the other side of the city but don’t go to his house.
He tells me about Allaister Crowley. He had sex with men I guess, not cause he was gay but it was some spiritual thing which sounded dumb but I guess it was about embracing things that make you uncomfortable, which is a truth seeker thing. It’s weird to meet another truth seeker. Like, I have met a million philosophy students and religious people and others who would self-identify as fitting into this category but don’t. What I mean is, it’s weird to meet someone who is so similarly detached from whatever they find they think might be true. He isn’t secretly rooting for it to be Christianity or Atheism or Non-Denominational Utilitarianism. He’s just putting one foot in front of another down a path until it’s blocked. Then he tries the adjacent one.
We stop at a gas station because we’ve been driving around all night. I try to catch up on my phone while he goes inside. No, I’m not murdered yet.
“Do you smoke?”
“No, do you?”
He tells me something is off the record and I think about this blog and how weird it is that he knows I’m going to write this.
I ask him what he thinks the meaning of life is. He thinks it might be drugs or something kind of boring. Maybe love. I look through his iPod, it is so good I actually feel a rush of affection for him.
We go back to my house and sit on the couch. I’m actually not sure what I’m supposed to be feeling. This isn’t a romantic event but I get tripped up when someone has a good personality because if they have a good personality, what reason is there to not have romantic feelings? I have a hard time having male friends because of this: what is the difference between respecting someone and feeling attracted to them? Is that why you are supposed to fall in love with your eyes? To differentiate?
Anyways we sit inside talking for longer talking about what our friends are doing that night: hipster dance parties. I kind of want him to leave because I’ve had such a good time I am worried he is going to say something really gross and I’ll have wasted the night and all this emotional energy thinking about how great he is.
We stay in touch but now when we talk there are other people around. It’s reverse progress. We might have to take it back to the internet, just to get some privacy.