“Well, have fun,” said Kaitlyn.
“I will. See you later.”
I picked up my violin case and left practice, pushing the door open and walking out onto campus. Even though Kaitlyn wasn’t a student, we sometimes used some of the practice rooms in the music department. No one seemed to mind.
My violin was heavy, so I hoisted the case over my shoulder, wearing it sort of like a backpack. I loved this thing. I felt like my approach to making music was a little more clinical than most, but that was because it hadn’t come easy to me.
That was partially why I liked playing with Kaitlyn. It gave me a chance to improvise and exercise my spontaneity, instead of playing a predetermined song as accurately as possible.
My fingers still smelled strongly of rosin—the resin used to condition my horsehair bow. I wiped them on my jeans and walked onto the main road, toward my house. I’d told Margie I’d meet her at her place, then walk to the Riverwalk together.
I was excited for my date with Margie—I’d been the one to ask, since I didn’t think she could—but I was bummed that I had to put the music group on hold. It was probably for the best, though. If my relationship with Margie kept developing, then I really wasn’t going to have enough time for everything in my life.
And I wanted my relationship with Margie to blossom. I’d missed liking someone, thinking about them. The whole dance when you were starting to date someone was so much fun, and it brought a joy to my life that I’d forgotten to indulge, thanks to how hectic my life was right now.
I walked into my apartment, went up to my room, and put my violin down finally, taking a moment to massage my shoulder. Then I went to my closet and picked out nicer clothes, more suitable for a date. I styled my hair and made sure my appearance was perfect.
And then I set out.
We were supposed to be getting dinner at Malabar, a fancy Indian restaurant. Afterward, we planned to just hang out at the Riverwalk. There were a number of little shops there, and it was just nice to walk around. I imagined we’d be doing a lot of talking, mostly.
I didn’t want to bike, because I didn’t want to get all sweaty, but I didn’t have a better way to get there. I hopped on and rode at a leisurely pace. Rosebridge was, thankfully, very bike friendly because of the huge student population, and you didn’t really even need a car.
There were a lot of bike racks at the Riverwalk, and I locked mine up and walked toward the restaurant. There was a small sitting area around a fountain here, so I sat and waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
After half an hour had passed, I decided to just call Margie. The phone rang and rang, but she didn’t pick up, so I sent her a text message asking what was up.
This wasn’t like Margie. She struck me as someone conscientious and reliable. Maybe she wasn’t into me after all. Maybe she was backing out because she was too scared of what dating me would mean for her sexuality. It certainly wouldn’t be unusual.
I hoped she hadn’t run into some kind of emergency. Maybe she’d just overslept. That was the best possible answer, since I didn’t want there to be anything wrong with Margie’s life or our relationship.
After another fifteen minutes, she didn’t show up or text back. I tried calling again to no avail, so I texted her to let her know I was going home.
And then I got my bike and started pedaling back, disappointed, anxious, and irritated. I’d gotten so much work done ahead of time so I could clear space for this date. Why hadn’t Margie bothered to show up?
I had some work I could catch up on, so after a quick pasta dinner, I started my études, enjoying the familiar ritual of tuning my violin, applying rosin to the bow, and setting up the shoulder rest. Within minutes, I was engrossed in the repetitive sound of the études, though Margie’s absence still worried me.
An hour later, I got a call back. I immediately grabbed my phone and swiped to pick up, wondering what the hell had happened.
“Hey,” said Margie, her voice tight and reserved. “I’m so, so sorry I didn’t show up or call you or anything.”
“Yeah, what happened?” I asked, now mostly relieved to hear that Margie was actually okay. But as my relief faded, anger took its place.
“Um, my roommate had an emergency,” she said.
“And you didn’t think to text me?” I asked coldly.
“It was an emergency!” she protested. “Anyway, I’m outside your house.”
“What?”
“Yeah, Miriam gave me your address.”
“When did you talk to Miriam?”