Date 11 - Out to Lunch with Constantine

Constantine forgave me for running out on our lasagna date. I know this, because we met up for lunch the next day and he did not simply throw his book at me and leave.

I arrived on time, he was early. The server asked if I’d like a table, I asked if it was ok if I joined Constantine. This earned a smile from him and a confused laugh from her.

I barely looked at the menu, I knew I wanted phō. Had it been an extremely off day and I wasn’t just naturally craving soup, the chill in the air and the magazine all about phō that I’d leafed through the night before at Constantine’s house (because those are commonplace) had conspired against me. Constantine remarked that I barely glanced down. He seemed to think that I was a regular customer and had the menu memorized. In fact, my regular and favourite Vietnamese place was just two blocks away, but they were blocks that Constantine would have had to walk in the freezing cold, so I met him at a location that was more equitable.

Constantine gave me his book again. He asked if I had read the beginning. I thought I had. There was a note about why he’d chosen American Typeface as the font. I had also read his recommended reading and selected filmographies and bits and pieces of various essays throughout. But it turns out that I ought to have proceeded in a more logical fashion. The dedication page read: For, or perhaps against Emily. My name was in the printed book. Bam. Coolest thing ever? Maybe.
 

We talked about cephalopods and how cool/terrifying it would be if they were terrestrial or arboreal and could sail through the air like flying squirrels or drop onto their prey from tree tops and rip poor creatures to shreds with their beaks. As you do.

Though we had yet experienced an awkward silence, I broke out the cue cards that my friend had made and asked Constantine what he had wanted to be when he grew up, and whether he was doing it. He’d wanted to be a foley artist (the amazing, faceless people who make all of the sounds you hear in a film), which is wonderful. I’d wanted to be a marine biologist, because I lived more than 1,200 kilometers (700 miles) from the nearest ocean, but I’d heard good things.

It was another abbreviated date, and we set a record for our shortest yet. Constantine treated, and hugged me goodbye before asking when we would meet again. I told him I’d be away all weekend, and felt a bit sad about it. He said he’d see me when I got back. I still had his glass Tupperware, so I believed him.