Non-Date with Darius

One of the very first dates I planned when I resolved to give this 40 Date Challenge a try was a date with Darius. He is an old friend of mine who I only rarely get to see. He lives in a nearby (but not near enough) city, and travels a great deal to Central America. I checked to make sure he would be in the country on a particular day when I was already heading his way to play in a volleyball tournament. By sheer happenstance (I know he lives there, but seriously, it’s never a sure thing), he was!

I didn’t tell Darius about the 40 Date Challenge. It had been a while since we talked, and I figured it could wait until I told him in person. I think so far he is the only date who didn’t know all about it beforehand, so it’s hardly surprising that this is the story of a definite non-date.

So why am I telling you about it? Hang in there, kiddo. It’s worth it.

The weather on the highway was even miserabler than what I’d left behind. Swirling walls of snow whited out the world around Errol, my spunky little SUV. Luckily the roads were not too icy and I had plenty of time

Besides, Errol had his winter tires on

to get where I was going. I checked my messages when I stopped for gas (and sunflower seeds to keep me awake). Darius had texted me an address of where to meet him. It was not the address I have for him in my little address book. I chalked this up to any number of things. I knew he was teaching a workshop that day, so this may have been the address of where he was teaching, or he may have moved since I last visited. He may have been at a dinner thing or a pub and need a ride; he knew I would be sober, because I was playing in a volleyball tournament all day.

I arrived at said address, exhausted but excited and still wearing my volleyball gear (Probably why I'm single *shot*). I had planned on using Darius’s shower to get cleaned up before taking him out for dinner and a movie or something. But I quickly realized this was not Darius’s house. There was a sign on the door that said something along the lines of PARTY - COME ON IN scrawled in nearly illegible green highlighter. I took a deep breath of bracing cold air, and obeyed the sign.

You can usually hear a party from the outside. There was no heavy bass thrum in the air, no boisterous drunken yell-talking. It wasn’t until I was in the porch, navigating the question of where to put my shoes because the entire porch was littered with snowboots and puddles of melted snow, when I heard the low buzz of many voices in the next room. I stepped over a pile of shoes to the door, stumbled and trod directly into a puddle. My first words as I opened the door and entered the party were, “Oh buggar.”

Immediately overwhelmed. The tiny house was packed full of people wearing an incomprehensible assortment of clothes and all standing quite close to one another, drinking and having earnest conversations. I could hear Darius’s unmistakable voice somewhere near the kitchen. Maybe he heard me cursing, maybe he was keeping an eye out for my arrival. He called my name and started making his way over. Before he could get to me, I was greeted and hugged by a tall, lithe woman who seemed to be hosting the party. My shoulder was a tight, tired knot of agony as I tried to lift my arms in an awkward novice hugging motion. The tournament had not been kind to my body. Before I could introduce myself, a shorter, equally lean girl in a red dress hugged me and asked who I was there with. If either of them thought I smelled like a gym rat, they were kind enough not to say anything. I made uncomfortable sounds and said, “Uh, Darius.”

Still learning how hugs work.

He materialized at my shoulder and I got another hug. This one was familiar and genuine and oddly comforting, even through the pain. Darius asked how the tournament was. I started to tell him about it, before remembering that we were in a room full of people, all vying for somebody’s attention. I kept it short. He handed me a glass full of dark rum and pointed me toward a low wooden (freshly handmade) table with another green highlighter sign.

FREE SCHOOL

CALENDAR

$20

So confused. I looked at the calendar. The cover was an artistic shot from the dark interior of a barn. A naked woman leaned against the doorjamb looking out onto a bright world. Not your average school calendar. I think mine had a cartoon of a ruler on it. Turns out the Free School is what the calendar (which costs $20) was raising funds for. Bit ambiguous.

The girl in the red dress picked up a copy and handed it to me. She looked at the cover, then me, then the cover again. I took a guess. Yes, it was her (fantastic) ass on the front cover of the FREE SCHOOL CALENDAR $20.

Ok, so I was at a party full of nude calendar models. Had I known, I would have brought $20.

I flipped through the calendar, looking at the composition of the shots, the countryside, the snow, pretty much anywhere but at the tastefully, artistically naked people who were now clothed in either formal attire or pajamas all around me. I didn’t even realize that Darius was August. And December. I wasn’t really sure how long an appropriate amount of time to linger on any one month would be. Luckily the models were mostly reminiscing about the shoot itself, which was a heinously frigid day. I took in details, like faces at the window of the farmhouse in the background, peeping out at the action. I listened to stories, appreciated the art and the bravery and quietly put the calendar down and sipped my rum.

Oh dear, I dropped my napkin

More people came. I met an improviser/accountant with an appreciation of grammar, a former dancer who showed me some more effective stretches for my aching muscles, and demonstrated the most graceful way to clean up a spill when (due to surgery, or in my case simply overwork) one can’t bend over. I talked with Darius’s brother Levi about film and buffalo. There were electricians and carpenters and students, and a small, spry Bengal cat milling around. I chatted with someone whose name I can’t remember about not being able to remember names.

I can pick it up
because I am grace
incarnate and not at all
clumsy.

The reason why there was no music became clear when an assortment of instruments was produced (guitars, ukulele, harmonica, fiddle, and of course two didgeridoos) and people began jamming together.

As the night stretched out and people began to leave, the remaining few assembled themselves naturally into a pile on the couch. I sat on the floor opposite and carried on conversation with the seemingly tangled, many-voiced entity.

When it was time to go, I drove Darius home, taking my time on the slick, snow-skudded roads and listening to the low rumble of his voice as he told me stories sprinkled with driving directions.