My Body is a Cage and Other Stories

We exchange how are yous and he asks if we can walk. He appreciates the coffee and
takes a sip immediately, to my satisfaction. We startalong the sidewalk, and though I am tall, he
is taller. By a lot. It makes me feel like one ofthose girls in high school who would go around
demanding to compare hand sizes with various boys.It’s a flirtation tactic, as everyone knew,
and the smaller their hands were compared to the boysthe more they fake pouted about being
petite. I never did that because I have never beena small person. But I could be, compared to
him. It’s both intimidating and exciting.
We begin talking about the small facets of ourselves.The dog from his profile is his
family dog named Chewie. I love both cats and dogs,but prefer cats. He agrees.
“If you had said you hated cats I would have had toleave,” I tell him.
He smiles, asks why.
“Men who hate cats hate things they can’t control.It’s a red flag.”
“Oh.” He seems to be thinking. “That makes sense.”
I know it does. I watch his face for any sign of sarcasm,but if there were any they were
hidden behind a long sip of coffee.
He doesn’t play Call of Duty, but he does play Falloutand Life is Strange. I play
MarioKart and that’s it. His sun sign is Aquariusand mine is Sagittarius. He has no idea what a
moon sign is. I have several decks of Tarot cards.He collects rocks, like genuinely. I read a lot.
He is into film. I wait for him to say his favoritedirector is Kubrik or Tarantino or Anderson, but
he doesn’t elaborate and I’m grateful. He is nervousabout this whole thing. I am terrified.
We don’t know how to do this. It can’t be a hookupthing. It can’t be that immediate. But
then how do you go about doing this with someone youdon’t know?