M y phone buzzed with the familiar cricket tone I used for text messages. My family is Indian, but my parents are less conservative than most. It had only been two days since we When a guy falls in love too fast met. I wondered if perhaps he was being a little too presumptuous, but then my mind floated off to thoughts of his toned biceps. Wanting to escape the droves of college kids bar hopping on the main drag, we found ourselves at an out-of-the-way Irish dive bar that reeked of stale beer.
On stage, an old man with long white hair played the ukulele and sang an Irish ditty. The place was empty aside from two guys seated at the bar.
I sat down next to one of the men and gave him a quick once-over from the corner of my eye. The sleeves of his button-down blue shirt were rolled up, revealing tattooed arms.
I have always been a sucker for an inked up guy. After a few drinks, the tattooed stranger and I had become great pals.
I caught Brittany giving me the eye. He told me that he held a graduate degree in architecture but found himself unable to find work when the economy nose-dived. He ended up bartending and headed back to school to become an underwater oil driller.
I had paged through issue after issue of Domino magazine, created mood boards and shopped at countless stores to achieve the look. After we got married was I going to be his sugar mama? Was this guy reading my mind?
But I was turned on by the danger of underwater drilling and fact that he wanted to ink to people for a living. He sounded better and better.
Before we left, he asked for my phone number. I could already picture my friends back in New York warning me that he was coming on too strong too soon. This was a guy I had known for all of 2 hours.
I prefer dogs to cats. I would take the loud and rambunctious over the quiet and hip. Even if I drown. T he next morning, he texted me as I made my way to the airport. We exchanged witty banter about our favorite bands and teasing each other in the flirty way that makes you involuntarily grin like the Cheshire Cat at all times.
The message glowed with romance. Like those characters, our love was instant and intense, and thankfully unlike them, we would not die in an arctic grave. Our love would conquer all.
I texted him a photo.
My dark hair was wavy and flowing in the wind while a beam of sunlight shone across the picture. Even if he never got around to drawing that portrait, he would certainly have a reminder of why he should come to NYC. There were many goddesses. Was I Aphrodite the goddess of love or Athena the goddess of war? He called me the next day after work.
We talked about our goals and dreams and traded stories about our families. He told me of his mother who had died of cancer when he was only I got it after she passed. I had noticed it; it was creepy.
I thought it was one of those tattoos you get on a dare. Or some character from his favorite horror movie.