Not For Me

"Liza! Hey glad you could make it. Please, sit."
"Of course! Thanks for asking me out."

Dwayne had met Liza at a party last week. It was rather unexpected since he hadn't successfully picked up a real-life woman in well over a year. The reasons are plentiful but they all stem from the same poisonous tree: he didn't know what he was doing when it came to the fairer sex, at all, at any point.

So when Liza agreed to go out with him, and then followed up with enthusiastic responses via text, he was thrilled. And when reality set in that she hadn’t stood him up, Dwayne was almost in a state of shock.

As Liza takes a seat at his table at Bar None in Stuytown, Dwayne gets a closer look at his new romantic interest. Rocking hot bod, check. Smooth skin, check. Symmetrical and inviting face, check. Pierced nose, fine. A white tank top paired with a long, grassy green skirt, interesting combo. A sleeve's worth of arm tattoos, didn’t notice those at the party. A rainbow peace necklace, um okay…. And lastly, shoes somewhere on the spectrum between sneakers and sandals, paired with socks, yikes.

Putting it all together, Dwayne realizes there’s only one word he can use to describe this woman: California.
A disturbing discovery, to be sure, but he knows he ought to give it a go. He’s happy just to have a warm-bodied female in front of him.

"So, shall we drink?"
"Eh, I don't really drink."

"Wut?"

"Yeah, sorry, is that a problem?"
"No, it’s fine, but... we met at a party, no?"
'Yeah, I wasn't drinking then either."
"Oh. I did not realize that."
"Really? I remember saying it a few times the night we met."
"Ah that makes perfect sense, you see I was drunk."

"Do you do that a lot, get drunk?"
"In a word, yes." 
It's meant to be a cute throwaway line, but Liza doesn't even laugh, she simply nods.

"It's just kind of the thing to do, ya know? It's fun, you should try it sometime."
"It's not for me."

The date is off to a befuddling start, and Dwayne can tell he’s not hiding it well.

"I smoke weed though," Liza says, almost offering it up as a consolation prize.
"Bingo! Let's go." He gets up to walk out of the bar.
"Where are we going?"
"Outside...to smoke."
"Oh, I don't think I want to smoke right now. I only like smoking by myself."
"Wut."

"Yeah, it makes me a bit paranoid in social situations. It's not for me. Let’s go on that walk though. This bar is rather gloomy."
"Uh, okay, sure."

They get up from their table, having ordered nothing, and start their walk south.

"So what else do you do? Besides drinking?"
"Well, I work in finance, so that keeps me busy most of the week."
"Do you like it?"
"It's okay, pays the bills. "
"You don't mind all the corruption?"

“Wut?”

"I mean, there are so many crooks in those banks. Don't you remember ‘08? All those banks went under, yet all those fucking bankers got to keep all their fat bonuses. Makes me sick. So many people suffered, lost their homes, lost their jobs. Not for me."
Dwayne maintains eye contact, but in his mind, he’s rolling them as far as he can into the back of his head.

"Yeah, I just stare at a spreadsheet all day, don’t think about that stuff too much. So, what do you do?"
"I'm an artist."
"Oh cool, what kind?"
"All kinds. I dance, I paint, I sing, I write. All kinds."
"Do any of those...pay?"
"I find a way. I've made it so far."
"So is that what you want to do, longer-term?"
"Yes, I plan on creating art my whole life."
"What kind?"
"All kinds!"
"You don't think you should specialize in one thing?'
"Why would I do one when I can do them all?!"
"Because it's really hard to be great at many things."
"Not for me."

Their walk takes them to Washington Square Park. On a Friday night. And on a warm spring evening. The young people are out in droves. 

"Music! Where is that coming from!? Let's go," Liza says as she starts running towards the distant noise.
It's like dating a puppy. So cute, and sooooo naive, Dwayne thinks to himself as he reluctantly follows.

Everyone at the scene is decked out in vintage, loose-fitting clothing. Dwayne’s tucked-in button-down and slim-cut jeans make him stick out like a sore thumb. A man in dreads drums by hand, while a convoy of other musicians chaotically jam to the fast-paced beat. A few women even have triangles, where do you even buy those? Some others are hula hooping. Where are we, Zilker Park? If you told Dwayne that every single “California-type” living in the tri-county area had gathered into this one mosh pit, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

"Let's dance!" Liza says giddily.
"Wut?"
"Dance! You were such a good dancer at the party, let’s dance here!"
"Ah, I would like to remind you that I was drunk at the party."
"What does that have to do with dancing?"
"What does water have to do with being wet?"
"Uhhh....everything."
"Exactly."
"So, no dancing for you?"
"Nope, I'll sit, you go right ahead."

“Suit yourself,” Liza says as she does indeed go right ahead. The musicians roar as she begins to find her footing with the beat. Her unorthodox movements combine ballet, hip-hop, and jazz. Is jazz dancing a thing? Dwayne doesn't know.

He takes out a joint from his pocket and starts to smoke it. Liza seems to have forgotten all about him, nothing exists for her but this blaring, mediocre music.

He sits there a little bummed out when an epiphany pops into his head. He hates this woman!

It's unbelievable. She may be hot, but everything else about her is unbearable. She lacks focus, she's rude, and she thinks she knows it all even though she's probably crashing on a friend's couch. She's got nothing figured out and then dares to shit on the way Dwayne makes a living?!

Dwayne knows what must be done, his finance instincts kick in. What do you do when something you invest in doesn't go the way you thought it would? You cut your losses.

Without wasting another second, he tosses what's left of his joint, takes one last look at Liza, and turns to leave the park.
He doesn’t make it 12 steps before hearing, "Hey! Where are you going?" Guess she hadn’t completely forgotten about him.
But instead of turning back, he breaks into an all-out sprint, and starts yelling four words repeatedly, almost like a mantra.
"You're not for me! You're not for me!"