SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Weathering the Storm - Thursday, Jun. 27, 2019
Cabin in the Woods - Tuesday, Jun. 25, 2019
Needs - Thursday, Jun. 20, 2019
The End of Dating - Tuesday, Jun. 18, 2019
Sunburn - Monday, Jun. 17, 2019


Friday, Jun. 14, 2019 @ 11:18 pm
The Pilot



I pull on my hemp jumpsuit, my current first-date outfit. Push my feather earrings through my ears. Pull my hair back into something messy on the top of my head. Mascara? Sure, what the heck.

I cycle over to the bar, my headphones turned up loud. I’m not nervous at all; I’m feeling confident and interested to meet this man, a pilot for a commercial airline.

I coast towards the patio and spot him immediately. I call out his name and smile and gesture towards the adjacent bike rack. I lock up my bike, pull down my pant legs, fix the straps of my jumpsuit, and take off my sunglasses.

We sit on the patio for three hours talking. I didn’t think that he was going to be a good match, which is exactly the reason that I agreed to meet him. But as the night progresses, I discover that he is kind, loyal, smart, open-minded, and relaxed.

“You seem shifty, like you’re holding back. Which is fair. I know that I hold back too,” he remarks.

I am holding back. I am holding back because I’m afraid that you will like me.

I take it as a challenge. Fine. You want the full version of me? Here goes.

I throw back my gin and soda. Take a deep breath. Then I lay it all out. I am brutally honest. I talk at length. He watches with rapture. When I stop, I look up and apologize. He reaches across the table and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. Lays his hand on my forearm.

He messages me later in the night, asking if I’ll see him again.

See? This is what happens when I show myself.


Roots | Shoots