A Story by Olivia Bastin

By Olivia Bastin 

I was so excited when he said yes. I’d hoped he would, but I wasn’t sure. When the words “great" and “amazing” jumped out of my phone I was thrilled. I thought he was handsome - I mean he had lovely hair. Jet black. Attractive eyes. Deep brown. So fast forward to the 14 of November and there I was putting on my make-up. Bit of shiny sparkly eyeshadow. Blush, baby pink lipstick. I was all flushed. Listening to cheesy pop music. So, I was excited. I loved going on dates mainly because I think its fun meeting new people and who doesn’t like a bit of romance.

Off I set. To be honest I was running late. I took a shortcut through the graveyard. It's not an eerie graveyard. No twisting dark rotted roots creeping from eerie skeletal trees. No sinister black crows perching on the graves. The grass underfoot was not poisoned nor sickly green. The trees stood proud as their leaves had become a beautiful orange like glowing embers. Not morbid at all really! 

I waltzed into the coffee shop. It was called the Spice of Life. I loved the warm and sunny glow. The cozy ambience of a snug little coffee shop. The walls were painted brightly. A kaleidoscope of colours. Sunny Vibrant sunset yellow merging into a deep orange. I loved the interior designs. And the cakes looked yummy too! I spied him sitting in the corner, checking his phone. I wasn’t that late –was I? I walked over to greet him. He got up politely. 

We started of with small talk- where he was from, what he was studying, his new job. General chit chat. A wave of questions from my end. I told him about where I was from, what I was studying, my new job. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards like an interrogation. Yet he didn’t say much. I’m pretty enthusiastic. and energetic and he seemed not to respond to my vibe at all. Maybe he wasn’t a people's person. The hot chocolates came brought over by a smiling waitress. She seemed friendly. The coffee shop was relatively full. Different couples, friends and groups chatting and laughing.

One girl beside us burst into cheerful laughter as her friends told her something funny. She gesticulated and exchanged a warm smile with her friends who told the joke. Her eyes were alight. They looked so happy.  I spotted a sweet old couple in the corner. The man reached across and touched the women's hand. She brushed away a tear. Some cutlery fell onto the floor on the kitchen. A group of friends were turned away at the door. 

With the background buzz of conversation, I had to focus hard on what he was saying, He was quite handsome. Nicely dressed. The granite grey sweatshirt suited him. His voice sounded bland. Indifferent, uninterested. Those deep brown eyes were empty. His body language felt hollow and removed. When we’d texted, he had been dynamic? It felt like his personality had flipped. Like someone had pressed a switch on his personality and turned it off. I feel like everyone has a vibe. Maybe your one is sweet and funny or kind and clever or lively and charismatic. But I couldn’t tell what his vibe was. It was like he didn’t have one.  

Oh, who am I kidding? – this was going terribly. I’d been on quite a few dates but this one was becoming a disaster. It was like talking to a brick wall. We made more small talk. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. What food he liked, how his course was going, if he liked Edinburgh? God help me. I didn’t know what else to say. He’d reach down and check his phone every 15 minutes. The nickname A would flash up on that stupid phone every time. Apparently, my conversation was not riveting enough for him. I’m a people's person. I love going to coffee shops and talking. I could talk for Scotland. I’m really good with people. Not him though. This was beginning to get on my nerves. How much longer did this have to last? 

The clock ticked by at a snail’s pace. Another set of friends were flicking through photos, putting their hands to their mouth, nudging each other. Looking at lively happy memories they created. My cake arrived. He didn’t order one. Maybe if I ate something, I wouldn’t have to talk to him- fingers crossed. Why did I swipe right on his profile? Jesus. How much longer?  Once I’d finished, he got up abruptly and insisted on leaving. Said he was busy. Had somewhere to be. He payed abruptly. Not much eye-contact. Clearly this had been a flop. He seemed keen to leave. God. So we parted ways outside the Spice of Life. He said “thanks” in an offhanded way and “cheers for organizing this”. Then “I guess I'll see you around”. Right. Great. Phenomenal.  

Wow. That had been awful. Strange even. As if something had been off- but what? As I strolled back through town, I passed the graveyard again. The eroded chipped grey gravestones sprouted out of the ground. There was a Miss Parkinson. Died of influenza- 1994. A Mr. Knocks. Died of old age-1898. A Mrs. Patterson. Died of food poisoning- 1993. Hmmmm. They’d added a new one. I must have not seen it. This gravestone looked cleaner, newer not like it had succumbed to the elements of time and space itself. Some of the soft orange leaves had fallen onto the grave like glowing embers. Still shining and giving off light and energy. Adam Hall. The cause of death was blank. 2020 November the 14th. Specific. However, that name felt familiar like I’d come across it before. But where? I couldn’t work it out for the life of me.  

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