Ten Tiny Love Stories Page #4

that it's not the real Keith Carradine

I'll be meeting for dinner.

It's only his Argentinean

stand-in.

Then I thought

I'd call Elias and his wife

and tell them

the guy has resurfaced

and that we're going out

tonight, but I didn't.

They'd feel happy for me

and I'd feel like sh*t.

I exercised that afternoon

and I wanted

to take a nap.

But I lie there, unable

to think of anything else

except this dinner date, as if

it were the only date I'd have had.

So I can't stop

thinking about it.

I'm just so mad at myself.

Here I am, filling my head

with hopes and expectations,

and as soon as I see myself day-dreaming

about visiting Buenos Aires,

I scream out loud

because I am so angry at myself.

I want to cry.

So eventually,

I did fall asleep.

But then I had this dream

that there are all

these birds on my balcony.

They can't fly,

they're jumping around like crazy.

And some of them are pecking

at the glass door,

like they want to come in.

They're like children

playing in a playground,

but they're only birds.

And in the dream, I'm aware

they're from the Galapagos Islands.

And then

I'm in the bathroom

and I'm washing my hands

over and over,

and then when I wake up,

I drive myself nutty

trying to figure it out,

trying to interpret it.

I try to twist it

and turn it every which way,

but...

nothing happens.

Then I try to call my girlfriend Carla...

she's great with dreams...

but she's at some

Weight Watchers meeting...

or something like that.

And in the afternoon,

the dream just fades away.

It's like somebody else's dream,

stale and trite.

And I realize

that dreams are about...

getting to know

yourself better,

so that you can

better yourself.

I guess I feel hurt

and I can't unwrap it.

So then I shower

and I guess

dressed quickly,

and I look in the mirror

on my way out...

I'm looking good,

believe it or not.

And when I get

to the valet at the Deli...

I'm so self-conscious,

even getting out of the car,

I'm afraid to look around

for fear that he's there,

laughing at me.

Laughing at what?

Jesus!

I mean, calm down.

So I go into the Deli,

and there's the guy.

It must be him,

he's got sandy hair, he's tall,

he's not particularly handsome

but he's okay.

And something about him

makes me feel at ease,

so I feel reassured. I walk up to him,

and I say, "Felipe?"

And he looks at me

like he doesn't speak Spanish,

and he says, "No. Sorry."

And I feel like I'm going to faint

with embarrassment.

The back of my neck

and my ears are burning,

and I turn around,

trying to be real cool,

and right in front of me,

there's this guy by himself in a booth,

grinning and waving at me.

He is so much shorter than I imagined

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