Slammed

he says as he relaxes further into his seat.
     
    Driving, no talking, keeping it interesting. I'm repeating what he said in my head and hope I’m misunderstanding his intent. He laughs when he sees the hesitation on my face and it dawns on him that I've taken what he said out of context.
     
    "Lake, No!" he laughs. "I just meant let’s talk about something besides what we’re expected to talk about."
     
    I breathe a sigh of relief. I thought I had found his flaw. "Good," I laugh.
     
    "I know a game we can play. It's called 'would you rather.' Have you played it before?"
     
    I shake my head. "No, but I know I would rather you go first."
     
    "Okay." He clears his throat and pauses for a few seconds. "Okay, would you rather spend the rest of your life with no arms; or would you rather spend the rest of your life with arms you couldn't control ?"
     
    What the hell? I can honestly say this date has definitely not started the way any of my previous dates have gone. It's pleasantly unexpected though.
     
    "Well…" I hesitate. "I guess I would rather spend the rest of my life with arms I couldn't control?"
     
    "What? Seriously? But you wouldn't be controlling them!" he says, flapping his arms around in the car. "They could be flailing around and you'd be constantly punching yourself in the face! Or worse, you might grab a knife and stab yourself!"
     
    "I didn't realize there were right and wrong answers," I say.
     
    "You suck at this!" he teases. "Your turn."
     
    "Okay, let me think."
     
    "You have to have one ready!" he says.
     
    "Jeez, Will! I barely heard of this game for the first time thirty seconds ago. Give me a second to think of one."
     
    He reaches over and squeezes my hand. "I'm teasing."
     
    He repositions his hand underneath mine and our fingers interlock. I like how easy the transition is, like we've been holding hands for years. So far, everything about this date has been easy. I like Will's sense of humor. I like that I find it so easy to laugh around him after having gone so many months without laughing. I like that we're holding hands. I really like that we're holding hands.
     
    "Okay, I've got one," I say. "Would you rather pee on yourself once a day at random, unknown times? Or would you rather have to pee on someone else ?"
     
    "It depends on who I'd have to pee on. Can I pee on people I don’t like? Or is it random people?"
     
    "Random people."
     
    "Pee on myself," he says without hesitation. "My turn now. Would you rather be four feet tall, or seven feet tall?"
     
    "Seven feet tall," I reply.
     
    "Why?"
     
    "You aren't allowed to ask why," I say. "Okay, let’s see. Would you rather drink an entire gallon of bacon grease for breakfast every day? Or would you rather have to eat five pounds of popcorn for supper every night?"
     
    "Five pounds of popcorn."
     
    I like the game we’re playing. I like that he didn’t worry about impressing me with dinner. I like that I have no idea where we're headed. I even like that he didn’t compliment what I was wearing, which seems to be the standard opening line for dates. So far, I like everything about tonight. As far as I’m concerned, we could drive around for another two hours just playing ‘would you rather’-and it would be the most fun I’ve ever had on a date.
     
    But, we don’t. We eventually reach our destination and I immediately tense up when I see the sign on the building.
     
    Club N9NE
     
    "Uh, Will? I don't dance." I'm hoping he'll be empathetic.
     
    "Uh, neither do I ."
     
    We exit the vehicle and meet at the front of the car. I'm not sure who reached out first, but once again our fingers find each other in the dark and he holds my hand as he guides me toward the entrance. As we get closer to the entrance, I notice a sign posted on the door.
     
     
     
    Closed for Slam
     
    Thursdays
     
    8:00-Whenever
     
    Admission: Free
     
    Fee to slam: $3
     
     
     
    Will opens the door without reading the sign. I start to inform him the club is closed but he seems like he knows what he's doing. The silence is interrupted by the energy of the crowd as I follow him through the entryway and into the room. There is an empty stage to the right of us, with tables and chairs set up all over the dance floor. The place is packed. I see a table toward the front that looks like a group of younger kids, around age fourteen or so. Will turns to the left and heads to an empty booth in the back of the room.
     
    "It's quieter back