Dawn

Dawn stares at her phone nervously, watching the minutes tick by. She tries to ignore the stares and mutters from other patrons—the judgmental, mocking glances thrown her way as she sits alone at the sports bar table.

She takes a sip of her drink. Then another. Then another. The glass is soon empty. She fidgets and checks her makeup with her phone camera. While she's at it, she checks to make sure she has none of her lipstick on her teeth.

A man at the pool table catcalls her. His girlfriend jabs him hard in the ribs, then shoots Dawn a harsh glare as if it were her fault he couldn't keep his attention on her.

Dawn exhales sharply and pretends to read through the drinks menu.

"Hey."

Dawn looks up and smiles. Relieved. Thankfully, unlike the last few dates she'd been on, Duncan Gaits is exactly like his profile picture—tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed. Lightly tanned with shiny hair and strikingly beautiful mismatched eyes: one blue, one green. His smile is perfect.

"H... hi."

"You been waiting long?"

"Err, not long. About half an hour."

"Sorry about that. Traffic was murder."

"It's alright."

"I see you already started the party without me."

He gestures to her empty glass with a laugh.

"You want one to catch up?"

"Sure. I'll get you one too. What's your poison?"

"Snakebite."

"I didn't mean that literally. Ha. Although technically—"

"That would be venom."

"You like snakes?!"

Duncan grins.

"Love them. Had one when I was a kid. His name was Legolas."

"That's adorable. Our biology class had one—a corn snake called Skippy. When we were good, the teacher would feed him in front of us. Hard to focus on slides when he was having an active day, though."

"That's amazing. Skippy is a great name for a snake."

"So's Legolas. Right, I'll grab those drinks. Back in a min. Oh, actually, you just happy with a Snakebite, or do you want me to add a bit of diesel to the mix? That's what I'm doing."

"Hmm. I did spot that earlier. Yeah, tell you what, let's go wild. We'll have a Snakebite and Black."

"Coming right up."

She watches him go. There's a confidence about him, a swagger that's totally charming. He's jovial, bouncy. And his accent —

Then she hears it.

From the table beside theirs, the slur cuts through everything. The clinking of glasses. The low drone of music. Everything. They're talking about her. Pointing. Jeering. They're not even trying to hide it.

Dawn tries to ignore them. She reaches for her drink. Empty. She beelines for her purse and checks inside; keys, bank card, a bit of cash, a small piece of metal shaped like a dolphin used to open doors during the pandemic, and three personal alarms, all of them clipped together.

"And voila! Two snakebites and Black.

Duncan returns, setting the pint glasses down. Some of it spills onto the table. He swears under his breath, mopping the drops up with a tissue from his pocket, before finally settling down onto the stool across from her.

"Thanks."

Dawn drinks immediately.

"No worries."

Duncan takes one too.

"Fancy some pool?"

"M... maybe later."

She glances cautiously toward the pool table. The catcaller and his girlfriend are still playing — well, squabbling with one another.

"Cool."

"S...so what made you choose this place?"

"Used to come here with my mate Gareth before we went off to uni. Well, he went to Wrexham. I stayed local. Still come for matches, a bit of pool. It's not—"

Another audible slur interrupts them.

Dawn flinches.

"... So yeah. That's why I chose here."

"... O...oh, right. N...Nice. What do you study at uni?"

"Art History. Final year. Currently writing my dissertation. But you probably don't want to hear about that. It's very dry."

"I'd love to hear about it."

"Really? Well then, it's about..."

The slurs grow louder. And more frequent.

"How about you?"

"Huh?"

"Your thoughts on Dalí?"

"... … … Oh … His melting clocks are fascinating. Mum took us to the museum once to see some of his sculptures."

"Brilliant. I also saw that exhibition. I love surrealism. Dadaism, too, if you are familiar?"

"This'll make me sound terrible, but most of what I know about Dadaism comes from Doom Patr—

TRANNY.

Dawn's hand reached instinctively for her purse. 

Duncan's jaw tightens. His whole body is tense.  

"Let's get out of here. I know this incredible Indian place—best korma you'll ever taste."

"A...a...are you sure? You haven't finished your drink."

"I'm positive."

BET YOU ARE MATE. FUCKING QUEERS.

Dawn gathers her stuff - her white leather jacket and purse.

"Is that all you brought?"

"Yeah."

"Come on."

They leave together. Duncan makes small talk with her the whole time until they are out of the building and away from the group.

====================

"You weren't wrong about this, Korma."

"Right?! Want the last papadam?"

"Share it?"

"Course."

Duncan breaks it into two, pushing the larger part towards Dawn.

"Can I be honest with you about something?"

"I'd hope you feel comfortable enough to be honest with me, yeah. Otherwise, I am doing something very wrong here."

Dawn laughs softly.

"I didn't actually catch what you said about your dissertation earlier. Could you tell me again?"

"Sure. So it's called The Persistence of the Absurd: Surrealist and Dadaist Responses to Modern Anxiety. I know, it sounds proper wank, but I promise it does have some elements that don't make it so academically dull."

"Surrealist and Dadaist Responses to Modern Anxiety, huh? That sounds right up my street."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dawn reaches for her papadam half. Their hands brush, and Duncan smiles.

*********

"Well, this is me."

They come to a stop outside Duncan's flat.

"I've had a really lovely time."

"Yeah, tonight's been really great. Mostly."

"Yeah? Well, the onion bhaji wasn't up to the same standard, I do admit, but they more than made up for it with that garlic naan."

Dawn laughs.

"You have a beautiful laugh."

"Thank you. You make me laugh a lot."

"Oh, bless you. I'd... I’d love to do this again."

"I would, too."

"Is the first date too early for a hug?"

"Not in my book."

Duncan hugs her tightly. Dawn rises on her toes, still failing to match his height. He's so warm. She nestles her head against his neck.

When he finally releases her, "I'll text when I get home."

"Me too."

"Perfect. Well, goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

*********

Dawn is halfway down the street when her phone buzzes.

"Home safe. Can't wait to do this again. ❤️"

She beams, doing a little hop of excitement. After taking a breath, she types back:

"Same time next week? ❤️"

The reply comes instantly:

"It's a date. ❤️❤️❤️"