My Heart Belongs to Me

I had already texted him to say I was running late because something had come up.

“Take all the time you need,” he replied.

I was late because I had offered to help an elderly woman cross the street. When we finally reached the other side… an expedition that took more than ten minutes… she confessed that she had not actually been waiting to cross the street.

She had been waiting for her Uber.

Apparently, no one had shown her kindness in such a long time that when I offered to help her, she didn’t have the heart to tell me no. So she allowed me to slowly escort her away from the exact location where her driver was coming to collect her.

By the time we reached the other side, she had missed the Uber.

Now I had to order her another one and help her cross the street again, returning her to the same shady spot where I had originally found her.

When I finally arrived at the restaurant, he came outside to meet me.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been having a great time talking to the fortune teller inside. I actually took the liberty of hiring her to do a reading for both of us. I thought you might enjoy it, since you’re into all that occult stuff.”

So while I had been outside reversing an act of kindness, he had been inside discussing our destiny with a fortune teller.

“That was thoughtful. Thank you.”

He led me back to the table, where the fortune teller introduced herself and held out her hands.

“Give me your palms.”

I placed both hands in hers.

She examined them for a moment.

“How strange,” she said. “You don’t have any lines.”

“A very small percentage of people are born without palm lines,” I told her. “It’s unusual, but it’s not supernatural.”

I looked down at my hands.

“I’ve considered having the lines tattooed on, but that would feel like predetermining my destiny.”

She looked at me.

“And where would the fun be in that?”

The fortune teller’s phone rang.

She answered it.

“I knew you would call.”

Then he told me he was looking for a good Christian woman, though he considered himself very open-minded.

“It’s always important to know exactly what you want,” I told him.

He had crosses tattooed all over his body, loved Jesus, and seemed deeply concerned about the precise nature of my relationship with Him.

Then he asked whether my heart belonged to Jesus.

“My heart belongs to me,” I said.

The fortune teller, who apparently had one ear on the phone and the other on our conversation, leaned over from the next table.

“The truth is, her heart is in California with a man she briefly met,” the fortune teller said.

“Not because I gave it to him out of romantic love,” I said. “He borrowed it for an exhibition. Apparently, people wanted to see what a witch’s heart looked like on display.”

“That was six months ago, though. The exhibition is over, the trend has died down, and everyone has already forgotten about the witch’s heart.”

“I suppose he put it in the freezer inside his garage and forgot all about it.”

“So now I’m just waiting for him to remember to mail it back.”

I looked back at him.

“But just so you know, I do have a heart.”

“Do you believe in Jesus?” he asked.

“I like the rebellious Jesus,” I told him. “The sharp-tongued one. The one who went face-to-face with the devil and essentially told him to f*** off. The one who healed people on the Sabbath and called hypocrites exactly what they were.”

“That’s the Jesus I like.”

“I believe heaven and hell are internal states, and that God is consciousness.”

“I respect your beliefs,” he said, “but that’s wrong.”

“You’re not like most Californians I’ve met. I actually really like you,” he said. “Texans value people. We still know how to treat each other. We’re nice. We care for one another. You’ll never see road rage here.”

“That’s because everyone is armed. You think twice before honking. I’ve seen people sit through an entire green light because they were too afraid to honk at the person sleeping through it.”

Then he complained about Californians.

“They come here, raise the prices, and take over our land.”

“You should’ve seen me when I arrived in my wagon and planted the California flag in Texas soil like they did in that moon-landing commercial.”

“You’re funny,” he said.

Then he began listing everything he owned.

“I have a house here, another property over there, a vacation condo, a pool, a boat, and friends with boats.”

“Do you have a time machine or a teleportation portal?” I asked.

He paused.

“No.”

“Then I’m not impressed.”

“So tell me… why do you Californians say ‘like’ so much?”

“The same reason you say ‘y’all.’”

“I dare you to go twenty minutes without saying ‘like.’”

“Actually,” I said, standing up, “I can go much longer than that.”

And I fulfilled his wish by leaving the table.

I asked the waiter to box up my taro mochi.

My date apologized and followed me to the car.

When we reached my car, he looked through the window.

“Is that a chicken in your back seat?”

“Yeah. I’m trying to find him a home before I move.”

“Did that bird just flip me off?”

“He has free will.”

“You know, McDonald’s could probably take him off your hands.”

“Unless McDonald’s is the name of a farmer, he’s not ready to be consumed.”

“I have to go now,” I said. “I need to get home and feed my dog.”

“But you told me you didn’t have a dog.”

“I just ordered one. It’s on its way.”