My first date was with a guy named Brad*. He was a typical American guy: tall, tan, and had very white teeth. He asked me to meet him at a bar on King Street around 7pm. It was a particularly balmy night, and I was drenched in sweat, even though I'd only just showered an hour before. I was annoyed by the heat and by his lateness.
When he arrived, my spirits were high and we got into a joint. Even though it only served Bud Light, it was already packed with inebriated frat boys and sorority girls. All wore the orange and purple regalia of the local college football team, the Clemson Tigers. Brad was the same age as me and had graduated a few years earlier, but it was clear he hadn't gotten over that stage of his life. I wondered if he still had a team-colored flag hanging on his bedroom wall and a letterman jacket hanging in his wardrobe.
It wasn't necessarily my cup of tea, and Brad wasn't my usual type, but I found the experience eye-opening and even endearing. After all, when you think of America's youth, this is exactly what comes to mind. However, the saving grace for me was knowing what he did for a living.
After talking for a while about the Tigers and all the sports he enjoyed, Brad finally let it slip that he was now an adult and had an office job, working on the sales team for a hospitality booking site. Before he arrived in Charleston, he tried to get into a prestigious Italian restaurant but was unsuccessful. Is it possible for Brad to help me make a reservation? Before I knew it, I was shamelessly asking him about restaurants and making dinner plans for the next night.
When I woke up the next morning, I had received a message from another guy I matched with asking if I was thinking about taking a trip to Folly Beach. Not having a car, I was somewhat limited in getting around and exploring places outside of the city center, so I decided to take him up on his offer.
We had been talking for about two days before that, and I found out that he supports Tottenham Hotspur, has a dog named Toro, and a bull that lives up to his name. I did. As I was walking down the road to his house, the dog jumped at me and almost knocked me off my feet. “She’s jealous of other women,” Cameron* tells me with his signature Southern laugh.
As I sat in the passenger seat of a rattling car, flying down the highway, I became convinced that he might have been an ax murderer. But I reassured myself by thinking about the dog. After all, how many psychopaths do you know who have dogs of this energetic Labrador code?
The sea was calm, the sun's rays playing hide and seek on the surface, and the gentle ripples turned into waves on the sand. I take a deep breath and place the towel next to him, then take off my shorts and lie down in my bathing suit, catching a glimpse of him taking off his shirt.
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