Second Dates are for Losers: part 3

Two days before Halloween, I texted Ali: "I'm interested in your brother-in-law's Halloween party."

An hour later, Ali replied: "You're inviting yourself on a second date?"

I texted back: "You're right. It does look like that."

Ali: "They canceled the party. Don't ask why."

Me: "Why? jk."

Ali: "They're getting a divorce."

Me: "What?"

Ali: "Joking! 🤣"

Five minutes later.

Me: "Do you have any other plans? Halloween's a Friday."

Ali: "Check in tomorrow. I'll think of something to do. You think of something too."

All day and the next day, I couldn't come up with any Halloween ideas that were unique or remotely interesting. I had my wall costume ready—an oversized white t-shirt with a brick pattern drawn in permanent marker.

Then my phone pinged.

Ali: "Meet at the south parking lot, Hurricane Trails, 4:30 tomorrow. Let me know."

Me: "Okay. See you then."

◇◇◇

The next day at 4:15 pm, I drove to meet her. The sun was already below the tree line. The evening had darkened to a hazy illumination. Some shops had their lights on.

I pulled into the lot, my headlights catching Ali's car. Two heads were inside, not what I expected.

I walked over, and they stepped out of the car. "Hi, Ryan," Ali said. "This is my friend Amelia." Both wore long black hooded robes, their faces colorless under the hoods in the warm, overcast dusk.

"What are we doing?" I asked.

"We're walking into the woods for a small ceremony for Bob," Ali said.

"Who's Bob?" I asked.

"Amelia's golden retriever," Ali said. "He passed last week."

I stood there in my brick-patterned t-shirt.

"Is that your wall costume?" Ali asked, glancing at my shirt.

"Yes," I said.

◇◇◇

Amelia led us from the lot to the trail. Under the tree canopy, another layer of darkness settled in. Ali and Amelia's robes dragged softly over the path, their outlines barely visible. Amelia's flashlight lit the trail as we wound downhill for ten minutes. No one spoke. The unseen brook gurgled nearby. I'm familiar with the trails, but the dark makes you light on your feet in a cautious way. When we reached a small clearing, Amelia handed Ali the flashlight and set a votive candle before a braided lock of Bob's hair.

Amelia whispered, "Stand quietly, please." We all stood still in the clearing, staring at the candle's flicker. I focused on the flame's tip, where it met the air. My mom taught me that when I was young. On my eighth birthday, she whispered, "Honey, look at the flame's tip where it meets the air and make your wish. Don't tell anyone so no one knows."

"That's it," Amelia said softly. "We're done. Thank you." She blew out the candle and capped it with foil. Amelia's tribute to Bob felt solemn, not sentimental. We hiked back up the trail, Amelia and Ali on either side of me. At the parking lot, I stood back. Ali and Amelia talked by their car. Then Ali turned to me. "Ryan, can you follow us to drop Amelia off?"

I scratched my head, standing in the dim throw of light from Ali's open car door.

"I don't know," I said.

Amelia got in the car and closed the door. I stood face to face with Ali in the dark.

"What's going on?" Ali asked.

"I'm not up for it," I said. "I need some downtime."

"Okay," she said.

"The extra person threw me," I said. "I get why you'd want that though."

She took a breath. "Yeah. You're right."

"Maybe we'll try again," I said.

She touched my hand and went back to her car.

◇◇◇

On the drive home, I listened to a tech industry podcast. Peter Thiel, tech investor and co-founder of PayPal, was being interviewed. He was asked about the future of AI and the human race.

"In this race for superintelligence, you would prefer the human race to endure, right?"

Thiel hesitated.

"Uh, you're hesitant," the interviewer pressed.

"Well, I, yes. I don't know. I would, I would, um."

"This is a long hesitation," the interviewer added.

"There's so many questions, and should the human race survive?"

Thiel responded, "Uh, yes, okay."

◇◇◇

Think, Mr. A 🫆