Catch and release: life lessons from a bad date
By: Liz deBeer
Grimacing, she eyes the reddish liquid in the shot glass. “What’s this?”
“Oyster shooter. A perfect mix of spicy, sweet, and savory.” Her date raises his glass. “Made with tomato juice, vodka, a little pepper, horseradish, lemon. And, obviously, a raw oyster.”
“A raw oyster?” Her mouth forms an oval; her stomach, a jumble of knots.
The question lands at the nearby bar, where a woman, several decades older than the couple, turns to watch, clutching a Chardonnay with one hand and twirling a strand of her silver hair with the other. She stares at them from her perch, eyes fixed on the man’s head as he tilts back to toss down the concoction.
“You gotta try it,” he sighs, pushing the glass closer to his date.
She sniffs and the fishy flavor loosens her anxiety and bile. She opens her mouth to exhale, but instead expels clumps, the color of unripe pears, which splatter lightly on the man’s pale blue untucked button-down shirt.
“What the—my shirt!” He pushes his chair back with a squeal. His face distorts into a snarl.
His date watches as he rushes to the restroom without another word. Wondering at the disgust in his face, she dips a napkin in her water glass, wiping her mouth. Are people staring?
Blinking back tears, she dabs at the table’s surface, cleaning the mess, wishing she could disappear.
“Classy guy.” The silver-haired woman from the bar approaches the table. “Known him long?”
“First—and last—date,” the younger woman replies, surprised that her heartbeat is evening, her anxiety easing. Why does this woman look so familiar?
“I’ve learned over time that dating’s a lot like fishing,” the woman says, sitting down. “Sometimes it’s gotta be catch and release.”
“Um, do I know you?”
“No. But I do know you.” She reaches out a hand flecked with age spots.
Before touching it, the younger woman pauses, struck by the pinkie ring on the wrinkled hand.
“How strange! I have the same ring—gold infinity.”
Their hands meet and then, and then, and then. Crashes. The man’s empty shot glass shatters to the floor. The older woman shoots across the table, merging with her younger self: combining strength and sapience. Fiddling with their pinkie ring, twirling it around and around, remembering when their mother gifted it to them, a symbol of forever love.
The humiliation’s left them with new clarity, so they wipe up the remaining splatter, and pull out a few bills, enough for the drinks and a generous tip. Now transformed and newly whole, they’re ready to leave all this behind. Outside the bar, mountains rise like a child’s attempt at writing the letter M in cursive, up, down, up down, to eternity.
Liz deBeer, a graduate of University of Pennsylvania and Rutgers University, resides in NJ. Retired from teaching public high school, she now writes and teaches with Project Write Now, a writing cooperative. She’s been published in newspapers, teaching journals and magazines. Her latest flash has appeared or is forthcoming in Sad Girls Diaries, Lucky Jefferson, Every Day Fiction, 10 by 10 Flash Fiction, and Blue Bird Word. Liz's website is www.lizdebeerwriter.com. She likes beach yoga, fresh lavender, and tuxedo cats.IG | X | LinkedIn