the one with fiona apple and the dead naked guy

I met Cassidy at a Fiona Apple concert in late October. Being newly sober, I shied away from most social scenes (in fear of slipping up), but even I was willing to risk having a glass of Merlot be accidentally spilled on me by an awkwardly swaying fan if it meant seeing Fiona… an artist whose music got me through some pretty dark times in life. Since the local venues were already sold out, I decided to make the trek down to DC to see her at a “second night added” show, due to the first one selling out so fast.

Since none of my friends in DC listened to anything with fewer beats per minute than a heart in cardiac arrest, after sampling a medley of her songs, it didn’t take long for all of them to politely (and not so politely) decline. Thus the plan was to meet them after I went to the concert… by myself. Going alone wasn’t the preferred option, however, like with most things in life, there tends to be a silver lining if you look hard enough.

At first, I assumed that my ticket must be some sort of gag and that row A was really an obstructed view way up in the rafters. However, when I presented my ticket to the attendant and she motioned for me to go all the way down to the stage, I thanked the ticket algorithm gods for their generous favor. The crowd was mostly filled with couples, so I figured someone must have purchased a three ticket block, leaving this prime, oddball seat ripe for the picking.

As I sat down I heard, “Solo dolo as well?”

Cassidy, with her half-shaved head and lip piercing, was the third wheel to a couple that looked like they had jumped straight out of a J.Crew catalog. Not the most likely of pairings, but being a single, straight man at a Fiona Apple concert by himself, I knew the dangers of jumping to conclusions quite well.

She asked if I wanted a beer, which I definitely did, but sticking with my sobriety, I told her, “I don’t drink anymore.”

She shrugged her shoulders. Before I could say another word, she was already headed towards the concession stand. I started to beat myself up, wondering why I didn’t stop at, “I don’t drink.” Why did I have to add that word anymore at the end of the sentence? The word that made it crystal clear that it was less of a choice and more an ultimatum my body and mind were giving me. Before I could overthink it some more, Cassidy was back. She dropped some Sour Patch Kids in my lap.

“Last time I checked, these don’t have alcohol in them, but you can read the ingredients if you want. I don’t want you to relapse or something,” she said with a smirk.

She was witty and cute to boot, so it was hard to not be smitten. Before I knew it, I was smoking a clove cigarette with her after the show. She wanted me to join her and her friends at a cigar bar, but I told her, as awesome as she was, I already had plans to meet my friends up and didn’t want to ditch them last minute. I invited her to join us, but she mirrored my sentiments.

Cassidy said to not stress it and told me the next time I was near Philly (where she was from) to give her a call so we could hang out. Fortunately, I had a training course in the area in a few weeks, so after a couple of days of texting memes with one another, we decided to set up our first date at a trampoline park (since she said it was a lifelong goal to dunk a basketball, but being vertically challenged it wasn’t likely to happen).

Unfortunately, the week of my trip, I tore my knee playing basketball. Normally I wouldn’t have traveled, but the training was non-refundable and I had already bailed on Cassidy once. I told her that while trampolines were definitely out of the question, I still was excited to spend time with her. Though painful, I made my way down there with the help of my brother’s driving and my doctor prescribed painkillers.

Now, as someone who just quit drinking, the last thing I wanted to do was pick up a terrible painkiller addiction, so I tended to take my medication only if I was in excruciating pain (like normal people do). In addition, my drug tolerance was low and I didn’t want to appear loopy and leave a bad impression on Cassidy, so I opted to only take half the recommended amount. Though I didn’t know her well, I really liked her. Plus, it would be nice to finally have someone who I didn’t have to force at gunpoint to go to a Fiona Apple concert with me. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the awkwardness of unfamiliarity to disappear as we soon dived into very personal matters.

Cassidy was the definition of someone with no filter. Somewhere between the appetizer and main course, she really let her hair down and we swapped the most embarrassing stories we could think of. She told me how she used to be addicted to having sex in graveyards. I told her about my fleshlight/flashlight fiasco. We both laughed all night long. Before I knew it, we were back in my hotel room making out. She wanted to take things further, but I stopped her. The painkillers were a real libido killer for me, and truth be told, I was still in a lot of pain from taking low doses instead of the recommended amount. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she looked a bit relieved after I politely declined, as if she had some apprehensions on her end too.

This routine continued all week long, where she would come over after I was done with training, we’d grab dinner, swap a bunch of stories, and then make out a bit. Though fleeting, we really did click well. On our last night hanging out, she asked me to visit her the next time I was in the area. I told her, “I’d love to,” and that after the operation I’d let her know what the timeline looked like. She wished me a safe surgery, squeezed my hand as she gave me a kiss on the lips, and the next day I was headed home.

During my recovery time, we didn’t talk too much, but when we did, it was comforting. By February, I was mostly done with physical therapy and fully able to drive a car again. To celebrate a successful recovery, I thought it might be nice to check into a fancy hotel in the center of Philly and spend Valentine’s Day with Cassidy. I knew it could come off a bit strong, but I had always told myself that you can’t steal second base and keep your foot on first, so I called her up, swallowed my nerves, and asked if she’d like a date on the 14th. She quickly said “No,” and then after a long pause continued by saying, “…only idiots pay twice as much on Valentine’s Day.”

Now after a lifetime of failed dating, I’ve developed a knack for spotting danger and the way Cassidy paused made me hesitant. My gut told me she had an actual date on Valentine’s Day and that she said the second line to soften the blow. However, I was lonely and back to my regular libido levels (since I was off the painkillers), so when she asked if I would be OK with meeting up with her the day before Valentine’s Day, I gladly accepted.

Any thoughts of Cassidy actually trying to save me money immediately went out the window when I Googled the place she desired to dine at. In her defense, I did tell her to pick whatever she wanted, but it did make me wonder more about the validity of her earlier statement about Valentine’s Day. The restaurant she recommended was fancy (I mean four money symbols on Yelp fancy), but it was a sushi spot she had been dying to go to for ages, and since I was smitten with her, I was happy to oblige (plus, I did have a penchant for sashimi).

I knew I was in trouble the moment we greeted one another. When I leaned in for a kiss she turned and gave me her cheek. Typically, when you start taking steps backward in the intimacy department, it usually means that the person likes you a lot and expects more from you commitment wise or something has changed and they have fallen out of favor with you. Since I was practically fawning over her at this point, I was leaning towards the latter. Fortunately, Cassidy wasn’t one for suspense and before we had even finished our miso soups, she dived headfirst into uncomfortableness.

“I like you, but…”

My heart froze. Nothing ever good comes after a but.

“I was seeing someone during the times we hung out.”

I’d like to say I had some more self-respect for myself and tell you that I got mad, refused to pay the check, and left, but that’s not what happened. Instead, all I could muster was a single “Oh,” as I continued to shuffle around the tofu bits in my soup.

Cassidy went on by saying, “You see, it’s a complicated situation. He’s older than you. Much, much older than you.”

“How much older?”

“He’s 67.”

It was a strange feeling to be jealous and angry at this 67-year-old man I had never met when Cassidy was the one I felt hurt by. In fact, if anything, I should be grabbing sushi with that man as we both complained about Cassidy. It may have been petty, but I didn’t care. Perhaps Cassidy didn’t owe me a single explanation, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was annoyed that she hadn’t even hinted at this other gentleman until thirty seconds ago (especially since we had been sort of intimate). Though I felt so much emotion under the surface, I sat there, unable to say or do anything.

“But it gets more complicated… he’s dead now.”

I guess him and I wouldn’t be grabbing dinner after all. When our waiter came by I asked for the dessert menu, even before the main course had arrived.

“You see, he never wanted to date me. He actually thought it was a bad idea since he had terminal cancer and his doctor said it was only a matter of time. I insisted and it sort of became this whole friend with benefits sort of deal. His funeral is tomorrow. I didn’t make plans with you on Valentine’s Day because I was planning on spending it with him. In fact, I still am… well, at least where he’s buried.”

I raised my eyebrows in suspicion. Though she looked genuine as she told this story, I thought to myself that this must be an elaborate ruse of some sort. I looked around to see if anyone was secretly recording us. As the night went on, the only thing that seemed fresh about our date was the sushi.

“In fact, he died shortly after we made love. He looked so peaceful, just lying there. Do you want to see him?” she said, tears in her eyes. She either was telling the truth or was worthy of an Oscar.

I shrugged my shoulders unenthusiastically. She somehow took it as a “Yes”. What I saw next, to this day, is still permanently seared into my brain. The photos were of him dead. Like him on a bed, clearly naked, and deceased. She had literally made love with him, saw that he was dead, and took photos of him as he lay there. And then she had shared these intimate photos with me, a man who up until a few seconds ago wasn’t sure if he was secretly on a hidden camera prank show.

I don’t often lose my appetite, but I can tell you first hand that sashimi and deceased photos do not go hand-in-hand. In fact, I would go as far as to say that they are a poor pairing at best. My dessert also sat on the table for five minutes, completely untouched, before Cassidy asked if she could have a bite.

When the waiter brought the check, I reached for my wallet and saw her grabbing for her purse. Normally I’d rush to hand my card as quickly as I could, but I was curious to see what she would do next. I kept my hand in my pocket and watched as she awkwardly fished around her purse for what felt like three minutes. Eventually, she pulled out Tic Tacs and I put my credit card down.

“You don’t have to do that, we totally can split it,” Cassidy said to me.

At this point, I had no words left. It sucked that the guy she liked died (who knows, maybe it was the love of her life), but I didn’t sign up for any of this. Before we had even stepped outside of the restaurant, she was already calling for an Uber. As we waited for her to get picked up, we smoked a cigarette together. I was completely silent, still in shock from the tale I had just heard. Rebound guy for a dead person was definitely a new one. As she hopped in her cab, she told me I was sweet for listening and said to give her a call the next time I was in the area. Instead, I deleted her number, pleasured myself in my $300 a night hotel room, and soundly fell asleep.

On Valentine’s Day, I grabbed a meal by myself. I didn’t mind being one of those suckers who paid extra. As they say, good company is priceless.

*Names have been changed to protect each subject’s identity.