Photo by Joshua Porter.

We met on a dating site. I don’t remember what screen name I used. Yours was “Cautious.”

You’re a Minneapolis girl. You love music and bands define your life. You’re also artsy and edgy. Definitely too cool for me.

I don’t know much about indie music but instead of asking smart questions I tried to talk about something else. I think I thought you’d be impressed that I worked at an art museum.

You did recommend a band for me. “The National.” They’ve gotten you through some tough times. We talked a little about that band and I decided I should listen to them. Maybe I was just hoping that if I listened to them you’d like me. But you kind of sold me on it.

Sorry about the rest of the conversation. I was nervous, and there was no chemistry as you know. It was one of those painful how-can-I-fill-the-quiet things. Kind of like dry humping, but for talk.

This is the best part.

“I had fun tonight,” I said, wondering why I said that.

“Yeah, me too,” you said. That was nice of you.

“Let’s get together again…”

“I don’t think so.”

Thanks for being direct like that.

I don’t think of you often but here’s the thing. When I got home I did check out The National. I put them on a Pandora station. I tried to imagine you listening to these songs after a breakup or when you’re all alone. Maybe you listened to them that very night. I couldn’t picture it.

But the songs were pretty good, and I kept the station.

Over time I changed it. I curated. It still has that same seed band but now many others. It’s still named Cautious The National.

I don’t remember your real name, Cautious, or exactly what you look like. But you did educate me a little on indie rock and boy-girl relations. And once in a while I listen to my station, and I think of you.

Thanks Cautious.