On the last weekend in July, 2005, I got fed up with a guy I had been casually dating since May. I was really, really mad. I was so mad I made a crazy decision: I was going out. I’d show him. I’d get dressed up and go to a dance bar all by myself. Never mind that I had never done such a thing before. I was going to do it. Ignoring the alarm bells going off in my brain, I channeled my anger into finding the perfect outfit. At just about the moment I was finally satisfied with my looks, my phone rang. I cast my gaze frantically about the room I shared with my 13 year old sister and tried to pinpoint from underneath which pile of clothes the sound was coming from. I answered it quickly, the caller ID made me smirk. It was the Army Guy. Well. This might not be all bad. I waited impatiently for him to get to the point of his call, “Do you want to go out tonight?” Never was I surer of anything “Yes. I Do.” His voice registered shock, but he recovered quickly “You do? Uh, great How about we meet in an hour at Shakers?” I hung up the phone feeling triumphant. It was so satisfying to have a date when I just knew that other guy also had a date. Now I just had to kill half an hour, since I was already set to go. I sat and wondered what he had thought about my sudden change in attitude. (Later he would admit to me that I was the second girl he called that night. And he was very surprised I had said yes.)
So I met him at the appointed time in the Shaker’s parking lot. I was very curious to see him out of uniform, and when I did I laughed because we were both wearing black shirts. We were seated in a booth, and when he ordered a beer I asked for the same. Not because I liked beer, as he assumed, but because “Whatever he’s having.” Was a safe first date bet. I don’t remember anything about the food, but I remember the beer. Mostly because a shard of glass chipped off in my mouth during one sip. It was so bizarre; I laughed it off, and got another beer. He was impressed by my level response.
He wanted to know about me. I started to tell him my stories. About the one guy who flew hot air balloons, and the one who knew kung-fu, and the one who played in a band. He stopped me. Over and over again he stopped me. “I don’t want to hear about him,” he would say, “Tell me about you.” And I had this moment. Here I was on a first date and all of a sudden I had this profound realization about myself and my life. ‘I have been defining myself by the men I date.’ This was so alarming, I had to put it out of my mind and promise myself I would revisit it later.
Instead I focused on him. This guy I agreed to go out with despite the fact that I had already “shelved” him due to his baggage. Who was this guy who could bounce my words back to me until they became a mirror? He asked me if I liked animals. Well here was something I could talk about! I started going on about all the pets I’ve loved, and all the while he is nodding at me with this peculiar look on his face. I stopped short, “Let me guess. There are dead animal all over your walls.” He laughed and laughed. Things were stacking up against him.
Dinner was over soon. We sat in the awkward space that follows a lack of planning until he finally asked if I wanted to go get ice cream. Even though I still saw no future with this guy, he was nice enough and something about him kept luring me. I told him I did want ice cream. We agreed that I would follow him in my 4Runner to the ice cream shop. As I followed I started to wonder where exactly he was taking me for ice cream, because there wasn’t any in this part of town. Finally he stopped at a bar and admitted to me that he had no idea where to get ice cream this time of night. I laughed, and we headed in for a game of pool instead.
There was a wait for a table, so we got more beer and sat at a high top to wait. He asked me what kind of music I liked. I braced inwardly for the backlash, and then I admitted to him that I liked Creed. “They’re cool,” He said, and I was shocked. A man who did not make fun of me for liking creed? I rattled off a few other forgettable bands of the decade and he liked them all. It was the first moment of the night when I thought there might actually be something I could do with this guy. “We should go to concerts together!”
A pool table opened up and we headed over to play. I explained to him that my general strategy for pool was to hit the ball as hard as I could and see what happened. He said, “That’s fine, but if you knock a ball off the table, I get a kiss.” I dramatically swung the pool cue in an arc, “Whoops.” He smirked and took his shot. A few turns passed and then he scratched. “OHHHH,” I crowed, “You LOSE!” He came over to me, hiding his embarrassment behind bravado. “I lose do I?” He was close, so very close. “Yes. You lose.” I kissed him then, for the first time. It was my turn to shoot next and then his turn. He scratched again. I couldn’t believe it. “You did that on purpose!” I accused, and he was laughing hard, “I didn’t, I swear.” I kissed him again.
The beers were down then, and so were the walls. We sat in a booth sipping water and flirting. I liked where things were going, but they were going fast. “You want to go back to my place?” He asked, and I laid it on the line, “I can’t give you anything tonight.” Without a beat he says, “I’m not asking for anything.” It was smooth. Very smooth. So we climbed in our cars and I followed him again, through the night on a dark winding road. I wondered for the second time that evening where in the world he was taking me. At last we pulled off into the woods onto a long gravel drive. I should have been more cautious, but instead I was impressed. He lived in a real house? He owned actual furniture? This was a step up from every the other guy I had dated. He told me he was just renting, but I was still impressed.
That first date wore on into the morning. I won’t tell you all the details, because some things are too precious a treasure, but there was a lot of laughter. And of course, I left him wanting more.
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