The meeting
I entered the crepe place and slid along the wall towards the counter, scanning the crowd for my date. I was running a little late and assumed he would already be there. But I saw no one who matched the pictures I had seen on OKC or on his professional site. And then I saw a man sitting alone. He looked neither as young as the OKC pics, nor as together as the website pic, but definitely like a 50-something academic, so I headed towards him. The look of pleased recognition that crossed his face as I approached told me that this was indeed my date and that my pictures were perhaps more accurate than his.
He rose to greet me with a hug as I approached. That put me off a little. I don't like to be touched by strangers, but did not know how to deflect his greeting, so I accepted it as quickly as I could. He asked if he could get me something and my instinct was to refuse, to say I would get my own; but I glanced at the pot of tea on the table, murmured that I would also have tea, and sat as he went off to get it. There a followed comedy of errors as I sought sugar, spilled my tea, allowed him to get napkins, and returned the sugar to the counter. Oy. But then we were settled, ready to talk to each other.
I don't remember how we started the conversation, just that it progressed easily. That it was interesting to me to watch his personality develop as our conversation both broadened and deepened. I could see all three of the pictures I had seen in his features as he spoke. The animation that lit up his face as he spoke of his current career endeavors was transformational. He spoke warmly of his children, quietly about his ex-wife and divorce, with compassion about an ex-girlfriend. I found myself telling him stories I had not intended to tell, pleased and comforted by his lack of judgement. His eye-contact was intense, so much so, that I found myself breaking eye-contact with him frequently, to avoid the intensity. And yet, we continued to talk.
He asked if I had eaten, shared the menu with me, and then went off to place and pay for our order. And again, part of me wanted to take care of myself, resisted letting him buy my lunch, even as I knew that he wanted to and that I should let him. He went to put more money in his meter, and still we talked. He started touching my hands, flirting with me, clearly pleased by my company and I found myself wondering at this man who had taken such a quick liking to me. He said that he had been happy over the last few days, anticipating meeting me and I wanted to ask him why, but smiled and nodded instead. He said that his meter was about to run out again, and that perhaps we could find someplace quiet to go and kiss?
I found myself agreeing and we walked out into the cold of a Somerville evening and the back streets around Davis Square, to stand on a street corner as the cars passed by, making out like a couple of teenagers. Later, in his car at Alewife, I found myself throwing him curve-balls, purposely trying to put him off balance. "What am I going to do about all the other men I'm seeing?" I said, teasingly asking a question that had been the kiss of death for many an interchange. "Keep seeing them," he said, "you have your life and I have no interest in stepping on that. It is what makes you who you are." And we talked. We talked until I said "dog bladders!" and he let me go, knowing that he would follow me home.
He rose to greet me with a hug as I approached. That put me off a little. I don't like to be touched by strangers, but did not know how to deflect his greeting, so I accepted it as quickly as I could. He asked if he could get me something and my instinct was to refuse, to say I would get my own; but I glanced at the pot of tea on the table, murmured that I would also have tea, and sat as he went off to get it. There a followed comedy of errors as I sought sugar, spilled my tea, allowed him to get napkins, and returned the sugar to the counter. Oy. But then we were settled, ready to talk to each other.
I don't remember how we started the conversation, just that it progressed easily. That it was interesting to me to watch his personality develop as our conversation both broadened and deepened. I could see all three of the pictures I had seen in his features as he spoke. The animation that lit up his face as he spoke of his current career endeavors was transformational. He spoke warmly of his children, quietly about his ex-wife and divorce, with compassion about an ex-girlfriend. I found myself telling him stories I had not intended to tell, pleased and comforted by his lack of judgement. His eye-contact was intense, so much so, that I found myself breaking eye-contact with him frequently, to avoid the intensity. And yet, we continued to talk.
He asked if I had eaten, shared the menu with me, and then went off to place and pay for our order. And again, part of me wanted to take care of myself, resisted letting him buy my lunch, even as I knew that he wanted to and that I should let him. He went to put more money in his meter, and still we talked. He started touching my hands, flirting with me, clearly pleased by my company and I found myself wondering at this man who had taken such a quick liking to me. He said that he had been happy over the last few days, anticipating meeting me and I wanted to ask him why, but smiled and nodded instead. He said that his meter was about to run out again, and that perhaps we could find someplace quiet to go and kiss?
I found myself agreeing and we walked out into the cold of a Somerville evening and the back streets around Davis Square, to stand on a street corner as the cars passed by, making out like a couple of teenagers. Later, in his car at Alewife, I found myself throwing him curve-balls, purposely trying to put him off balance. "What am I going to do about all the other men I'm seeing?" I said, teasingly asking a question that had been the kiss of death for many an interchange. "Keep seeing them," he said, "you have your life and I have no interest in stepping on that. It is what makes you who you are." And we talked. We talked until I said "dog bladders!" and he let me go, knowing that he would follow me home.