The Date

The correspondence had started slowly, quietly, with a man who had just gotten separated. Through our online dating site, we emailed multiple times. We spoke on the phone once or twice until it became clear to me that he was not ready to have a relationship.

I wished him well.

Several months later, he pops up again on my dating site email. How are you, he wants to know. Fine, I reply, and you? We chat briefly via email and once again the timing is not right for a meeting. I have moved on, or perhaps he has. The details are fuzzy after all this time.

The next time I hear from him was on my regular email (when did I share that with him?) and it is the beginning of a torrent of mass emailing of pithy sentiments, cute jokes, or pleas for world peace. Please remove me from your list, I ask him. It's not that I don't enjoy seeing the aforementioned in my inbox, but it is crowding out the items I need to pay attention to and is beginning to feel more like an intrusion to me than a welcomed relief at the end of a long day. The mailings continue. Apparently, adding me was much easier than removing me from his list. I delete the emails without reading them.

More time rolls by and his number has long since been removed from my cell phone contacts. I begin to get texts that are a series of randomly spaced "t"s, or perhaps plus signs. Someone is rooting for me, I decide, by sending me these plus signs; a signal from the universe that each day they arrive with be super. I am mistaken. Eventually, the plus signs are irritating since I have no idea who might be sending them and that alone distresses me. I respond to one text, asking what the message is and who has sent them. He responds with, it's me. I'm sending you the sign of the cross to bless your day. Oh, well I suppose I can use all the blessings that come my way, but the overreaching religious significance is another clue that perhaps our friendship is doomed. I mention this to him and he blows off my concern. The blessings stop and I am unsure whether this is good or bad.

The next phase begins after more than one year has elapsed. I see him again online and once again he wants to chat with me. I was in your town, he says, and I thought of you. I'd really love to meet you. There is no one close by I'm interested in. Please say yes? Perhaps, I reply. Something in me is not completely immersed enough in this man from a different town to want a meeting. I seem to recall a religious persuasion that is strong; I am of a different persuasion and quite casual in my approach to the entire topic of religion. I ask about this and he replies that I have misunderstood; he is really not terribly religious. We speak by phone to set a date. Yet, somethings nags at me: a feeling that we are not alike enough to warrant spending time away from other interests. I cancel the date and feel like a heel.

I sign up for a popular social media site. He is on also and we friend each other. Such a surprise to see you, he begins, after you dissed me. yes, I didn't mean to...something came up. Let's try again.

The correspondence is uneven; days passing without a response to a question or an email. Eventually, he tells me that while he is online each day, he doesn't like to respond quickly. Odd, I think, but I walk away; once again convinced he and I are not destined to me.

Out of the blue I receive an email. Set up a date with me. I will bring a fabulous bottle of wine. You will fall in love with me. The thought is charming and frankly irresistible. My common sense goes out the window. Such a pity.

The evening approaches and I take care to dress for our first, long in coming date. He is running late, and like a gentleman, he calls to let me know. This will be fine, I tell myself, I have misread him all along. I am anxious but not nervous. he arrives, handsome as promised. he guides me to the table by my arm, pulls out the seat and tells me I am beautiful. Our conversation continues with more background information. Brothers, sisters, children. We are smiling and enjoying each other's company, I think. He has brought the promised bottle of wine, in the off chance that after dinner we will take a walk and feel compelled to share it and learn more of each other. For some reason, he wants to buy the same bottle for dinner. It is not on the wine list and he is disappointed, a fact he makes well known to our waiter (poor Ray). He is also comfortable mentioning that the bottle sells for $190 and how cheesy that this establishment doesn't carry such fine wine. I cringe and begin to secretly wish the floor would open up so I didn't have to witness such boorish behavior. Clearly, this first meeting will be our last. I have no clue yet how true this thought will be.

Conversation continues, a bit more awkwardly. After all, I have brought him to a wine bar specifically so we can sample wine; something I mention several times in an attempt to quell his continuing rant about his wine not being available in the restaurant. Slowly, we return to discussing our backgrounds. He is a prominent and wealthy man in his community, something else he feels compelled to let slip into several sentences. The boorish behavior continues. I am feeling like an ominous presence has replace the charming man I sat down with. He mentions he had been in the seminary. Oh, I say, how interesting. What is your religion, he asks. (Note to self: watch out for slippery slopes in the future). I answer, and apparently my religious beliefs are not up to snuff. I am casual in my beliefs; am dedicated to spirituality and a feeling of something bigger than myself, but I hesitate to name it. His face slowly changes and the smile has now completely left his face. You are doomed, he tells me, one finger pointing angrily at me. Your people are doomed and always have been for not accepting Jesus as the true savior. It's personal, I tell him. Perhaps we should talk about something else? He continues to jab angrily in the air, menacingly in my direction while condemning me to rot for all eternity. I demure, not knowing what else to do. Not wanting to cause a scene yet desperately wanting to get away; feeling unable to leave my seat.

Once again, his face changes. I am fascinated by this ability to go from nice to horrible in 60 seconds, although I say nothing. This time, he folds his hands and lowers his voice. This is what is going to happen, he tells me. I will pay for our drinks. You will leave; there is no future for us. I admire his brilliant deduction, still somewhat unable to process the rapidity with which this conversation (and date) have changed course. He walks away to pay the tab. I rise and pass him as he returns to the table. My phone is out as I leave the restaurant, calling my daughter, as if to somehow reassure myself that I am not living in some parallel universe.

I laugh.