IDK bro.
I went on a date Monday.
Although, to be fair, I don’t know if my date would classify our date as a date.
I don’t know if I, at this point, classify our date as a date.
I’ve noticed that nowadays almost everyone is just trying to chill. As if the weightiness of meaningful relationships has proven to be too heavy to bear. We don’t go on dates anymore, we meet up and hang. Whatever that means.
That’s what transpired this past monday. We agreed to a “let’s meet up and hang” sitch at this tiny, greasy, seemingly white owned, mom-and-pop fried chicken spot on the corner of Leonard and Fuller. I jacked my parents gold and silver chrysler suv and raced to the agreed spot. I was still 15 min behind schedule but I tired, ok! There seemed to be a feeling of reluctant apathy that lingered over the car as the jangling gospel music I was blasting reluctantly spilled out over me.
This was actually our second “date that’s not a date” date.
Our first DTNADD was at a tiny pizza place folded into the corner of a rustic dilapidated street on the romantically mushy, north east side of sleepy Grand Rapids. We talked over beer, pizza, and a lackadaisical attitude of hetero-normative bro-ness that I had never experienced before. I was immediately hooked.
Like almost all connections of the modern day, we met over the internet.
In his tinder profile pic, I was instantly drawn to his drooping, robin-egg blue eyes; his messy month old buzz cut, his full, pink lips and his snappy, nostalgic, urban aesthetic inspired Instagram. Besides looking like an Egon Schiele self portrait, he held an expansive depth that i discovered when we began conversing over that stupid app and then also, later on, in person over beer and pizza.
On our first DTNADD, a trend developed that carried out into our second DTNADD. The dates would start off really well but end in a weird, awkward, longing-filled place.
After our first DTNADD, he gently but firmly (over text) conveyed to me that he had no desire to pursue a relationship beyond a platonic one and shortly thereafter, communication quickly, but gently fizzled out between us.
Also, after our first DTNADD, at my insistence, I walked him home. I think me walking him home freaked him out a little. I could be completely wrong and reading way too much into it, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my actions perturbed him.
Our re-connection and second DTNADD didn’t occur for months after that encounter and our re-connection was founded initially on his desire to acquire a “plug”. The conversation eventually moved to the “it’s been so long phase” and we set a time and place to meet up and remedy our period of silence.
Just like the first time, it started off well enough. There was some initial confusion about where we were going to eat once we had acquired our chicken. He thought that we were going to go back to my old apartment that was within walking distance from the chicken spot, but I no longer lived at that address. I didn’t even bother suggesting going back to his place because there seemed to be a tentative wall around the subject of his living quarters and I had no desire to trouble the waters.
He looked so good. Like really good in his broken down birkenstocks; his exhausted and faded, American-blue, blue jeans; and his rumpled, stripped button down. On his cheeks and chin sat a tumbling but meekly restrained beard and there seemed to be an aura of awe-filled, taciturn bewilderment about him.
I inferred that although I wasn’t able to be the “plug” he desired when he initially contacted me, his “pharmaceutical socket” had been filled. His slack jaw and longer than normal delayed responses were all the proof I needed to confirm my hypothesis.
After discussing different locations of where we would eat, we finally decided to just hop in my car and see where our inert desires led us. They led us to a small, dying city-park sequestered in the middle of a suburban-esqe neighborhood. As we sat down to the table, he began to dig into his chicken and I began to talk. The intensity with which he focused on the breasts, thighs, and legs in front of him and his single-minded focus to gorge himself was truly a wonder to behold and if I’m being completely honest, sexy as hell. The only thing to break his concentration was a particularly aggressive gust of wind that swept away his focus as it did the plethora of styrofoam items we had strewn across the wooden picnic table.
Once the wind settled and we had regathered all that could be regathered, he glanced up at me, chicken in his beard and blankly stared. For some reason his gaze prompted me to ask him straight out if he was high. He meekly answered yes and I involuntarily chortled in response to his candid reply.
I wanted to ask him so many other questions. Some I knew the answer to already, some I don’t think even he knew the answer to, and in that moment of swept clarity, I felt like I could ask them. But then, something shifted and we found ourselves meandering back into discussing time space continuum and other meaninglessly philosophical conceits.
When we had had our fill of the park, we gathered our things and started heading back towards my parent’s car. I told him that I had to work and he said he had things to do as well that day. We got back to my car and I offered him a ride back to his place and he declined the offer. For some reason I began to push and he firmly said no each time I offered. He ended my arguments by giving me a curt hug and wishing me a good day. As he walked away I jokingly called out to him that he was an idiotic weirdo for rejecting my offer and the look he gave me was one that I have difficulty describing.
It wasn’t full on anything. It came at me from the side, as if sneaking up on me like a house cat in wait. There were elements of annoyance but it was also tinged with confusion and a certain, specific sadness. It felt to be the definition of enigma incarnate. His eyes flashed as a perfunctory exclamation to his expression and he turned and languidly started heading home.
As I pulled out of the parking lot and drove past him, I waved. As he waved back, I turned up the music as Fred Hammond began to squall about Jesus being the bread of life.
Though my ears and stomach were full, I still felt a deep hunger.
I really don’t know what all of this means. I get so distracted by his looks and his cool, nonchalantly chill, bad boy charm. He’s the most naturally laid back person I have ever met.
Every time we meet, I get stars in my eyes and he always seems to have glaze in his. Our vision impairments, paired with the enigmatic nature of his personality hinder us from seeing each other fully and I don’t think I ever will reach a truly satisfying conclusion about him, or my feelings about him.
We haven’t really talked since and I don’t know if it’s because I’m too pushy or if it’s for some other reason. And shockingly, I don’t know if I care or if I don’t care to know the reason.
The melancholic tinge that subtly encases him is always going to pull on me. He has this tragic, morosely beautiful aura that surrounds and flows through him but, out of respect for him and for myself, I’m leaving the course of our relationship up to fate.
Let’s see where the chips fall and let’s be ok with where fate allows them to land.
Can/will I truly be ok with that? I don’t know, but I do know I’m willing to find out.
