Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Five Date Venture: Part 2

I have done it.

I have officially gone on my first date.

Well, not technically my first date. But the first that I knew for sure was a date and that had a "romantic" purpose. (Do I count when my friend took me out on a platonic Valentine's date?)

I have taken the first step into the fierce storm of the dating world. 


I am running late. (When am I not?)

I am terrified.

I didn't expect to be nervous. I hadn't felt the need to primp or impress him. I'm not too concerned about his opinion of me. Though I joke about serial killers and axe murderers, I'm not specifically concerned for my safety either - I've taken steps to make sure people know where I am and that we meet in a location in which I am comfortable. 

Yet as I walk past the familiar Moody campus to the local Starbucks, my insides churn and my hands shake and my heart cries out a prayer, "God, don't let me be there alone!" I'm not worried about being stood up, I could handle that. But my God has been with me through every venture in life, and I need to know he will be with me in this strange dance we call dating. I prayed desperately, filled with unspecified anxiety. What do you talk about with someone you don't know? What if I don't like him and I don't know how to be kind? What if I can't stop fidgeting? 

Let's be real: when do I ever stop fidgeting? 

He's late.
He's late and I'm sure I must not have told him the right location.
I text him.
I message a couple close friends.

"WHY DID I THINK THIS WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA?"
"TELL ME I'M NOT GOING TO DIE."
"If he turns out to be a serial killer, tell my mother I love her."
"TELL ME I'LL BE ALRIGHT."

I can be a bit dramatic at times. 

My friends' delayed response unnerves me even more. I sit facing the door, glancing up every time it opens.
Wrong race.
No glasses.
Wrong gender.
Maybe he doesn't always wear the glasses?
I don't have glasses in my picture, but I'm wearing them now.
I think I'll recognize him. If I don't, I'm sure he'll recognize the nervous white girl who is obviously waiting for someone.
My phone is my safety blanket as I pull up Messenger, my friend has replied and in a round about way tries to reassure me. I'm not sure I feel assured.

He walks through the door, remarkably recognizable. Taller than I expected.
Tall is nice.

I don't know the protocol in situations like this. If we were friends, I'd hug him. But we're not.
No contact seems cold, foreign.
I stick out my hand, a fairly safe, classic gesture. "Hi. I'm Cristina."

We stand in line to order. He doesn't make much eye contact, which is a little odd, but less unsettling than too much eye contact. Why am I so concerned with eye contact? We're talking about church, denominations, and his mother. Comfortable topics. 

Grande latte in hand, I gesture to a table by the window. People watching would at least be a fall back. 

We don't have much in common.
"Do you like sports?" About as much as pickled beets, but I respond with,"Eh, I'll cheer for Chicago if we win. Beyond that..." Unless it's baseball. I like being at a baseball game. But he's a Sox fan, I think that makes us arch rivals or something. At least it would if I cared about sports.
"What TV shows do you watch?" No overlap.
We strike out on politics as well. Not that I like talking about politics anyways.
We both like to draw. That's something.
Food? Well, who doesn't like tacos?
 
I earn brownie points for being able to cook. 
He earns points by proudly being a nerd. And by keeping the conversation going. This isn't nearly as awkward as I thought it would be. I can feel my facade of confidence relaxing, I laugh more freely, chime in with my own thoughts more frequently. 
He likes winter. Definitely earns points there, I don't find many people excited for the cold weather. I can't wait to go ice skating and see Chicago decked out for the holidays.

"So, Sundays are generally free for you? I'll call you."



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