By the time Zach and I had our first date, I figured it was a sort of get-this-out-of-the-way kind of date. You know the kind. The kind where you connect with someone, it seems all sparkly at first, and then, failed attempt after failed attempt to secure a day/time that's good for both of you, it starts to seem like you're just following through so you don't seem wish-washy.
It took weeks to finally nail a date that worked for both of us. I had gotten -- and faught, without antibiotics, thankyouverymuch -- strep throat; I was right in the middle of finishing up my Reiki practitioner training; the great Portland Snowpocalypse of 2014 was melting away; and, because I need a lot of positive reinforcement to be convinced someone is really into me (and I kinda just didn't think he was), I wasn't all that invested.
I had even forgotten to return one of his messages, which he thankfully followed up on, because in my post-illness haze (and figuring he was just doing me a favor continuing to feign interest in going on a date with me), I had spaced on it/him completely.
I should note here that Zach had a remarkably different impression of the time leading up to our first date. Unbeknownst to me, he was crazy excited. The only indication I had of this (which he likes to remind me of all the time) is the fact that he arrived to my house for our first date with a fancy bone for Bodhi.
(Bodhi has since come to adore Zach, and the lovely warm campfires he's so good at making, in addition to his excellent taste in gourmet bones....)
All the same, by the time Zach arrived (super mega bonus points: he picked me up at my house!), I had that funny anticipatory nervous feeling in my tummy, and was so stinkin' charmed that he'd brought my pup a bone. It was straight up adorbs. AND he opened my car door for me. (And he still does. Every time.)
On the ride out to the Indian restaurant Zach found for us (I had mentioned I was ravenous for good garlic naan), I found myself just plain comfortable. Like I'd hopped in the car with an old girlfriend from college, and we were about to start talking about our periods any second.
I mean, do you really want to feel that comfortable on a first date? At the time I didn't think so.
It was was nice, but not mind-blowing. I spoke fluidly and without reserve. I felt like myself. I was attracted to him in a way I didn't quite recognize; more than thinking he was just a cute dude, I found him really interesting to look at. I kept noticing things about him throughout the night: the way he tucked his hair behind his ears, the shape of his teeth, his hands, the way he walked (and his sweet little booty). And, most notably, the way he looked at me like I could be either magic or insane, and I couldn't tell which it was.
Despite the initial comfort that eventually evolved into sharing a bottle of wine and lots of laughter over our three-hour meal together, we both agree now that it wasn't an epic first date. Neither of us thought the other was that into him/her. I was kinda bummed he didn't want to grab a drink or somesuch after dinner, but considering that it hadn't been an outrageously romantic evening, I figured I had had the correct read on the situation all along: Zach just wasn't that into me.
And honestly, I wasn't that bummed. On the way back to my house, I figured, if anything, it had been a fun night out with an interesting, intelligent, funny guy who had brought my dog a bone.
Zach insisted on getting out of the car to come around for a proper goodbye hug. And it was good. But then it lasted. And lasted. And lasted.
I felt so held, so trusted. As I would come to realize would become normal for Zach and I, time just sort of melted softly away. Moment by moment, it changed (almost) everything for me about that first date.
At one point, many many seconds into this warm embrace with a near-stranger, I realized that every so gently, it was sprinkling. And the feeling of the cool sprinkles on my cheeks, with this warm and wonderful man holding me, was a memory I kept coming back to over the next few days as we navigated ourselves into a connection that would end up leading to, well, all of this. And this.
Our first date was 6 months ago yesterday. Half a year. All year, around almost every corner of thought, daydream, reverie or hope, has been Zach.
For lovers of such short duration, we've been through a gauntlet of clusterfuckage. Seemingly from the very beginning, we've faced proverbial dragons of all kinds -- both inner and outer. But woven throughout the months has been the way time bends and warps whenever we're in the same room; so often looking at Zach, I don't know if I'm looking at him here and now, or him as an old man I've grown ancient with, or a child I climbed trees with, or if we're from another time and place all together.
He holds entire lifetimes in his eyes, and I'd come back for him, and the way he looks at me, every time.
