Seven years ago I sent a Facebook message to a stranger: "Okay, this is going to seem incredibly forward and possibly a bit bizarre, but I hope you'll continue reading. . ." Throughout the month of January 2012 I had been seeing a guy I met online, a graduate student studying astrophysics or some such science in Chicago. He was nice enough, but I could tell after a few weeks that it wasn't going to work out. When I told this to a friend over email she responded "Well that's too bad. BUT there are plenty of other fish in the sea! You should really check out this guy, . . ." So I did. I checked out his Facebook. I checked out his JDate profile. I Googled him. My 21st-century-pre-date-research (which is definitely not the same as stalking) revealed he was smart, goofy, and almost definitely not a serial killer, so I sent him a Facebook message. Of course, I knew that when he checked Facebook only the first line or so of the message would appear before he clicked on it to read more, and I needed to make sure he wouldn't immediately dismiss my single attempt to contact him. He responded two days later, presumably after doing his own 21st-century-pre-date-research (definitely not stalking). Apparently what he saw (or didn't see) was enough to convince him because, as he wrote in his response, "It's a good thing I kept reading because that opening line really made it seem like the rest of the message was going to be asking me to donate money for a lost prince of Nigeria." We had planned to meet a week later on February 15th at 6 pm at a local Starbucks. February 15 is quite possibly the best day for a first date because it carries absolutely none of the gravitas and expectation of its predecessor, Valentine's Day. In true personal fashion I was about five minute late, at least four of which I spent sitting in my friend's car in the parking lot frantically checking my date's Facebook profile to memorize his face so I wouldn't look like a total idiot when I walked in. Thankfully, he had done exactly the same thing and, having arrived a tad early as is his fashion, he knew who I was when I walked in. It was recognition at first sight. *Cue Romeo & Juliet music* We sat down with the drinks of two people who have no taste for coffee and proceeded to talk. And talk. And talk. Most of the conversation was your typical biographical stuff - where we grew up, what we were studying, why he wanted to be a doctor, why I wanted to be a music teacher. But there were also the quirky things that made this first date unique, like when I wanted to show him how to set his own ringtone from music on his phone, so I grabbed his phone out of his hand and found out that medical students do not have music, they have anatomy lectures. And instead of selfies in their photo roll, they have autopsies. You can imagine how charming he was that not even that gave me pause. Three hours later the Starbucks was about to lock its doors on us but we weren't ready for our date to end. I recommended getting pizza at a small restaurant nearby that I'd seen but never eaten at, and told him I would pay for the meal just in case it turned out to be a terrible suggestion. We continued our endless conversation over a tasty brick oven margherita pizza, and at some point I realized that many of the stories I'd been sharing involved other guys from past relationships. I apologized for how inappropriate it was of me, to which he responded without the tiniest hint of jealousy. "It's okay! It's part of your past, and part of who you are. It's important." The relief and joy I felt was palpable. When the bill came he deftly reached for it before me. "Hey!" I exclaimed with a smile, "I said I would get it!" "I heard you," he smiled back, and that was that. (I may be a feminist, but I still appreciate a good show of old-fashioned chivalry.) At 11 pm he finally dropped me off at my apartment and still we were talking, not quite sure how to end this evening that had flown by in good company and conversation. "Awkward car hug?" I asked. He chuckled and nodded: "Awkward car hug." We hugged as best as one can across the center console in the front seat of a Honda Civic, and I stepped out into the frigid February night, light as air. Later, after we had come to terms with just how fully and unabashedly in love we were, we would talk about that night. We talked about how I was a little late, how he was a little nervous, how we met at a cafe despite neither of us knowing anything about coffee. He told me that when I took his phone to find music befitting a new ringtone he found it both audacious and adorable. I told him how meaningful it was that he showed no jealousy or discomfort when I found myself telling stories about past relationships. We both talked about how something special had sparked that evening, and how he told his parents that night "I think I found someone special." Neither of us had any idea what we were getting ourselves into. I had no idea what it would mean to partner with a med student in pursuit of a career in surgery, and he had no idea what it would be like to experience the passion of someone who's wanted to be a music teacher since elementary school. We didn't know exactly where our paths would take us or what compromises we would both have to make, but the relationship that began on that inauspicious winter evening was more than either of us could have ever hoped for.
1 Comment
Asher_Pat
3/31/2019 06:02:47 pm
Tears, flowing freely. I love both of you. Sorry it took this long to read this most special story.
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AuthorNashira is a music teacher and proud Small-Town Jew who, after surthriving six years in Brooklyn for her husband's surgical residency, is finally back in Wisconsin where she belongs! At least until the end of the two-year surgical fellowship, that is. It's a wild ride, and she's ready to tell you all about it! Archives
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