We sat across from each other in a dimly lit restaurant and I wished I hadn’t chose the seat with a clock in plain sight. I shredded a napkin between my fingers while fishing for words without bait. As he wiped condensation from his glass, I pushed the bits of paper into my hand and piled them in the corner of the table. During the time spent "perfecting" that pile, I pondered deeming the act a delicacy. As farfetched as that sounds, I couldn’t really help it. I dreaded the moment when our eyes would meet again, paired with our own versions of “let’s pretend this isn’t horrible” smiles. No teeth, of course.
I wasn’t nervous about this evening or this man; in fact, my feelings about him were quite certain. He is decent looking, well-spoken, and kind. Despite my initial reaching for the doorknob, he insisted that I enter the restaurant first. Those who know me know I am adamant about holding the door for others, fueled equal parts by principle and politeness, but after a few seconds of lighthearted bargaining, I sensed that he just wasn’t getting that. I reluctantly surrendered with a mannerly grin as he swung the door open. I was not bothered by the fact that he didn’t get it, but more that it didn’t seem worth trying to convince him otherwise.
After we were seated, he mentioned how cold October has been, and how “cool” the leaves look, and carefully spilled a few other cordialities on the table. I cleaned them mostly with agreement, but nothing more. He laughed when I told him I like to read the works of Jonathan Kozol “for fun,” and again when he saw the USA Today in my purse (realizing that I wasn’t kidding when I said I like to read that too). I wasn’t offended. Aside from being used to that sort of response, his laugh was not one of ridicule, but more a laugh of disbelief. A laugh that replaces silence while one reasons with the unfamiliar. Perhaps I would have been offended if he let me hold the door, or if he wanted to know why that mattered so much, but he didn’t, and from that I knew where this was going before it even started moving.
I wasn’t nervous about this evening or this man, but rather, finding the man I wish he was during an evening of which I dream. I wondered how many more napkins I would tear and niceties I would exchange before meeting someone passionate and riveting and curious. Someone who thinks the autumn leaves are “breathtaking,” and laughs at my USA Today because he reads the New York Times. Someone who is just as obstinate about holding doors, but is never annoyed when I say "after you," because he knows I have a point to prove, too. I won't have to explain it, although he will ask me to anyway, just so we can bicker through our smiles at the dinner table. And when he tells me I am "too stubborn," it will be implied that he appreciates my stubbornness most of all. Someone who just appreciates me. I was nervous that man might never -
“Hi guys, are you ready to order?”
