The circumstances are happy. I just had $5 mussels at my favorite place to write and Paula Abdul's "Cold-Hearted Snake" is playing in the air. There is a $4 glass of Sauvignon Blanc by my side and a kindly Somali math teacher who keeps trying to talk to me at the next table over. Not a bad evening as far as evenings go.
However, what was supposed to happen this evening was a date with the construction worker I wrote about two blogs ago. The one who was adorable and sweet and the opposite of a slimy banker I met through e-harmony.
Unfortunately, he is dropping the ball.
Despite the fact that he planned the movie night, and that he has been texting and calling me reliably and calling me baby and honey, I have a very ominous feeling that since nearly two weeks have passed since we hooked up, this movie night might not happen after all.
The problem isn't that I think he's rejecting me. The problem is, I'm feeling disappointed.
There may be any number of reasons he's dropping the ball, including the fact that he's been doing manual labor for 12 hours at a time in July heat and humidity, but at the end of the day, I'm not making excuses for him. Time will tell, I suppose, but at this particular time, I'm feeling disappointed.
What is just a little bit silly is that while I am certainly disappointed because of the plain and simple fact that I'm attracted to this man and would like to see what would happen on a second and third date, the main reason I'm disappointed is that it's just so anti-climatic. It doesn't make for a good blog. I was all set to thrill my audience (of four) with the wonderful details of a wonderful night with a wonderful guy, sort of the end-cap to a journey.
I was ready for my Eat-Pray-Love moment.
The beauty of the narrative arc. Coming full circle. Leaving one relationship, surviving the trauma, pulling myself out of the wreckage, and then-- poof! Adorable blue-eyed boyfriend at the end of the rainbow.
Damn.
Maybe only Elizabeth Gilbert is entitled to those endings.
But now Will Smith is singing Summertime, and there's a drop of wine left in my glass, so I guess I cannot complain too much. I can only keep going.
Maybe the truth is that whether there's a relationship or not, there are still questions, there is still uncertainty. Whether this man and I slid into a relationship or apart from each other and back into dating outer-space, we would both still have questions and issues and worries and needs and we would have to negotiate all those road bumps if we were together, just as we still have to negotiate them on our own. Life doesn't have happy endings. Life keeps going. And thank God that it does, if we're lucky.
A friend of mine posted on facebook that while he was going camping in the Boundary Waters but could not help thinking of a friend, a high school alum of mine whose 10-month daughter is battling for her life against a blood infection. He asked that we all "appreciate every breath we take and pray for her." Who am I to deny that request?
The truth is life is complicated. Life is beautiful. The truth is two servers are dancing to "Dance, Baby, Dance" David Bowie's song from the Labyrinth. The truth is I'm lucky to be here. Each breath is a gift.
There will be more dating adventures. There will be more stories. There might be some resolution, but there won't be happy endings. If I'm lucky, there are just more and more happy beginnings, happy moments, and happy dancing to silly songs playing on the radio in my favorite place to write.
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