“Well, you have mine.”
Time slows as my screen glows unchanging.
“Well then, here goes nothing.”
My skin tingles and I can almost see it: the laughing, the turning heads, the awkwardness at first, and then actual joy and elation. I’m shuffling in my chair again, causing my own scene at this cafe.
“LOL” my screen says and suddenly I’m doubled over laughing, maybe too loud, but I don’t even look around the patio to see if anyone notices or cares. My jaw hurts from smiling.
Another message appears: “Now I can’t stop laughing. Thanks for that, William!”
I’m still laughing and can’t tell if the words express genuine gratitude or dripping sarcasm. “Me either,” I text, catching my breath.
“Now it’s your turn.”
I read the words aloud to myself, and my throat knots up. “Now I’m nervous.”
“As you should be. I’m thinking…”
My heart is pounding in my chest. It’s almost deafening. Can other diners hear it?
“Take off your shoes.”
I repeat each word out loud. I’m seriously puzzled.
“My shoes?”
“Yeah. Take off your shoes and check the bottom of your feet.” There’s a pause. “Because you may just be my sole-mate!”
My phone trembles in my hand, blurring the screen. I think my soul is the only part of me laughing, because the rest of me is in shock. “That’s the worst pick-up line ever!”
“I think it’s working, though. I know you’re smiling. I can sense it.”
“I’m not sure you’re wrong.” I click send and then feel the awkwardness of the sentence, but nothing can stop my smile. I look around the patio to discover several heads that have been looking my way suddenly spring back to their own tables.
The conversation flows upscreen like we’ve known each other forever, or maybe because it’s just so easy to… who knows. Time becomes a blur. We talk about what feels like nothing and everything. I learn a few things: my secret person is a homegrown local, grew up nearby, knows the local history, hates chain restaurants, and seems to be something of a dreamer.
I think about this quality a lot. I feel like I’m a dreamer, too, but then I wonder if anyone else would think that of me. Like, I’m a secret dreamer with dreams I only share with myself. It makes me wonder the same thing about my person. I wonder if our entire together-separate relationship isn’t based on this premise, like we both like the distance. The anonymity. Like it makes us both feel safe enough to be ourselves in crazy dreamer ways. I take a minute to just let it feel good that here I am on a date, to feel the wholeness of this moment. Dates are usually not like this for me.
I also discover that although I’m ecstatic to be talking real-time with my person, messaging isn’t real. It’s edited. I’m pouring my heart out, then reread, and protect myself bydeleting or restating or refining. It’s inorganic. I decide to bring it up. It is a date, after all. And I’m a dreamer.
“I have another challenge for you. And me. A together challenge.” I type.
“Go for it.”
“No delete. For the rest of our date, neither of us can use delete.”
“You surprise me, William.” I can’t tell if it’s a good surprise or bad. “I get it. That delete button keeps us safe from ourselves. Let’s do this.”
“Be in the moment.” I type.
“This is such a trust move, William. I’m all in. And a bit nervous.”
“I think we are redefining the world of together-separate dates for all time!”
“Go us!”
Things then get very real. Real ugly, I mean. It feels like writing conventions have vanished. We are required to establish some rules about what to do when auto-correct misfires, or something sounds absurd, or sexual even. All I know is that I’m having a blast. I think we learn more about each other through what’s not being said, or what’s being mis-said, than the words on the screen. I’m electrified. I think there’s electricity on the other end, too.
