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Waiting for a Date
Tuesday. 10.9.12 10:10 pm

I mostly watch passing couples. I see elderly ones, especially, on days like today, when the date is early in the afternoon on a weekday, when people usually have classes and work. It helps keep things in perspective; sometimes, the dates start to feel so serious, when I consider that dates are almost always leading somewhere, romantically, and that these people consider me an option for that particular "somewhere." I have to keep looking at these couples, and asking myself, Could I be happy there?

It is almost always an immediate No. The last Maybe I had was Mike, and before that there were exactly two emphatic Yeses.

I consider my last Emphatic Yes while watching these couples, and try to switch the song on my iPod so I can temporarily forget he exists. It doesn't work.

The sky is really bright, and it's a weird, light shade of blue like I haven't seen in a long time. I tug at the black sleeves of my fleece. It's freakin' cold, but mostly the tug is a front for my subtle watch check, so the passersby don't think I've been stood up. Lateness means we won't be seeing Date Two, which is a rule I almost always live by--tardiness comes off as a lack of respect and enthusiasm. He still has six minutes; I'm always earlier out of some residual nervousness.

A woman in a green turtleneck and grey slacks emerges from the restaurant and gives me a common stranger smile; I've been noting more and more that these smiles make me feel weird, because they aren't smiling, but they are, and they aren't supposed to be smiling at me. There's no logical reason why someone would smile at me out of nowhere. Politeness doesn't make sense. That smile is the bane of my existence, and I consistently meet it with a more genuine grin.

She, like all the others, breaks from the stranger smile and beams.

The grin works. It says, "I'm so glad you're walking the same earth as me."

Small kindnesses that aren't even considered kindnesses. If you're going to smile at someone, make them feel welcome, not placated.

With a passing thought, I worry that I might be underdressed, after seeing her slacks. A mental response: "She was probably on her lunch break."

I'm thinking of a rainbow scarf I should have complimented when he arrives. He sees me, but looks away during his walk towards the building, which is a fantastic and unique sign of nervousness reserved for those who don't serial date.

I decide to go easy and play along, until he's closer. We greet each other, and he holds the door open for me.

The worst part is over.
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