Those magical first dates
We all know those magical first dates. Butterflies in the stomach, sparkles in the air, stealing moments of eye contact and at the moment right after that just staring your own shoes. Sweaty palm, maybe even shaky hands. Nervously fidgeting with a button on a shirt or a mop of hair.
Playing with a lighter or running your fingers around on the brim of the glass, sip after sip, drinking more than usual, just to do something with your hands.
The beauty of the first dates is that you can never know how it will go. As if that person sitting there with you might be your future spouse. Bigger the chance actually that it will be a one night stand or perhaps a longer or shorter affair. And of course, as this happens in most of the cases, there just won’t be a second date. And those are the perfect first dates which will be always remembered, as what they were, perfect first dates. Those memories will never be bittered by heartbreaking breakups, the frustration of jealousy and nasty arguments.
I remember this guy. He was a physics researcher. He was smart and funny and happened to be also a punk. He had a geeky haircut and those round, Harry Potter-like glasses. He was wearing shorts, sneakers and a t-shirt with some kind of a superhero pattern on it.
The date actually went pretty well. After taking me to a small anarchist second-hand book store in downtown we had some beer at a local underground bar. We listened to some rough music, shared some embarrassing, ridiculous stories from our teen years, contemplated about philosophy and theoretical physics, and god knows what else, the rest fades away. We just talked and talked until they threw us out from there. There was not too much of physical attraction in the air, that is indeed true, but not in the sense of a strong no-no, more likely just a slight meh, maybe-ish, let’s see after two more beers kind of vibe.
I was jolting on the night bus on the way home already, when he sent me a sweet message, that he would love to be my friend. But he doesn’t mind that either if we get married and have a bunch of dogs.
Well, we did not. I have never seen him again. If I can recall correctly he got together with his ex, or something like that. It doesn’t even matter actually. It would not have worked out anyways.
But if I think about that date, I get the same intriguing sensation, what I have felt that night. And the best thing about us never arranging a second meeting is that we have the pleasure of remembering how nice time we spent together, without taking the chance to ruin this memory.