His version.
It's 27 February 2015.
Like most days in February, it's drizzling, overcast, and there is little hope for anything good to come of it.
I spend most of the day banging my head against the wall, working on the computer code for a 3D trig problem that's been stymieing me all week. Noon kinda creeps up on me, and I realize I need to be at Savory & Sweet pronto.
A week ago, I set a date with this girl I met on Tinder. She wasn't my normal right swipe. She wore Chacos while hiking, took pictures in slot canyons, and didn't write a bio. She agreed to go out today, but we haven't talked since Saturday; I'm about as hopeful she'll show up as I am that the weather is about to change and be sunny and warm.
Her story:
I wasn’t 100% positive what his name was. His Tinder name said “Lee,” but his blurb said “Lee J–the J is important.” It was a little weird and chatting didn’t clarify it at all. Hopefully there would be a way to get it out of him on the date without being too obvious.
He was intelligent and good looking–I knew that much from his profile. So I knew I had to dress classy to give me the confidence to keep up.
We met outside. He looked like his pictures. That was a plus.
Conversation came easily, but his use of words that had more than four letters in them meant I had to actually pay attention to the conversation. He was witty; that was a pleasant surprise.
It was odd. So few Tinderfellas come across in person like they do in their profiles. For the first time on a Tinder date I felt like I was out of my league intellectually.
His version.
I'm her 11th date in the last two weeks. Great. This is so promising. But she laughs at all the ridiculous things I'm saying (and some of them are pretty ridiculous), so maybe the drizzling will stop soon.
We order crepes and talk.
And laugh.
And talk.
I tell her about the hilariousness of teaching high school. She asks for a story. I tell her I once convinced my students Edward Snowden is an American hero. She knows who he is. That's surprising, she's quite a bit more aware of the world than I expected from a Chaco-wearing, Elk-poop-counting, state wildlife employee. She seems amused by the Snowden story.
A sliver of sun shines on her cheek.
Her story:
I soon checked the clock and more time had passed than I realized. I had an appointment soon, but I couldn’t quite tear myself away. This was a stark contrast to the date a week before, where it was so bad I literally had to run away.
I couldn’t quite tell how the date was going. There were no awkward pauses in the conversation, we had important things in common, and laughter flowed both ways. I was enjoying myself, but couldn’t quite read him.
So I was surprised when he asked for a second date the next day. I already had two dates lined up and couldn’t quite fit him in. So he asked for my number (I don’t know whether we set up the second then or later). But we agreed to go hiking the following Friday.
His version.
And talk.
And laugh.
For hours. Nearly four hours.
She misses other appointments. I mentally figure out the code that's hampering me.
We finally decide to leave.
We set a date to go out again.
The sun comes out, and it warms up.
The next week passes quickly. The sun shines and the icy roads thaw. Fitting for the approaching spring. It's March. That's supposed to happen, right?
Her story:
During the following week, I went on a few dates with other guys, but mostly with a friend I’d gotten to know, and we both showed a lot of interest in one another. He knew I had a hiking date on Friday, but asked me to be his girlfriend on Thursday all the same. Which put me in an awkward situation. I wanted to be his girlfriend, but what was I to do about that really smart guy from the crepe shop I was supposed to go hiking with?
I agonized over it Friday morning, trying to find the right words, as I had never cancelled a date before. And not knowing him very well, I wasn’t sure how he would react.
His version.
It's the morning of our second date.
The crocus bloom in my garden, welcoming the thaw and spring warmth.
She texts me and says she has a new boyfriend and can't go out with me that afternoon.
Snow starts to fall and the crocus wilt.
Her story:
His response was surprisingly sweet and understanding.
Months passed. The other guy and I broke up. I felt inspired to quit my job and move and take a step of faith into the darkness.
At the beginning of October, with all the courage I could muster, I joined Tinder again. Eugh. *sigh*
His version.
The snow eventually stops falling. But clouds remain and the crocus missed their window. The memory of a sunny day stays burnt in my memory. Once in a while I glance at Facebook, wondering whatever happened to the source of February sun.
She's not there. Huh. I guess things went well for her. Oh well. Maybe someone else can can scare the clouds away and bring life back to my garden.
With three quick taps, I give Tinder access to all the sordid details of my Facebook life. The fun begins again.
Tinderellas don't pique my interest. All my matches have trouble spelling and using complete sentences.
Clouds darken and rain threatens to flood my plot.
Late one evening, the sun bursts through the clouds, and there is promise of warmth and sun.
Jordan's smile beams back at me from her new Tinder profile. I guess that other thing didn't work out after all.
Good.
Roses bloom.
Her story:
There were some interesting guys, but I knew it would be difficult to start the dating process again. I was messaging with some Tinderites when out of nowhere I received a text message from “Mr. Snowden.” I remembered his graceful response to my cancellation and was surprised he was still single.
Lee J (this was what was in my phone–I’d had that clarified over crepes) was again very polite, and we caught up on our lives since we’d seen each other last. He asked for a second date. Or a second first date (we still haven’t decided), and I gladly accepted.
I was nervous. It was my first date since my boyfriend and I broke up, and I knew I had changed since the end of February.
The date went better than expected; he was able to laugh with me at my nervous clumsiness and I soon lost interest in any other Tinderfellas.
His version.
She goes to three Real Salt Lake games in a week with me. It must be love.
THE BEGINNING.