A Date?

I think I can count on one hand the number of times I've been asked out on a date. I'm big and intimidating and have spent decades perfecting my don't-even-THINK-of fucking-with-me aura. Initially it was my protective armor from being hurt. Now it's my protective armor from being bored. I can no longer find the entertainment value in a bad date. So imagine my surprise when I was asked for one.

It happened last night during our break in class. As I progress in the program, my colleagues just seem to get younger and more annoying. The past year I've withdrawn from even trying to attempt social cordiality. What is the point? I do not follow the youth culture, let alone the pseudo-culture of the faux world-weary graduate student. I do not know, nor do want to know any local bands. I have no interest in emerging writers other than myself. For Christ's sake, I bathe. I have nothing in common with any of these children. I try to exude the attitude of "get me out of here with my dignity in tact," and generally hope not to be bothered by post-adolescent innanities.

I was standing at the soda machine, cursing the company responsible for stocking it because it seems to be eternally out of Diet Pepsi, (which by the way is a pale substitute for my beloved Diet Coke) when all of sudden, from behind me I hear, "Do you have plans after class?"

It was Amanda. I KNOW! A twenty-two-year-old WOMAN. We'd been in a class together a year and a half ago and I vaguely remember complimenting her poetry. At the time she was pretty over weight and hid behind striped hair. The hair was unchanged, but she clearly had dropped about forty pounds and was feeling very good about herself. Dare I say, frisky. And (I struggle to type this through waves of nausea) it appears I was the desired plaything.

I smiled and did not comment on her weight loss. (I always find commenting on someone's weight, gain or loss, to be rather inappropriate.) I did however tell her she looked incredible and we chatted for a second. Then she asked if I wanted to join her for a cup of coffee after class.

The issues and questions were at war in my brain as I tried to compute what was going on. How could she not know that I am gay? How could she possibly be interested in me? How had I sent signals to her? Could I keep my dinner down?

Then I took a deep breath and realized that this had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her. It was clear that she had done a lot of work on her self esteem and that she was taking an enormous risk. How could I possibly damage that?

So indigestion be damned, I accepted.

What else could I do? She then suggested a bar across the street and told me she'd wait for me there. After class I found her in a typical college bar: bad lighting and ventilation, pool tables and basketballs game on televisions suspended from the ceiling. We chatted about the events of our lives in the past year and discussed classes. After about twenty minutes we were joined by three jovial fellow students, after which I gulped my club soda and made my excuses to leave.

That's when Amanda threw a big hug around me and asked for my e-mail address. I smiled and gave it to her. What else could I do?

Flattered, I am. And I'm praying I don't get an e-mail.