Nine years ago today, I was eating breakfast on a Sunday morning with a group of friends, really dreading the date I was going on later that night. I had agreed to go out with Adam, a really attractive guy who worked at the office I interned at on Fridays. We had started talking a couple months previously, and then at work the past Friday, he'd asked me out to dinner. I really liked him so I agreed, but as the weekend progressed, I was having second thoughts. What if we had nothing to talk about? What if he turned out to be a real jerk? We'd still have to see each other every Friday, at least until my internship was over, and that would be less than comfortable...was one date worth all the hassle? My friends just encouraged me to have an open mind, and if things didn't work out, to just remain friendly with him.
Later that afternoon, as I was trying to study for an exam, but completely preoccupied with the thought of the impending date, Adam called. Instead of meeting me at 6pm as we had scheduled, he was running late (due to attending a computer expo with a friend) and wanted to meet at 7:30pm instead. He said he needed to go home, shower and change before heading into Manhattan to see me. I was a little irked, and convinced that this was just the first indication of what was to be a very bad date. But, I relented, and we agreed to meet outside of Tower Records on 4th Avenue at 7:30pm. My roommate judged the various outfits I was considering for the evening, and we finally agreed to black jeans, black heeled boots and a terrycloth blue blouse. I was getting increasingly more nervous as the clock ticked by, but I made my way the few blocks to Tower Records and waited.
And waited. And waited some more. By 7:45pm I was sure I was getting jerked around. By 7:50pm I thought I'd been stood up. By 7:55pm I was set to leave. Just then, through the midst of 4th Avenue traffic, I heard a car horn. I didn't pay much attention because everyone is honking their horns in Manhattan, but just then, a red sports car pulled up and a very handsome, freshly groomed Adam hurried out of the car, full of apologies for being late. Instantly, I forgave him. He escorted me to the passenger door and helped me get in, then promptly jumped into the driver's seat. Good thing I knew directions, because he couldn't remember where his "favorite" Mexican restaurant was. But what stuck out most while we were driving, was how immediately I felt comfortable with him. There were no awkward pauses, or lame attempts at conversation. It's like we were already two old buddies, yakking away about anything at all, and it wasn't forced or contrived.
We made it to the restaurant, sat down and barely studied the menu for all the talking we did. We chatted about our families, our friends, our collegiate studies, where we were from, you name it. He told me about his time in the Navy, and almost offended me when he mentioned I could never be in the service. When my feminist instincts were about to break bad with him, he added, "I've never seen women as attractive as you in the service." I promptly melted. Three hours later, at the end of dinner, I offered to split the bill, which he refused, then tried to pay the tip. I didn't know it at the time, but my offer to pay really impressed him.
So it was late, time to go home; work and school would come early the next morning. But I didn't want to go home, and I could tell he felt the same way. We parked outside my apartment building and talked and talked some more. He played me a few of his favorite songs (Alphaville's "Forever Young" remains our song) before finally acknowledging it was time to say good-bye. I was stuck; I really liked him, but didn't want to come across as too fast. I leaned over and kissed his cheek and whispered "thank you" to him before climbing out of the car. He had insisted I take some of his music with me, so I had the inkling I'd see him again (outside the office). I didn't dare look back at his car as I floated up the front stoop to the door of my building. I heard his little sports car motor away as I stepped inside. Boy, was I smitten; and I was pretty sure he was, too. Who knew what the future would hold?
Happy Anniversary, Ads. I love ya.
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