Dating, part 7: retreat...

The second envelope arrived a little over a month after the first. Still sweltering in the humid heat that envelops the Midwest during summer months, it was probably the worst time it could have come. Literally days after the Matt situation had ended, in that transition time when I still wondered if he might call, but was growing more resigned to losing this particular game.

I had enough time to really work out my dating strategy – had turned this into a competitive event in my mind. Be busy, don’t return calls too soon, show some lack of interest, make him work for your attention. This was a result of all my past dates and stories from friends, so blaming Matt is a gross oversimplification. He did, however, bring all of this to the surface.

After all, I had lost weight through a considerable amount of time and effort. My personality was above reproach. I was pretty now. I was nice. I was smart. I could be funny if I tried. I had friends. A good family. I had passed the qualifying exams, so there was some hope of success in grad school. I didn’t have college loans. My car was this really lovely shade of blue.

Anyway, when I started to believe my own hype, things were bound to get ugly. And they did.

This time, Andy and Adam called closely together. So I didn’t neatly retain focus on one at a time as with Michael and Matthew. But, whatever – bring ‘em on! I was into my fiercely competitive mode and ready to see how hard I’d have to play to win.

Andy attended another university in town. He was not much older than I was, seemed relatively science-y and liked outdoor sports (and dancing at weddings).

Adam lived about 45 minutes away. He was older, sounded mature and smart, but a bit aloof. I returned a message he’d left on my machine, and he was abrupt, so we made some tentative plans and I said I’d let him go.

“Just like that?” He demanded.

“Like what?” I asked, surprised. Did he have no social skills?

“Aren’t we going to talk at all?”

“Oh. I actually have to leave in a couple minutes. So if you want to talk, maybe we could do that later.”

After hanging up, I shook my head at him, then rolled over and picked up my book. I spent the evening nestled in my fluffy comforter in my small studio apartment, reading. I could have talked, but had decided that lying was part of the game. In addition, did he think that being rude was worthy of my lofty attentions? I think not.

Andy and I met at a park one Saturday morning (because regardless of my newfound powerful approach, these dates were still fraught with nervous tension, and I like to be able to move around when I’m uncomfortable), and walked by a small pond. I sadly noted the absence of ducks, and wondered how long we’d spend before it got too uncomfortably hot to remain outside.

Andy was shorter than I was (which, at 5’6”, I’m not exactly a giantess, I thought with more venom than his height merited), and I guess he was friendly and cute. I didn’t get a word in edgewise, which was fine, because I knew within 5 minutes that I wouldn’t see him again. He was, quite obviously, not worthy of the greatness that was me.

He regaled me with stories of sporting injuries. Bone poking through skin after a bike accident; his fist wouldn’t close after dropping those weights on his hand; a broken leg and shattered knee after a snowboarding jump gone wrong.

I tried to jump in, tell him about the time that I dislocated my knee. Because if we were telling gross stories, that’s my only one. But it’s pretty gross – the kneecap slid all the way to the side of my knee, then… well, you see my point. Not so fun to hear.

“Just let me tell you one more of mine!” He interrupted, and continued on while I involuntarily scowled at him. He didn’t notice – involved as he was with his stories of daring and pain tolerance – and I endured the experience this time not by praying, but by coming up with inventive insults in my mind.

The temperature outside continued to rise, so I made my excuses after 90 minutes and headed home. Before leaving, he asked if he could call me, because he’d had a nice time.

Of course you have, you ass. I thought. I’ve had to suffer through your freaking stories while you had an audience that was amazing (because, well, see paragraph 3 in this post. My car was freaking gorgeous). Not wanting to deal with him, I told him that would be fine. Then ignored his subsequent call and email.

Adam, on the other hand, had already offended me with a phone call. And if Andy, who was actually quite great and who I probably would have liked had I not been so hateful, had irritated me, I’d probably end up yelling at Adam.

So I called to tell him I’d like to wait a week or two before meeting – give myself some time to settle in – and his mom answered. So I left a message, and didn’t hear back from him.

Since we’d planned to meet later that week, I waited for a few days, then called again to cancel. His mom answered again – it was really his mom – she introduced herself.

“Oh.” I replied, because at 34, I assumed he had his own living space. “Is there a different number I should try?”

“No.” She said. “I’ll tell him you can’t make it when he gets home.”

So I thanked her, and decided that Adam clearly wasn’t worthy either. Pleased with my new ability to reject men without even meeting them first, I decided I had won both of these dates. Good for me!

After writing a scathing note on my feedback form (which I can’t bring myself to read now – it’s that bad), I called M to inform her that I was winning. Forgetting that the shiny medal I was after had more to do with learning about me and progressing toward someone special, and not with having guys like me more than I liked them.

After relating my stories, I waited for congratulations, but M was quiet.

“Katie.” She finally said. “This just doesn’t sound like you. You are great. You know I think that. But all of this intensity, the superiority – that’s not who you are.”

Offended, I didn’t respond.

“It could be, I guess. If you want to be like that, that’s really fine. We’ll still be friends and you’ll definitely win at dating, because why wouldn’t men love you? So it’s fine.

“I just think – well, maybe wonder if you’re going to look back on this and feel badly. Wish that you had reacted differently. These guys weren’t right for you, so rejecting them for whatever reason isn’t a big deal. But how you handle it, well, I see you coming back to that and beating yourself up about it.”

The quantity of people I count as friends is low. The quality of those I have though, well, that’s so incredibly high that they leave me humbled, awed even, in how they understand, love and help me through what goes on in my head.

If I’ve written this even slightly correctly, I hope it doesn’t sound like me. That there’s at least a slightly jarring element where there’s normally easy kindness.

M was right – I got confused, lost myself in being competitive, lost hope that I could find someone and got desperate to have something instead. So I thought about it. Didn’t sleep much, wondering who I was, what I wanted to cling to and what I could allow circumstances to change. Growth is necessary, so I think remaining constant is a silly goal. But holding on to some key qualities, having people remind you when they see those traits start to change, that’s important for me.

I emailed Andy – told him I was in this weird place, and needed some time to figure things out. I called Adam to tell him the same. They were good guys – there was absolutely nothing wrong with either of them. The height, the self-involvement, the living at home, being aloof then demanding on the phone. Those are all things I could deal with now, because, well, dating is hard. Sometimes people react badly and they deserve the benefit of the doubt.

Then I wrote another letter to the dating service – this one calm, deliberate and full of apology and kindness – and told them I needed a break. I wasn’t handling this in a way I could be proud of, and therefore wanted to stop.

The retreat, carefully considered and completely appropriate, would last until Spring, 2004.