What Happens When You Connect With Your Missed Connection

By the time Thursday rolled around I had made tentative plans to go out with Dick at the insistence of my girlfriends. Dawn and Amy were adamant that true affection grows on you; but I couldn’t put an end to the thought that nothing could blossom in dead earth.

Is that really what I think of myself as? Dead earth? Maybe, maybe not. That was one introspective rabbit hole I couldn’t allow myself to head down; not while sober and at the office, anyway.

Dick got in touch well before noon, indicating his eagerness. So what did you wanna do tonight? 

If he were hotter, the attention would have been flattering. But the thought of spending time with him again was exhausting; my body hadn’t forgiven or forgotten my Monday night bar crawl with the girls. I’m just not up for drinking enough to convince myself that having sex with someone I don’t even like that much is okay. No idea. Can’t stay out late. I reply.

Me neither. We should just watch a VHS or sumthin.

A man without a plan is not one I’m likely to make time for, especially when his idea of a good time is inviting me over to his house for our third date. I sighed heavily to no one in particular, placing the phone facedown on my desk, actively deciding to flake on our plans for the night.

Hours later, I begged off, feigning a need to catch up on missed sleep. This was only a small step above telling him I was staying in to wash my hair.

Ok… Ending with an ellipsis gave his one word response far more weight than it would have held on its own. Was he confused? Annoyed? He hit me up several times over the weekend to ask if I had plans, which I did, on top of no enthusiasm about seeing him. A week went by, and it turned out a little no-name film I’d read about online was playing at the Angelika. Dick was the only person around to go with — the only one texting me back about it, anyway.

We met at a bar under the pretense of having a quick drink before heading to the theater. It could be his slow, southern-Midwest accent or that he looks like the type of guy that played football through high school, but when he calls himself a cinephile I don’t find his use of the word to be pretentious at all. This trait is one of the few I would readily admit to liking about Dick: he has no interest in being perceived as ‘cool.’ In New York, and that’s actually saying something.