Resolution

There were books under the seat I sat in at church on Sunday, but I failed to notice.  It was somebody's meager attempt to save the seat, but I failed to notice.

I took notice when, at the end of the meeting, Patrick pointed to them at my feet and claimed them as his own.  It was a perfectly benign start to breaking the ice formed on Friday night.  We joked about the chances of my overlooking his reserved chair.  Serendipity.  Fate has a funny way of arranging accidental encounters.  He invited me to do something with him later that evening, I accepted and all awkwardness was mostly forgot.

Before I went with him that night, my roommate gave me the first of what would become a regular pep-talk.  It was an insistent encouragement to tell the truth about who my "missionary friend" actually was.  She was right, of course.  The request Friday to hold my hand, was a pretty good indication that Patrick wasn't in it for friendship alone.  If I was going to continue to spend time with him, I needed to tell him why I was so uncomfortable holding hands.  

I had every intention to be honest, too.  Especially after her well-crafted persuasion.  On my way down the street to his apartment, or when I waited in mine for his arrival, I would rehearse in my mind the conversation.  It always seemed so easy, the words were quite simple, but I came to realize that it was broaching the subject that proved difficult.  The opportunity to say, "I have a boyfriend"  or "we planned to get married" just never presented itself and frankly, the more time I spent with Patrick, the less I hoped for the opportunity.

I feared that telling him would be the same as ending the relationship and even though we didn't have a name for what was going on between us, I really liked it.  We started spending as many moments together as we could muster and graciously, he never asked to hold my hand again.

Debacle

I told my mom that I thought I should stay as far away from Patrick as I could, but when he showed up early in the week to say that Peter Pan, the film was playing Friday night and asked if I would like to come with him to see it, I welcomed the idea.  What would one more night, hurt?  It was nice to have a new friend after all and maybe that's all he thought of me anyway.

Friday evening, there was an activity in a large lecture hall of the business school for all of the students in our church congregation.  We planned to go to the movie from there, but when I met Patrick after the activity in a lobby, he regretfully told me that Peter Pan had been prematurely removed from the theater's showing list.  I remember thinking that I should just leave it at that.  "Thanks for the invitation," I pretended to say.  "It would have been fun. See you around."  I would have merrily returned home and gotten back to the regularly scheduled programming.

My mouth, however, couldn't muster a goodbye.  Instead, it exclaimed another grand scheme just like the mountaineering suggestion the week before.  "Let's go to Utah Lake."

I had never been there and neither had he.  Neither of us knew how to get there or what we would find when we arrived.  It was already past dark, the first week of March.  We weren't dressed for gallivanting around a lakeshore in late winter and we didn't have flashlights, but he was once again willing.

We drove in the westward direction, knowing that if we traveled that way for long enough, we would end up at the lake.  We did eventually and found a public park on the shore.  A man-made peninsula jutted out about a quater of a mile into the water.  Large boulders acted as a retaining wall on both sides holding back the earth, on top of which ran a paved path.  Our way was lit dimly by the moon and we felt oddly warm as we hopped from boulder to boulder, talking and laughing as we went.  We sat at the end of the peninsula for two or more hours.  It was quiet out there, removed from the city, the air fresh, the lapping of waves on the rocks peaceful.  Ducks paddled through the frigid water while we continued talking.  I don't remember the content of our discourse, only the feelings of ease and trust.

And then cold.  It came suddenly and completely with the shift in wind or a lull in conversation.  Everything immediately seemed less comfortable and we determined to head back down the length of the peninsula, this time opting for the path up above.  We walked briskly, intent on getting out of the cold.  I could see his car in the near distance when he next spoke.

"Would it surprise you to know that I've wanted to hold your hand for most of the night?"

This is where the lovely background music abruptly ends and pervasive silence fills every nook and cranny imaginable.

"I guess not," I muttered while thinking Thank goodness for these mittens.  The silence got into the car and followed us back to Provo.  It wasn't until we were driving through the city center that one of us spoke again.

He asked, "Would it make you uncomfortable if I held your hand?"  ---You know, just in case things weren't awkward enough already.

I answered simply, "Yes."  And then wondered if I should offer an explanation or let the awkwardness reign in silence.  I chose silence.  What would be my explanation anyway?  I like you, but not that much?  Um, actually my "friend" in Ukraine is really my boyfriend?  I don't like holding hands?  I'm nervous and not ready for this? I felt honesty ran a high risk of scaring him away. On the other hand, I was certain I had just accomplished ending our short lived relationship, so why make it worse? Thus, silence seemed the best option.

He apologized for asking and I apologized for being weird.

More silence.

Needless to say, we were both feeling the hot sting of humiliation and welcomed the relief of parting ways that night.  I spent Saturday dreading the prospect of seeing him in church the next day or anywhere ever again, in fact.

Snow Melts

The Y is the mountain immediately east of Provo, called such because of the huge Y embossed on the mountainside overlooking the city.   A switchbacked trail leads from a parking lot to the top of the insignia and is hiked by students and residents year-round.  That is what I meant by "hike the Y" as I offered aloud the first thought to pop into my head.  Nevermind that it was dark, late, and snowing hard, I was intent on spending more time with this new and wonderful friend so any wild idea was adequate.  By some miracle, he didn't even flinch before agreeing and after stopping for warmer clothes, we were headed up the steep roads to the base of the trail.

Fortunately for our safety and contrary to our lack of judgement, the car decided pretty soon up those unplowed slopes that we should turn around, but I was undeterred.  The snow would not be the end of this date, it would become the continuation of it.  We would go to Rock Canyon Park, a recreation area in a bowl shaped arena, surrounded on all sides by perfect sledding hills.  We knocked on a few doors in our neighborhood to find someone with sleds (something that could only be comfortably done in a college town so close to midnight) and then spent the next hour or so sliding down hills and roughhousing in the snow at the base of the looming mountains. I remember the park being surprisingly busy for the time of night and I remember laughing and thinking it was the best date of my life.  And then being shocked by the realization.  By the time he took me home, I was soaked and feeling suddenly awkward about how much I had enjoyed myself.

It was well past one in the morning and my roommate was waiting for me with a broad smile and questioning eyes.  My awkward feeling melted to embarrassment and then shame.  I stumbled through an unclear explanation.  When she left the room, I silently retraced the past seven hours, puzzling over the boy and what it was about him that made me so comfortable.  I had let down every wall and all for what?  One night that should probably never happen again.  That is exactly what I told my mom the next day over the phone when she asked about my weekend.  It was such a good time, that I didn't want it to happen again.  I'm sure she was smiling on the other end of the line.

Salt and Pepper. Pepper and Salt

The first thing I noticed when Patrick picked me up in his 90s Cavalier was that he wasn't dressed up and he apparently hadn't doused himself in any strong fragrance.  In my experience, this was atypical.  Usually guys would show up, flashing brightly colored feathers like a peacock and distributing a pungent scent like a tomcat, but Patrick didn't seem to be out to impress me.  He wore a modest sweater  and comfortable dark green cargo pants.  I was impressed and also grateful that I couldn't smell him.

It had just begun snowing as we drove west on my street out to University Avenue.

"What's your favorite movie?"  His effort to break the ice.  He prefaced his query with a short explanation about his being a film major and thus having curiosity about other people's thoughts on the matter.  Little did he know that I was probably the least interested in film of anyone he knew.  For the sake of the remaining date, I thought of making something up, but ended up honestly killing the conversation.  Instead of turning around and taking me home, he was accepting.  I was relieved, though still self-conscious.  Luckily, we arrived at our destination, Color Me Mine, just as the movie discussion fizzled out.

"You pick something to paint," He requested as we stood in the doorway of the establishment staring at shelved walls full to the brim of every ceramic creation imaginable, all white and waiting for someone to embellish it.  I looked at statues, knick-knacks, platters, bowls, plates, teacups, and at last settled on a pair of salt and pepper shakers for two reasons: we could each paint one and they were among the least costly items available.  It didn't occur to me that this would present a problem.  When fired and shiny, the finished shakers would either have to be separated or only one of us would be able to keep them.  In the end, you'll see that we never had to address this conundrum and maybe you'll decide it was a fateful decision, choosing the pair of salt and pepper shakers tacitly pleading not to be parted.

As we painted, other patrons would come and paint much larger and more intricate pieces, finish, leave, and quickly be replaced by another who would accomplish the same routine while we kept toiling on our small and rudimentary compositions.  It took us a while to realize, so engrossed were we in a corner of the store with our tiny shakers and steady dialogue, but when we noticed how very slowly we labored compared to those around us, we laughed and joked about it.  Really, though, we were most busy becoming acquainted and for the first time on a date I felt comfortable in the acquaintance.   Something about him put me at ease and I threw down the barriers that usually loomed over my first dates.  We were there for three hours.

It was close to 10 and still snowing when we sat down to eat on the other end of town.  As we meandered through the meal, a restaurant employee overturned chairs and prepared for closing.  I think we decided to leave when we realized we were the only remaining customers.  The parking lot was lost to a thick white blanket.  It must have snowed a few inches while we were eating and it was still falling in large flat feathers.  There weren't many cars on the road and the sounds of the city were being absorbed into the white that sparkled against the street lamps.  I was likewise absorbed.  Provo never seemed so magical.

"That's all I had planned," He interrupted my reverie.  "Unless there's anything else you want to do, I'll take you home."  He was already driving carefully in that direction.

He probably wasn't serious.  Maybe he was just being polite.  Maybe I should have considered the position of this poor boy.  It was already 11pm after an already lengthy date.  Maybe he didn't feel the way I did.  But all I could think at his announcement was that the date was going to end abruptly if I didn't do something about it and this caused a little panic.

"We could hike the Y."

Did that just come blurting out of my mouth?  I slunk down a little in my seat and appraised his profile to detect a reaction to my outlandish outburst.