Wednesday, May 2, 2018

TEXTING

Her shy smile highlighted her sparkling brown eyes. "It's great to meet you, Ryan," she said.
"I feel the same way," I said, and swallowed. In fact, I've been dying to meet you raced though my mind, but all I could manage was a timid,
"This is very nice." We sat across from each other at a circular table in the quiet restaurant, strangers, though we'd spent hours texting.
I'm glad she'd spoken first, broken the ice, so to speak, but now we sat, eyes lowered, studying our hands on the table, both of us apparently lost for words. A waitress broke the awkward silence when she dropped menus on the table and said, "How are you folks? Pot roast, today's dinner special. Mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn. What would you like to drink?"
We each asked for a glass of water, and then I said, "We'll need a little time."
The waitress scurried off, leaving us to silently study the menu. Sheila and I had met on a dating site a month ago. I'd discovered her three days after joining the site—Sheila McCoy. Her picture and profile intrigued me. The fact that she was in to sports was a definite plus. She'd been a three-sport star in high school: softball, volleyball, and track. She played softball in college. Baseball was my only sport. I'd played in college, and the fact that we liked sports, I felt, gave us a starting point for a relationship, at least something to talk about. 
Besides that, she was a high school PE teacher, and coached the girls' softball team. I'd been in real estate for the last eight years and was doing well. I'd just joined a slow-pitch softball team for guys over thirty. I'd told Sheila, and she seemed excited for me. I decided the first chance I got today I was going to ask her to watch the team play this Sunday—if I could somehow get a conversation started and find the nerve to ask her.
When the waitress returned, Sheila and I decided to skip the special. We ordered cheeseburgers and fries, along with a salad, and handed the waitress our menus. "I'll take the check," I told the waitress.
Sheila's eyebrows lifted. "You don't have to do that," she said.
"Your treat next time," I said, and then winced, thinking I'd sounded a bit presumptuous.
Falling silent again, we each sipped our water.
This silence between us was in stark contrast to the texting we'd done.
She'd seemed eager to share information about herself with me. I felt the same way about sharing my information. In fact, while texting, I couldn't remember ever being so open, honest, and relaxed with someone I'd just met.
I texted her in the morning before work. She texted back at lunchtime. We texted when we got home in the evening. We often talked on our phones, but it was when I was texting that I felt most bold and confident. Now we were alone, face-to-face, and reality was sinking in: we were still strangers.
The silence persisted. I wished our food would arrive so we could at least talk about that. Or fill our mouths with food so we'd have a better reason for not talking.
Then an idea zapped me. Maybe I could solve this problem. Yes! Plucking my phone from my pocket, I said, "Don't be alarmed. I'm going to try something." I jerked my chair around so my back faced her. My thumbs tapped out a text: Sorry, but I'm really awkward at this—small talk with a date and flirting. Faulty genes, I think.
In a moment her phone rang, a muffled sound, and I assumed she grabbed the phone from her purse. Her reply: Me, too. I'm the worst. My knees were shaking when I sat down...they're sill shaking.
Tapping at the keypad again with my thumbs, I wrote: Why don't we pretend we've known each other for a hundred years? Long-lost friends. No pretense. No holding back.
Her reply: I'd love that.
I spun my chair around and faced her again. She smiled a big smile, a dimple blossoming in her right cheek, which I noticed for the first time. "You look beautiful," I said.
"And you're quite handsome." Then she smiled again. "I remember you said you'd started playing softball. I'd like to see one of your games."
I tried to hide my surprise, but I'm sure I went owl-eyed. "Sunday afternoon. I'll pick you up, if that's okay."
"Splendid."
Our food arrived. Everything looked delicious. But finishing off this simple meal took over an hour because—well, because, though texting was cool, Sheila and I had so much more to talk about, smiling at each other face-to-face.
The End
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