like fresh bread, grass after the rain
So.
I... I,uh... well, I went on a date. (And it was totally, undeniably a date. No amount of mind-bending paranoiac doubt-mongering can obscure this simple fact. And I didn't even have to ask if it was a date to find this out, ha!)
And, uh, well, it went well. Quite well, I'd venture to say, actually.
Strange, perhaps even stupid, really, to realize... this is my first time. I know, it doesn't make sense!
"But what about-"
"That wasn't really a date."
"Well, what about-"
"That wasn't a date either."
"But you don't know that!"
"Exactly."
"Oh, I see what you mean. Well, surely that other-"
"Well, maybe. I suppose that probably counts. But I had to ask outright, didn't I? Not exactly a regular date if you spend half of the 'date' discussing whether it's a date."
"Hmm, maybe you're right. So, wait a minute, you're saying this was a regular date? No crazy meta-talk? No careful contractual explanations of the relationship between romance and friendship? And you're sure it was a date?"
"Pretty regular, yeah. And, yes, I am sure. 100% positive."
"But- I mean, do you even, I mean, do you even do that? That doesn't even sound like a Danya date!"
"I know, it's kinda nice actually, to-"
"But no meta-talk?!"
"Well, actually there was some meta-talk. Yeah, some. But here's the thing, it wasn't like we were- we weren't talking about us, you know? We weren't like 'making up' the relationship, we were just getting to know each other, expressing our thoughts, whatever."
"But- but that's like a regular date!"
"I know! Hahaha!"
"And you... you're okay with this?"
"Yeah. Listen, I think I'd better try to explain a bit more."
"Alright, go ahead."
Okay. A while ago, not that far from here, I met a girl. In class last spring. My sociolinguistics class. She was nice, seemed quite friendly really. But kind of... I don't know, a little distant. She was always very warm to me, but she didn't say much in class and didn't seem to associate much with the other students. Almost aloof.
Anyway, I was busy getting to know a large group of international students in that class, so I just sort of filed her away in my mind. 'It'd probably be interesting to get to know her better sometime' kind of thing. Other things seemed more, uh, immediate at that time.
. . . That sounds a bit cold, doesn't it? Hm. Well.
Anyway.
Time moved along, as it tends to, in those fits and twitches that go so far. Summer went by, filled to a subjectively impressive degree with those stupid little bits of Diep-drama and imponderable chunks of whatever-it-is-that-fills-the-summers-of-those-without-jobs-or-anything.
And fall semester was about to begin. And I felt ready for it. Or at least eager. ("My first semester at graduate school!" Huh. How I laugh at that now...)
And I got a call from my friend Yunkyoung the week before the semester began. She told me that girl from sociolinguistics wanted to talk to me about applying to the graduate program, here's her number.
So I call her. (Why not? Be nice to help someone, maybe get a chance to get to know her better.)
She says she wants to talk about applying to the graduate program.
Okay.
She says we should get together to talk about it, maybe coffee on campus.
Uh, okay. Sure...
We have to figure out our schedules, there's no hurry...
So. We're supposed to meet up... sometime... and talk about the graduate program. This strikes me as a bit odd. Something not-quite-straight.
Oh well, if it's a set-up, whatever. It's not like telling someone how I got into grad school would be selling secrets or anything. And if it's just a trick to spend time with me? Well, okay, then. (Why not just ask, though? whatever.)
School begins. Things are set into motion, schedules become fixed yet ever-complicating. I try to schedule something with the girl (perhaps woman is better?) from sociolinguistics, but it doesn't work out.
Life goes on. I run into her once or twice on campus. We laugh at our scheduling difficulties, very friendly and not overly concerned to learn my grad school secrets.
Life goes on. I get caught up in thoughts of Thailand, the semester closes in a rush of projects.
Winter passes in a continuous acceleration.
Dazed, with uncertainty thick upon me from my trip to Thailand, the spring semester begins.
I arrange a party for myself, a birthday party almost a month late, a welcome home party that I throw for myself, an old school pizza party. Just a simple party.
A few days before the party, I run into the woman (gotta practice so it sounds natural) from my sociolinguistics class on campus. I invite her to my party, we reestablish that we have each other's numbers.
I was struck by how warm and friendly she was. How warm and friendly she's always been to me. Particularly striking after basically waiting a whole semester and winter for... for something. For me to call her, basically. In my experience, that kind of stalled momentum tends to sour, and meeting later is generally somewhat awkward and uncomfortable, no matter how positive the intentions. ("Oh, ha, uh, yeah, sorry about that... Yeah, uh wish we'd... you know, pretty... pretty busy, you know..." Ugh.)
So it struck me, and still does. She seemed quite persistent and consistent in the warmth she'd extended me. Pretty determined. That impressed me.
And she came to the party, which impressed me further. I didn't know her that well, so I imagined she might reasonably expect not to know that many people at the party. And she brought a gift, which I didn't expect at all. (And I'm a sucker for a well-written card-sentiment.)
I enjoyed that party a great deal, I had a lot of friends there. I didn't get to talk too much with her, but I kept an eye out to see if she was okay. She seemed at ease, talking with Nan and others from our sociolinguistics class. She always seems so calm and self- assured. Intriguing. And Heather, of course, was over there. Heather's such good party-material, so unobtrusively moving about and making sure everybody's having a good time.
When it was time for her to leave, we reaffirmed intentions to hang out sometime. Sometime sooner than later.
And the semester grinds away, ugly and unrelenting. I feel small and unbrave, barely above the surface and astounded at the gaping ocean I have yet to travel. Thailand left me with still so many questions and open doubts. And the future looms up, heavy and obscure.
I hid out, fell off the face of the earth, caught the flu, didn't post.
An unhappy, unwholesome time.
As midterms walked upon me, I gasped and drew breath, startled into some action. I wrote out my lesson plan, amazed that I could. I felt like I wanted to.
And I looked ahead to spring break.
I felt my breath quicken, my lungs and blood moving into rhythm. My head came into use.
And I thought of futures, far and close. Still so much unknown, but with my eyes opened, I could see around to what is at hand. I could perhaps still be what I want to be, even if I don't know what I will be. And it was time to change, to breathe new air.
And I thought I had a debt to settle, a question to at least try and answer, even if it wasn't about the graduate program.
I felt slightly reckless, impatient to get out of the dust. Spring break was the right time.
Her name is Madison. I called her on a Wednesday night before spring break began. I left a voice message, in my usual rambling awkward and friendly manner, to invite her to dinner "or something." There! It's begun.
An hour later, she sent me a text. Just good to hear from you, talk soon. I was unsatisfied, but not dissuaded.
Thursday went along by.
Friday, at midday, after class, quite by accident, I encountered Madison again on the steps of the library. We talked, smiling, about school and plans for the break. I kept it back, waiting to bring up my invitation and enjoying the conversation. Then she said that we should see a movie over the spring break. "That would be relaxing."
Ha! Yes! Excellent! A clear suggestion and invitation, a form to my hope!
While I soared and stumbled, I grasped the moment, and I asked for her email address. I prefer writing, most particularly in those foolish early times. She said that was a better way to contact her, I concurred, and she gave it me, stumbling a bit. We laughed, and she apologized,
"It's difficult, speaking in second language, when you are tired." I laughed and said that it was difficult even in one's first language. Then we said our goodbyes, I urged her out of the cold, clasped her hands in farewell. I commented on how cold her hands were and grasped them again, quickly and carefully squeezing them.
Then we went our ways. I laughed at myself, and walked happily through the chill air.
On Sunday, I looked for movies to suggest. I spent a few hours on moviefone and rottentomatoes and looking at trailers on youtube. A quick, intensive plunge into research on the current state of national cinema. Looking for what's there, what looks fun, what might be most approachable, what's quality. What would I feel comfortable sitting through with someone important next to me?
With these filters in place, I was left with four movies. I was surprised. Usually I can't find one. (Thinking about seeing a movie as a date is an interesting filter. Makes things shinier.)
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day: some risk of stupid ideas, but Frances McDormand for awesomeness.
CJ7: stupidness a given, but fun, and strong chance of cute.
Horton Hears a Who: if not bad, could be good.
Definitely, Maybe: looks halfway interesting, romantic comedy an obvious choice.
So I sent off an email to Madison to show my findings, complete with links to trailers and a bit of my thoughts on each choice. I was enjoying being concise and expansive, flexible and directive. I enjoyed imagining how each movie would go as a date. I felt successful and generous. I felt like I was being a good date.
Madison had warned me not to be too impatient for her reply. This advice I did my best to follow, and two days later I received a reply from Madison. She had enjoyed the weekend. In fact she'd seen Horton Hears a Who on Saturday. Oh. And it wasn't as good as she'd hoped. Ah. She would like to see Under the Same Moon. Wait, what? Or Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, if I didn't want to see that.
Oh. Hmmm. So much for all my carefully laid out choices. Well, let's see about this one, then. Yes, I remember, that movie about the illegal immigrant and the harrowing journey her nine year-old son makes to find her. Erm, not exactly the easy material I'd been fantasizing about. Well let's check out a few reviews, determine as well as I can whether it's tolerable.
...Okay, looks alright. Maybe not so bad as I'd first thought. But if it's any good, it should definitely make me cry. That might be a bit surprising for her. Well, she'll have to get used to that, anyway. Or not...
Anyway, let's go for it.
I email Madison explaining that I will cry, but okay. She says she likes men who are honest with their emotions. Ha! And, by the way, her friend wants to join us, is that alright?
...
....
.....ack.
Ack, bah! Graaaaahhhhh! Brah! Gummgphghrack. I mean, how can I answer that? No. There's no good answer to that question. Either I say "I don't mind, that's totally fine, bring whoever, I don't actually care what happens" (which is a lie) and I sound all casual just-friends useless. Or I say "I do mind, I want you to be alone, I'm totally insecure" (which isn't quite true, I hope) and sound stupid male. Great.
So I thrash around for a while, complaining and bemoaning. Stupid early relationship stages, can't actually expect to just say how you feel, can you? Bleh.
You know what? I am going to say how I feel. That's how I'm going to answer this. (Softened around the edges a bit, of course.)
I email back saying that I'd normally be all 'yes, more people, woo!' You know, 'cause I like people. But, um, how to put this... (Not on a date!) Well, when I'm getting to know someone, I like to just, you know, focus on that person. You know? But it's okay, I can deal. Just gotta "adjust my expectations."
Alright! I think that was a pretty good answer to a difficult situation. Danger averted. Good job, dude!
So I get an email back. She says that she tries not to build up too high expectations, live right, trust in God. Huh. That seems a bit... pointy. She's sorry for asking about her friend joining us... Crud. She thought I'd enjoy hanging out with new people. Oi! That isn't what I meant! But now she sees that I enjoy one-on-one as well. uh, yes... ? And she looks forward to talking about the issues in the movie.
well.
Uh, ouch? Oof. That wasn't so much fun. I am poked. I feel it is unjust, yet... I cannot really fault or disagree with anything she wrote. Hmm. I don't really know quite what to say to all that.
I mean, we have to have expectations! And I do like hanging out with new people and groups and stuff! We have to have expectations, it's how we live! And, and... what am I going to do?
It seems a bit early to start an argument, don't you think? We haven't even had our first date, for pete's sake! Besides, I don't actually disagree with her.
No, probably better to leave this be. But I do have to say something, both for courtesy and to satisfy myself... Okay, but keep it short. And try to keep it unpointy.
So I write back.
Yes, live right, but expect that things will work out. I don't always succeed at the whole 'don't worry' part of that business. So I try to communicate myself clearly, avoiding false assumptions. But that don't always work neither neither. Anyway, I hope your friend joins us another time, and I look forward to sharing our thoughts about the movie.
So.
Hurry up and go!
I travel to San Francisco, fancied up in my best totally-not-dressed-up shirt and those pants that fit me so well. And, haha, cologne! Hahahah! *ahem* It was a gift. And I like it. So there.
I struggled through traffic, using my carhorn for the first time to avoid being crushed. I arrive in Japantown in my comfortable not-quite-finery. I quest for free parking (it's never made sense to me to pay for a car to sit somewhere), but time is short, and San Francisco doesn't agree with me.
So I wiggle around until I'm aiming the right direction to get into the parking beneath the Kinokuniya building. I park, wander around the parking lot a bit, wander around Kinokuniya a bit, wander the street a bit and finally arrive at the Kabuki 8, 2 minutes before we had planned to meet up.
I had very much intended to be early.
Madison is there, reading a newspaper. (People still do that? I wonder if it's in English or Korean, but didn't think to actually check.) She's already bought my ticket. (When should I pay her back? Right now? Seems inelegant.)
I apologize for being late. She waves it aside, points out that I'm actually on time.
She asks, "Do you want some popcorn?" which I've been sort of wondering about.
"Not really. Do you want some popcorn?"
She admits she's a bit hungry.
"Then let's get some popcorn!" We can share! And I can pay!
But she beats me to it. Hrm. (Oddly, I just saw one of those "Life takes Visa" advertisements that mirrored exactly this experience. Well, you know, except for all the swashbuckling.)
Interlude:
Okay, I'm not rich, and I'm not obsessed with paying for stuff. Money is stupid, and I aim to get my gentleman points in other ways. But I'm not a scrub, and I don't want to seem or be a leech. I'd like to at least pay my share. 50-50 is fine with me, or 60-40 or however the numbers work out that specific day. But let me pay for something! You can go ahead and make a statement of equality and empowerment by insisting on paying for your own icecream, that's fine. But please let me pay for something, if only my own iced tea. Let me contribute to your statement of equality, okay?
/interlude.
So we find our way to our seats. (She asked for directions to find out to which auditorium we've been assigned before I could wander too far. But don't worry, we did some wandering later on, heh.)
An odd thing about the Kabuki 8 (the "new" Kabuki 8? Wasn't it closed for a while?) is that your ticket gives you an assigned seat. Yeah, weird. Kinda fancy-like, like going to a play, haha. Fortunately, our tickets came with adjacent seats. Very fortunate. :)
We talk a bit before the movie begins..
Do I play piano? Any instrument? No. I am about to go into how my own lack of musical training saddens me, how my cousins play beautifully, but how they sacrificed for that, and I'm not sure I would put my kids through that. But she replies, "Well, but you read a lot." Huh.
Somewhere in there before the movie's beginning, she asks my age. Like she's double-checking something. So I tell her. (I might be paranoid in wondering if this is the beginning of the end, but I've got my reasons. Anyway, might as well just answer and relax.) She nods, as if she's confirmed something.
Of course, I ask her age in turn. And, of course, she asks me to guess. (Why do so many girls do that?) I think for a moment, complaining mildly that I suck at guessing ages. (No, seriously, I suck bad. Like a lot.)
"Twenty-seven?" I think she might a bit older than that, but I can't really tell, so.
She asks "why do you think I'm older than you?"
It's an interesting moment. It feels important that I answer this well. But I'm not worried. I trust myself, my reasons. So I take a moment to gather the pieces, then go ahead.
"Well... there are two main reasons, I think," holding up two fingers in the darkened theater, the way I like to when I'm explaining myself.
She's quietly appreciative (delighted, perhaps?) at this small piece of academian dramatic flair. "I like how this is going."
I smile at that. "One is that, well, you have a tremendous amount of personal dignity. You always seem so calm." I can tell that she's taken a bit aback by this, but she waits for the second reason.
"And two, well..." this is a bit more delicate. "Historically, I've always gotten along better with older people." (What I'm thinking is more precisely that older women are generally more interested in me, but it seems better to express the more general truth.)
Did she clap her hands together? Either way, she is very much satisfied with my answer, expressing approval and pleasure. But she does not tell me her age.
Very well. I will be satisfied with my good answer and knowing that my age does not present great difficulty for her. I will learn her age in time.
The movie begins, and our conversation is more limited. Small negotiations over the popcorn. (Started out with me simply holding it, then she wanted to hold it, then asked me to put it in the empty seat next to me, then I held it for the rest of the movie. I was satisfied, holding the popcorn for her. We end up with a lot of extra popcorn; neither of us really likes popcorn much, ha.) Then mostly we are in the movie.
The movie is good. It has sad bits and funny bits, and they are reasonably effective. It is well-done, but not subtle. You can see the strings they pull to generate audience reaction, but they are good strings, and the movie isn't ashamed that you can see it. The acting is quality, and the child, played by Adrian Alonso, is astonishing.
The first time I cry, I avoid looking over to see if she is also crying.
The next time I cry, I look over and we sort of shrug and smile through our respective tears.
I'm laughing while the boy and the drifter sing angrily at each other, "I'm not the user!" and I look at Madison. She's wiping at her eyes, and she complains that her eyes are bothering her, she's not crying. I laugh a little. "You mean you don't think this is the saddest scene in the movie?" She laughs.
The movie goes on.
The ending is happy, and we're both crying. She puts her head on my shoulder and gives a trembly sigh. I'm crying, but I'm happy. Madison gives me a tissue, and I wipe at my eyes beneath my glasses, feeling a bit awkward, yet appreciative. (I don't usually cry into a tissue, or wipe my eyes much either. Usually I just cry, wash my face after.)
Madison commented on the audience getting up out of their seats immediately at the beginning of the credits. I agreed, and so I was a little surprised when she got up only a minute or so later. As we walked out, she commented on the movie, what she liked about it. She appreciated the opportunity to see the difficulties of the illegal immigrants, and how the bonds of the family overcame those difficulties. She hasn't had much exposure to Mexican culture, so that was interesting for her, as well.
I couldn't say much, as I was still deeply engaged in my own emotional response to the movie. (Usually takes me 10 or 15 minutes to be able to discuss an emotional movie.) We began to wander up the street.
Madison asks,"So, do you have any plans for the evening? Are you going home?"
No, I'm not going home now if I have anything to say about it! "No, I don't have any plans. But I thought it would be nice if we had dinner together."
She agrees, and we spend a few minutes discussing.
Korean or Japanese?
Yes, I like Japanese food. Yes, I like Korean food. (Don't really care much what we eat, actually, just so it's not overly distracting or expensive.) I like food.
Or maybe Mexican?
Probably not in Japantown, haha. Plenty in SF, though. I could drive... But I'd like to have Korean food. I don't get to go out for Korean very often. If that's okay with you?
Fine with her, she knows a couple of places around here. "There's that one. But it's probably too expensive. Yeah, too expensive." Okay. "Ah, there's that one. It's good, it's pretty good. Not too expensive."
Sounds good.
We make our way over to Doobu, a Korean tofu house. The price is reasonable, about what I'd expect from a Korean tofu house, but the food is better than I've had before. I enjoyed the purply rice and enjoyed my small adventure on my side of the table. Whole, unshelled shrimp staring at me through dull black eyes? *crunch, crunch* That was... that was okay. Oysters for the first time? Sure, why not? But I can't really tell them from the clams...
I was mildly entertained to order my combination seafood tofu soup "spicy." Madison tells me that she only goes up to "medium."
Although, actually, she did the ordering, which took me a little aback. Oh well, I don't speak Korean.
We linger over dinner, talking, talking.
We talk a little about our families, we talk about religion, we talk about psychology, we talk a little about kids. I brag about Megumi-chan.
At one point, Madison is saying something about children and family and sort of catches herself. "But, I mean, it's not like we're getting married!" I smile. I like that. I like that a lot, that she aims herself in that direction, self-consciously but not apologetically.
She talks about conversational topics, about how she can talk about shopping with the girls, but would rather spend her time elsewhere. I can relate to that. You try to be friendly with everyone, approachable, but, as I tell her, "yeah, you have to direct your own life." Because time is valuable, and your life is your own.
Madison is Catholic, which intrigues me. I haven't known very many Catholics. She tells me a little about her sister, who seems to be a nun. She apologizes, because her sister doesn't like America. "Not Americans, but America." I say that I'd like to meet her sister, we could probably get along. I don't like America that much, either.
Madison seems surprised, but says that she thought that might be the case. She talks about other American friends, who feel the urge to apologize to internationals. She seems to approve of the fact that I don't. "You're sensitive enough, you know enough. You don't need to, it's not you doing those things." I agree, wondering if her assessment is accurate. Do I know enough?
She asks about my plans. I begin to tell her the reasons behind my plans, my time in Africa. She asks where I've been. Since the beginning. It's not that long a list, but we wander through it. Botswana, back to the US, three days in London ("It was gray, haha."), Thailand. I talk about my disappointment, my excitement in Bangkok. I explain my plans to teach everywhere. She agrees that it's a good idea for me to visit Korea and Japan.
And it goes on.
Talking with Madison is exciting, intriguing... even thrilling. In some ways we are quite similar. I didn't know this. When she explains how she is interested in everyone, but specifically seeks out morally minded people to develop closer friendships, I remark on this similarity. She says that she's always felt like we were similar, since we met last year.
I didn't know that. But Madison waves that aside. "I didn't talk much in class, so you couldn't know me." Hmm. I was rather aware of her in that class, but didn't know her. She has a lot of presence, and I could feel her watching everyone. I talked a lot in that class, so she had some opportunity to develop an opinion about me. I am flattered, but at a bit of a disadvantage in that regard. But I look forward to knowing her better.
It is more than our similarities in outlook, in how intensely interested in people we both are, and in how carefully we deal with those people, it is more than this that excites and intrigues me. It feels almost dangerous, conversation with her; she has such a strong personality, very distinctively her own person, but she is so deliberate, so careful in how she expresses herself. She doesn't dominate the conversation, but clearly holds her own. In everything she says, I can hear the echoes of careful thought. I am intensely aware of an active, perceptive, and purposeful mind working across from me, of the words we use as symbols of our thoughts.
I feel tremendously curious about her. I don't know if we will ultimately match romantically, but I know that it will be thunderously interesting in the attempt to find out.
She is tall and elegant, totally outside my usual type. Born in Korea, she has a moderate accent and has been in the US for some time. (Feel like I ought to know how long...) She is intense and quiet, observing. She says she sometimes talks a lot, I will be surprised. I look forward to that, too. She seems very deliberate; nothing she says has not been carefully considered, but she speaks on many topics. She wears a striking dark red lipstick.
As I drive her home, we talk about our student-poverty, how it limits how often we each go out. I suggest picnics and potlucks. She says that sounds nice. But she keeps making reference to the summer. Are we not to see each other until then? I can't think that.
Just before I drop her off, she says she usually goes out on Saturday or Sunday. A hint?
We hug our goodbyes, and I wait there as she walks up her stairs, waving once.
I drive around in SF, tripping and laughing. In that extended moment, I sometimes feel like the future is irrelevant. Whatever happens there is only there and cannot touch the clarity of tonight's success. And then, again, I want to know, desperately, what comes next. I want it to be next week or the week after that. I want to see her again, I want to have already seen her several times. I want to talk with her entirely freely, in the easy familiarity that we don't yet have.
I want to brag, to gossip and giggle. I've been so entirely quiet about this exciting development. I have told no one of this date aside from family and this journal. So many times I came so close to asking Yunkyoung, "What do you think about Madison?" or telling Yam, "Check it out, I have a date next week!"
But I kept quiet. What if I were wrong? How tiresome that old routine was...
But now I can share. And I am so impatient.
I call Yunkyoung, she asks me, "who? who? who?" I laugh and tell her. She screams, then asks very seriously for the story. So I tell her.
And she has deep reservations, but cannot tell me why. Bah! This is not the response that I wanted! After we talk for some time, Yunkyoung apologizes; she shouldn't have said anything, she should trust my judgement. Hmm. Well, what's done is done, and my triumph remains, only slightly tarnished.
I am only more curious to know more of Madison.
I email Madison the next day, expressing my thanks, my enjoyment, my thoughts on the movie. I've heard nothing back from her, but my thoughts are often occupied with the movement of her hair, the sound of her quiet laugh. When is the next?
I... I,uh... well, I went on a date. (And it was totally, undeniably a date. No amount of mind-bending paranoiac doubt-mongering can obscure this simple fact. And I didn't even have to ask if it was a date to find this out, ha!)
And, uh, well, it went well. Quite well, I'd venture to say, actually.
Strange, perhaps even stupid, really, to realize... this is my first time. I know, it doesn't make sense!
"But what about-"
"That wasn't really a date."
"Well, what about-"
"That wasn't a date either."
"But you don't know that!"
"Exactly."
"Oh, I see what you mean. Well, surely that other-"
"Well, maybe. I suppose that probably counts. But I had to ask outright, didn't I? Not exactly a regular date if you spend half of the 'date' discussing whether it's a date."
"Hmm, maybe you're right. So, wait a minute, you're saying this was a regular date? No crazy meta-talk? No careful contractual explanations of the relationship between romance and friendship? And you're sure it was a date?"
"Pretty regular, yeah. And, yes, I am sure. 100% positive."
"But- I mean, do you even, I mean, do you even do that? That doesn't even sound like a Danya date!"
"I know, it's kinda nice actually, to-"
"But no meta-talk?!"
"Well, actually there was some meta-talk. Yeah, some. But here's the thing, it wasn't like we were- we weren't talking about us, you know? We weren't like 'making up' the relationship, we were just getting to know each other, expressing our thoughts, whatever."
"But- but that's like a regular date!"
"I know! Hahaha!"
"And you... you're okay with this?"
"Yeah. Listen, I think I'd better try to explain a bit more."
"Alright, go ahead."
Okay. A while ago, not that far from here, I met a girl. In class last spring. My sociolinguistics class. She was nice, seemed quite friendly really. But kind of... I don't know, a little distant. She was always very warm to me, but she didn't say much in class and didn't seem to associate much with the other students. Almost aloof.
Anyway, I was busy getting to know a large group of international students in that class, so I just sort of filed her away in my mind. 'It'd probably be interesting to get to know her better sometime' kind of thing. Other things seemed more, uh, immediate at that time.
. . . That sounds a bit cold, doesn't it? Hm. Well.
Anyway.
Time moved along, as it tends to, in those fits and twitches that go so far. Summer went by, filled to a subjectively impressive degree with those stupid little bits of Diep-drama and imponderable chunks of whatever-it-is-that-fills-the-summers-of-those-without-jobs-or-anything.
And fall semester was about to begin. And I felt ready for it. Or at least eager. ("My first semester at graduate school!" Huh. How I laugh at that now...)
And I got a call from my friend Yunkyoung the week before the semester began. She told me that girl from sociolinguistics wanted to talk to me about applying to the graduate program, here's her number.
So I call her. (Why not? Be nice to help someone, maybe get a chance to get to know her better.)
She says she wants to talk about applying to the graduate program.
Okay.
She says we should get together to talk about it, maybe coffee on campus.
Uh, okay. Sure...
We have to figure out our schedules, there's no hurry...
So. We're supposed to meet up... sometime... and talk about the graduate program. This strikes me as a bit odd. Something not-quite-straight.
Oh well, if it's a set-up, whatever. It's not like telling someone how I got into grad school would be selling secrets or anything. And if it's just a trick to spend time with me? Well, okay, then. (Why not just ask, though? whatever.)
School begins. Things are set into motion, schedules become fixed yet ever-complicating. I try to schedule something with the girl (perhaps woman is better?) from sociolinguistics, but it doesn't work out.
Life goes on. I run into her once or twice on campus. We laugh at our scheduling difficulties, very friendly and not overly concerned to learn my grad school secrets.
Life goes on. I get caught up in thoughts of Thailand, the semester closes in a rush of projects.
Winter passes in a continuous acceleration.
Dazed, with uncertainty thick upon me from my trip to Thailand, the spring semester begins.
I arrange a party for myself, a birthday party almost a month late, a welcome home party that I throw for myself, an old school pizza party. Just a simple party.
A few days before the party, I run into the woman (gotta practice so it sounds natural) from my sociolinguistics class on campus. I invite her to my party, we reestablish that we have each other's numbers.
I was struck by how warm and friendly she was. How warm and friendly she's always been to me. Particularly striking after basically waiting a whole semester and winter for... for something. For me to call her, basically. In my experience, that kind of stalled momentum tends to sour, and meeting later is generally somewhat awkward and uncomfortable, no matter how positive the intentions. ("Oh, ha, uh, yeah, sorry about that... Yeah, uh wish we'd... you know, pretty... pretty busy, you know..." Ugh.)
So it struck me, and still does. She seemed quite persistent and consistent in the warmth she'd extended me. Pretty determined. That impressed me.
And she came to the party, which impressed me further. I didn't know her that well, so I imagined she might reasonably expect not to know that many people at the party. And she brought a gift, which I didn't expect at all. (And I'm a sucker for a well-written card-sentiment.)
I enjoyed that party a great deal, I had a lot of friends there. I didn't get to talk too much with her, but I kept an eye out to see if she was okay. She seemed at ease, talking with Nan and others from our sociolinguistics class. She always seems so calm and self- assured. Intriguing. And Heather, of course, was over there. Heather's such good party-material, so unobtrusively moving about and making sure everybody's having a good time.
When it was time for her to leave, we reaffirmed intentions to hang out sometime. Sometime sooner than later.
And the semester grinds away, ugly and unrelenting. I feel small and unbrave, barely above the surface and astounded at the gaping ocean I have yet to travel. Thailand left me with still so many questions and open doubts. And the future looms up, heavy and obscure.
I hid out, fell off the face of the earth, caught the flu, didn't post.
An unhappy, unwholesome time.
As midterms walked upon me, I gasped and drew breath, startled into some action. I wrote out my lesson plan, amazed that I could. I felt like I wanted to.
And I looked ahead to spring break.
I felt my breath quicken, my lungs and blood moving into rhythm. My head came into use.
And I thought of futures, far and close. Still so much unknown, but with my eyes opened, I could see around to what is at hand. I could perhaps still be what I want to be, even if I don't know what I will be. And it was time to change, to breathe new air.
And I thought I had a debt to settle, a question to at least try and answer, even if it wasn't about the graduate program.
I felt slightly reckless, impatient to get out of the dust. Spring break was the right time.
Her name is Madison. I called her on a Wednesday night before spring break began. I left a voice message, in my usual rambling awkward and friendly manner, to invite her to dinner "or something." There! It's begun.
An hour later, she sent me a text. Just good to hear from you, talk soon. I was unsatisfied, but not dissuaded.
Thursday went along by.
Friday, at midday, after class, quite by accident, I encountered Madison again on the steps of the library. We talked, smiling, about school and plans for the break. I kept it back, waiting to bring up my invitation and enjoying the conversation. Then she said that we should see a movie over the spring break. "That would be relaxing."
Ha! Yes! Excellent! A clear suggestion and invitation, a form to my hope!
While I soared and stumbled, I grasped the moment, and I asked for her email address. I prefer writing, most particularly in those foolish early times. She said that was a better way to contact her, I concurred, and she gave it me, stumbling a bit. We laughed, and she apologized,
"It's difficult, speaking in second language, when you are tired." I laughed and said that it was difficult even in one's first language. Then we said our goodbyes, I urged her out of the cold, clasped her hands in farewell. I commented on how cold her hands were and grasped them again, quickly and carefully squeezing them.
Then we went our ways. I laughed at myself, and walked happily through the chill air.
On Sunday, I looked for movies to suggest. I spent a few hours on moviefone and rottentomatoes and looking at trailers on youtube. A quick, intensive plunge into research on the current state of national cinema. Looking for what's there, what looks fun, what might be most approachable, what's quality. What would I feel comfortable sitting through with someone important next to me?
With these filters in place, I was left with four movies. I was surprised. Usually I can't find one. (Thinking about seeing a movie as a date is an interesting filter. Makes things shinier.)
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day: some risk of stupid ideas, but Frances McDormand for awesomeness.
CJ7: stupidness a given, but fun, and strong chance of cute.
Horton Hears a Who: if not bad, could be good.
Definitely, Maybe: looks halfway interesting, romantic comedy an obvious choice.
So I sent off an email to Madison to show my findings, complete with links to trailers and a bit of my thoughts on each choice. I was enjoying being concise and expansive, flexible and directive. I enjoyed imagining how each movie would go as a date. I felt successful and generous. I felt like I was being a good date.
Madison had warned me not to be too impatient for her reply. This advice I did my best to follow, and two days later I received a reply from Madison. She had enjoyed the weekend. In fact she'd seen Horton Hears a Who on Saturday. Oh. And it wasn't as good as she'd hoped. Ah. She would like to see Under the Same Moon. Wait, what? Or Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, if I didn't want to see that.
Oh. Hmmm. So much for all my carefully laid out choices. Well, let's see about this one, then. Yes, I remember, that movie about the illegal immigrant and the harrowing journey her nine year-old son makes to find her. Erm, not exactly the easy material I'd been fantasizing about. Well let's check out a few reviews, determine as well as I can whether it's tolerable.
...Okay, looks alright. Maybe not so bad as I'd first thought. But if it's any good, it should definitely make me cry. That might be a bit surprising for her. Well, she'll have to get used to that, anyway. Or not...
Anyway, let's go for it.
I email Madison explaining that I will cry, but okay. She says she likes men who are honest with their emotions. Ha! And, by the way, her friend wants to join us, is that alright?
...
....
.....ack.
Ack, bah! Graaaaahhhhh! Brah! Gummgphghrack. I mean, how can I answer that? No. There's no good answer to that question. Either I say "I don't mind, that's totally fine, bring whoever, I don't actually care what happens" (which is a lie) and I sound all casual just-friends useless. Or I say "I do mind, I want you to be alone, I'm totally insecure" (which isn't quite true, I hope) and sound stupid male. Great.
So I thrash around for a while, complaining and bemoaning. Stupid early relationship stages, can't actually expect to just say how you feel, can you? Bleh.
You know what? I am going to say how I feel. That's how I'm going to answer this. (Softened around the edges a bit, of course.)
I email back saying that I'd normally be all 'yes, more people, woo!' You know, 'cause I like people. But, um, how to put this... (Not on a date!) Well, when I'm getting to know someone, I like to just, you know, focus on that person. You know? But it's okay, I can deal. Just gotta "adjust my expectations."
Alright! I think that was a pretty good answer to a difficult situation. Danger averted. Good job, dude!
So I get an email back. She says that she tries not to build up too high expectations, live right, trust in God. Huh. That seems a bit... pointy. She's sorry for asking about her friend joining us... Crud. She thought I'd enjoy hanging out with new people. Oi! That isn't what I meant! But now she sees that I enjoy one-on-one as well. uh, yes... ? And she looks forward to talking about the issues in the movie.
well.
Uh, ouch? Oof. That wasn't so much fun. I am poked. I feel it is unjust, yet... I cannot really fault or disagree with anything she wrote. Hmm. I don't really know quite what to say to all that.
I mean, we have to have expectations! And I do like hanging out with new people and groups and stuff! We have to have expectations, it's how we live! And, and... what am I going to do?
It seems a bit early to start an argument, don't you think? We haven't even had our first date, for pete's sake! Besides, I don't actually disagree with her.
No, probably better to leave this be. But I do have to say something, both for courtesy and to satisfy myself... Okay, but keep it short. And try to keep it unpointy.
So I write back.
Yes, live right, but expect that things will work out. I don't always succeed at the whole 'don't worry' part of that business. So I try to communicate myself clearly, avoiding false assumptions. But that don't always work neither neither. Anyway, I hope your friend joins us another time, and I look forward to sharing our thoughts about the movie.
So.
Hurry up and go!
I travel to San Francisco, fancied up in my best totally-not-dressed-up shirt and those pants that fit me so well. And, haha, cologne! Hahahah! *ahem* It was a gift. And I like it. So there.
I struggled through traffic, using my carhorn for the first time to avoid being crushed. I arrive in Japantown in my comfortable not-quite-finery. I quest for free parking (it's never made sense to me to pay for a car to sit somewhere), but time is short, and San Francisco doesn't agree with me.
So I wiggle around until I'm aiming the right direction to get into the parking beneath the Kinokuniya building. I park, wander around the parking lot a bit, wander around Kinokuniya a bit, wander the street a bit and finally arrive at the Kabuki 8, 2 minutes before we had planned to meet up.
I had very much intended to be early.
Madison is there, reading a newspaper. (People still do that? I wonder if it's in English or Korean, but didn't think to actually check.) She's already bought my ticket. (When should I pay her back? Right now? Seems inelegant.)
I apologize for being late. She waves it aside, points out that I'm actually on time.
She asks, "Do you want some popcorn?" which I've been sort of wondering about.
"Not really. Do you want some popcorn?"
She admits she's a bit hungry.
"Then let's get some popcorn!" We can share! And I can pay!
But she beats me to it. Hrm. (Oddly, I just saw one of those "Life takes Visa" advertisements that mirrored exactly this experience. Well, you know, except for all the swashbuckling.)
Interlude:
Okay, I'm not rich, and I'm not obsessed with paying for stuff. Money is stupid, and I aim to get my gentleman points in other ways. But I'm not a scrub, and I don't want to seem or be a leech. I'd like to at least pay my share. 50-50 is fine with me, or 60-40 or however the numbers work out that specific day. But let me pay for something! You can go ahead and make a statement of equality and empowerment by insisting on paying for your own icecream, that's fine. But please let me pay for something, if only my own iced tea. Let me contribute to your statement of equality, okay?
/interlude.
So we find our way to our seats. (She asked for directions to find out to which auditorium we've been assigned before I could wander too far. But don't worry, we did some wandering later on, heh.)
An odd thing about the Kabuki 8 (the "new" Kabuki 8? Wasn't it closed for a while?) is that your ticket gives you an assigned seat. Yeah, weird. Kinda fancy-like, like going to a play, haha. Fortunately, our tickets came with adjacent seats. Very fortunate. :)
We talk a bit before the movie begins..
Do I play piano? Any instrument? No. I am about to go into how my own lack of musical training saddens me, how my cousins play beautifully, but how they sacrificed for that, and I'm not sure I would put my kids through that. But she replies, "Well, but you read a lot." Huh.
Somewhere in there before the movie's beginning, she asks my age. Like she's double-checking something. So I tell her. (I might be paranoid in wondering if this is the beginning of the end, but I've got my reasons. Anyway, might as well just answer and relax.) She nods, as if she's confirmed something.
Of course, I ask her age in turn. And, of course, she asks me to guess. (Why do so many girls do that?) I think for a moment, complaining mildly that I suck at guessing ages. (No, seriously, I suck bad. Like a lot.)
"Twenty-seven?" I think she might a bit older than that, but I can't really tell, so.
She asks "why do you think I'm older than you?"
It's an interesting moment. It feels important that I answer this well. But I'm not worried. I trust myself, my reasons. So I take a moment to gather the pieces, then go ahead.
"Well... there are two main reasons, I think," holding up two fingers in the darkened theater, the way I like to when I'm explaining myself.
She's quietly appreciative (delighted, perhaps?) at this small piece of academian dramatic flair. "I like how this is going."
I smile at that. "One is that, well, you have a tremendous amount of personal dignity. You always seem so calm." I can tell that she's taken a bit aback by this, but she waits for the second reason.
"And two, well..." this is a bit more delicate. "Historically, I've always gotten along better with older people." (What I'm thinking is more precisely that older women are generally more interested in me, but it seems better to express the more general truth.)
Did she clap her hands together? Either way, she is very much satisfied with my answer, expressing approval and pleasure. But she does not tell me her age.
Very well. I will be satisfied with my good answer and knowing that my age does not present great difficulty for her. I will learn her age in time.
The movie begins, and our conversation is more limited. Small negotiations over the popcorn. (Started out with me simply holding it, then she wanted to hold it, then asked me to put it in the empty seat next to me, then I held it for the rest of the movie. I was satisfied, holding the popcorn for her. We end up with a lot of extra popcorn; neither of us really likes popcorn much, ha.) Then mostly we are in the movie.
The movie is good. It has sad bits and funny bits, and they are reasonably effective. It is well-done, but not subtle. You can see the strings they pull to generate audience reaction, but they are good strings, and the movie isn't ashamed that you can see it. The acting is quality, and the child, played by Adrian Alonso, is astonishing.
The first time I cry, I avoid looking over to see if she is also crying.
The next time I cry, I look over and we sort of shrug and smile through our respective tears.
I'm laughing while the boy and the drifter sing angrily at each other, "I'm not the user!" and I look at Madison. She's wiping at her eyes, and she complains that her eyes are bothering her, she's not crying. I laugh a little. "You mean you don't think this is the saddest scene in the movie?" She laughs.
The movie goes on.
The ending is happy, and we're both crying. She puts her head on my shoulder and gives a trembly sigh. I'm crying, but I'm happy. Madison gives me a tissue, and I wipe at my eyes beneath my glasses, feeling a bit awkward, yet appreciative. (I don't usually cry into a tissue, or wipe my eyes much either. Usually I just cry, wash my face after.)
Madison commented on the audience getting up out of their seats immediately at the beginning of the credits. I agreed, and so I was a little surprised when she got up only a minute or so later. As we walked out, she commented on the movie, what she liked about it. She appreciated the opportunity to see the difficulties of the illegal immigrants, and how the bonds of the family overcame those difficulties. She hasn't had much exposure to Mexican culture, so that was interesting for her, as well.
I couldn't say much, as I was still deeply engaged in my own emotional response to the movie. (Usually takes me 10 or 15 minutes to be able to discuss an emotional movie.) We began to wander up the street.
Madison asks,"So, do you have any plans for the evening? Are you going home?"
No, I'm not going home now if I have anything to say about it! "No, I don't have any plans. But I thought it would be nice if we had dinner together."
She agrees, and we spend a few minutes discussing.
Korean or Japanese?
Yes, I like Japanese food. Yes, I like Korean food. (Don't really care much what we eat, actually, just so it's not overly distracting or expensive.) I like food.
Or maybe Mexican?
Probably not in Japantown, haha. Plenty in SF, though. I could drive... But I'd like to have Korean food. I don't get to go out for Korean very often. If that's okay with you?
Fine with her, she knows a couple of places around here. "There's that one. But it's probably too expensive. Yeah, too expensive." Okay. "Ah, there's that one. It's good, it's pretty good. Not too expensive."
Sounds good.
We make our way over to Doobu, a Korean tofu house. The price is reasonable, about what I'd expect from a Korean tofu house, but the food is better than I've had before. I enjoyed the purply rice and enjoyed my small adventure on my side of the table. Whole, unshelled shrimp staring at me through dull black eyes? *crunch, crunch* That was... that was okay. Oysters for the first time? Sure, why not? But I can't really tell them from the clams...
I was mildly entertained to order my combination seafood tofu soup "spicy." Madison tells me that she only goes up to "medium."
Although, actually, she did the ordering, which took me a little aback. Oh well, I don't speak Korean.
We linger over dinner, talking, talking.
We talk a little about our families, we talk about religion, we talk about psychology, we talk a little about kids. I brag about Megumi-chan.
At one point, Madison is saying something about children and family and sort of catches herself. "But, I mean, it's not like we're getting married!" I smile. I like that. I like that a lot, that she aims herself in that direction, self-consciously but not apologetically.
She talks about conversational topics, about how she can talk about shopping with the girls, but would rather spend her time elsewhere. I can relate to that. You try to be friendly with everyone, approachable, but, as I tell her, "yeah, you have to direct your own life." Because time is valuable, and your life is your own.
Madison is Catholic, which intrigues me. I haven't known very many Catholics. She tells me a little about her sister, who seems to be a nun. She apologizes, because her sister doesn't like America. "Not Americans, but America." I say that I'd like to meet her sister, we could probably get along. I don't like America that much, either.
Madison seems surprised, but says that she thought that might be the case. She talks about other American friends, who feel the urge to apologize to internationals. She seems to approve of the fact that I don't. "You're sensitive enough, you know enough. You don't need to, it's not you doing those things." I agree, wondering if her assessment is accurate. Do I know enough?
She asks about my plans. I begin to tell her the reasons behind my plans, my time in Africa. She asks where I've been. Since the beginning. It's not that long a list, but we wander through it. Botswana, back to the US, three days in London ("It was gray, haha."), Thailand. I talk about my disappointment, my excitement in Bangkok. I explain my plans to teach everywhere. She agrees that it's a good idea for me to visit Korea and Japan.
And it goes on.
Talking with Madison is exciting, intriguing... even thrilling. In some ways we are quite similar. I didn't know this. When she explains how she is interested in everyone, but specifically seeks out morally minded people to develop closer friendships, I remark on this similarity. She says that she's always felt like we were similar, since we met last year.
I didn't know that. But Madison waves that aside. "I didn't talk much in class, so you couldn't know me." Hmm. I was rather aware of her in that class, but didn't know her. She has a lot of presence, and I could feel her watching everyone. I talked a lot in that class, so she had some opportunity to develop an opinion about me. I am flattered, but at a bit of a disadvantage in that regard. But I look forward to knowing her better.
It is more than our similarities in outlook, in how intensely interested in people we both are, and in how carefully we deal with those people, it is more than this that excites and intrigues me. It feels almost dangerous, conversation with her; she has such a strong personality, very distinctively her own person, but she is so deliberate, so careful in how she expresses herself. She doesn't dominate the conversation, but clearly holds her own. In everything she says, I can hear the echoes of careful thought. I am intensely aware of an active, perceptive, and purposeful mind working across from me, of the words we use as symbols of our thoughts.
I feel tremendously curious about her. I don't know if we will ultimately match romantically, but I know that it will be thunderously interesting in the attempt to find out.
She is tall and elegant, totally outside my usual type. Born in Korea, she has a moderate accent and has been in the US for some time. (Feel like I ought to know how long...) She is intense and quiet, observing. She says she sometimes talks a lot, I will be surprised. I look forward to that, too. She seems very deliberate; nothing she says has not been carefully considered, but she speaks on many topics. She wears a striking dark red lipstick.
As I drive her home, we talk about our student-poverty, how it limits how often we each go out. I suggest picnics and potlucks. She says that sounds nice. But she keeps making reference to the summer. Are we not to see each other until then? I can't think that.
Just before I drop her off, she says she usually goes out on Saturday or Sunday. A hint?
We hug our goodbyes, and I wait there as she walks up her stairs, waving once.
I drive around in SF, tripping and laughing. In that extended moment, I sometimes feel like the future is irrelevant. Whatever happens there is only there and cannot touch the clarity of tonight's success. And then, again, I want to know, desperately, what comes next. I want it to be next week or the week after that. I want to see her again, I want to have already seen her several times. I want to talk with her entirely freely, in the easy familiarity that we don't yet have.
I want to brag, to gossip and giggle. I've been so entirely quiet about this exciting development. I have told no one of this date aside from family and this journal. So many times I came so close to asking Yunkyoung, "What do you think about Madison?" or telling Yam, "Check it out, I have a date next week!"
But I kept quiet. What if I were wrong? How tiresome that old routine was...
But now I can share. And I am so impatient.
I call Yunkyoung, she asks me, "who? who? who?" I laugh and tell her. She screams, then asks very seriously for the story. So I tell her.
And she has deep reservations, but cannot tell me why. Bah! This is not the response that I wanted! After we talk for some time, Yunkyoung apologizes; she shouldn't have said anything, she should trust my judgement. Hmm. Well, what's done is done, and my triumph remains, only slightly tarnished.
I am only more curious to know more of Madison.
I email Madison the next day, expressing my thanks, my enjoyment, my thoughts on the movie. I've heard nothing back from her, but my thoughts are often occupied with the movement of her hair, the sound of her quiet laugh. When is the next?