There's not much left to say when the girl sitting across from you declines a glass of the finest wine because it would be un-Christian. The matter of two souls in this vast expanding universe possibly finding each other like sparrows in a hurricane – it all comes to a screeching halt. For me, anyway.
It's not the wine, though. Some girls don't eat meat, some do. Of course, I prefer the ones who do, but it's no skin off my back if she can't eat the seasoned, cooked flesh off of the bones of a dead animal. Yet it is not these things that tell me this meeting is doomed.
She's still smiling at something I said three minutes ago, but she has no idea that I have already reached a conclusion about our meeting. I look at her as a writer looks at a blank page which yearns to be filled. I don't know if I'm about to write a short story, or the next great American novel. Both would satisfy me in different ways, and I would feel great for having finished either.
But she is not interested in short stories at all. She looks at me like a potential mate for life, and looks me up and down discreetly, judging me silently while nibbling on her toast. She is interested only in picking another lobster with whom to crawl across an ocean floor for eternity.
We will continue to sit in judgment of each other until at last we decide if we are leaving on the same ship for a journey that can only be made once in a lifetime. But should we come to another fork in the road and discover that our paths do, in fact, diverge, why shouldn't we be able to look upon our time together with pride? Would you rather cast aside with disappointment and despair each seashell that is empty until you find the one that's not? To go from relationship to relationship and see only failure at the end of each one... is it any way to live? And where is this guarantee that the one that pleases you will in fact fill you completely till the end of your days?
Perhaps I'm over-thinking it. She becomes quieter throughout the evening as she senses my growing detachment. Perhaps she has come to the same conclusion for opposite reasons. At last, she asks, "Is it because I'm a Christian?"
She's smarter than I thought.
"No," I say.
"Then why can't you look me in the eyes? Am I not attractive?"
"I don't think we're right for each other. That's all. You're very sweet, but you want something else that I can't offer."
"You mean commitment?"
"I don't mind relationships, but not long term ones."
"You mean marriage? You think I want to marry you?"
"Eventually you will."
"How would you know if I will want to marry you?"
"It's not about will you or won't you. If you won't want to marry me, you won't want anything. I respect that, but it's not my bag."
She shifted in her seat and her eyes darted about anxiously, as if she was looking for something to say to keep things going, but had nothing to say. I watched her as she let it all sink in, and at this point – far past any care for the purpose of the date itself – I was just curious to see how she would respond. Could she? I've already made my position and moved on, and I'm just waiting for the check at this point. Still, I don't want this to be a wasted evening.
"So what is it? Is it sex?"
I did not expect her to go there, and I couldn't tell if she was just angry with me for being so apparently shallow, or if she genuinely wanted to know. I humored her with my honesty, and found my honesty to be a key ingredient in what turned out to be a very interesting experiment.
"Yes. I mean, it's not first on my list, but I think it's important."
"If it's so important, why don't you save it for the right person?"
"I do. I just don't marry them, and there are many more than just one right person."
"But that makes every girl you sleep with worth less."
"Says you!" Now she's gonna get it. "You haven't slept with the girls I have, so how would you know? I've known them better than they knew themselves, and I'm a better man for having known them. If I should want to know you in an intimate way, I might be a better man for having done so. You would be a better woman, too. Don't act like sex is some icing on the cake and then turn around and call it important."
She had no idea what to think about sex, and she knew it. She had an idea based on a vague understanding of some religious ideology, but did she really know what it meant to know a person through and through? Could she bring herself to know someone in this way and accept that he needn't be the only one?
"You really don't think you can know someone without it?" She asked.
"Absolutely not," I answered.
"So... what kinds of things do you learn about someone that you... have sex with?"
The question was very interesting, and I'd never had to answer it before. And from her! I saw her in my mind's eye turning her chin up to the subject, clinging confidently to her beliefs and changing the subject. The Amy that I knew would have accepted my position and regarded me from here on out as nothing more than a 'sinner' in need of saving. She would continue her line of questioning, but not as one who was interested in learning. But she did not do this.
She twirled her unfinished pasta, waiting for my answer. Her eyes were narrow and curious, but still a bit judgmental.
"Well, you learn how much she really loves herself, and how confident she is. You might learn that she's not so shy or passive, or you might find that she appears dominant to everyone who knows her but is in fact very insecure. When you learn these things about someone during sex, you both realize that there is no need for walls or barriers. It's just pure love. Sometimes sex can be very therapeutic, and two people can learn and grow by working through the psychological and emotional pain with the love of another. It's not always roses, but that's mostly been my experience."
I could see the wires short-circuiting in her brain. She was deeply troubled by what I was saying, and her eyes began to water despite her efforts to maintain composure. I decided not to press, so I waited for her to speak.
I began to think of this meeting as fruitful after all, because I could tell that wherever this conversation went from here, I felt closer to her already. We were still miles apart ideologically, but she was actually opening up.
"I don't know what to say." These were the most truthful words she had spoken up to that point, by far. She dropped her fork to the plate with a clink and rubbed her eyes. She made less of an effort to hold back her sobs, but was not a total mess.
"I know you're right..." she began. "I just... I want to believe that love can last, you know? I mean, why is it so hard to find it? Why does sex have to be first? Can't you just know? And how can I... it can't be like that..."
She wasn't making much sense, but I could feel her. I sort of felt bad that I was causing her to break down like this, so I tried to comfort her.
