This is going to be kind of personal. Just slightly outside the usual reveals and what I’m comfortable sharing. I decided that, in the end, this story will only really matter to me. It’s just a story to you, and I like that. I’m inspired by the reader’s perspective, seeing things another way, unattached, and purely for entertainment or to learn.
That’s how I’m going to tell this story.
Last year, I dated someone regularly for about a month. Maybe six weeks. We dated about once a week, but went a long stretch without seeing each other due to holidays and work. I was fine with that. I think in total I saw this person less than half a dozen times. Maybe five. I didn’t count because I didn’t care to.
Our first date was nice. Planned by him. I met him at the restaurant. I arrived first, smoked outside, and then he showed up. Handsome, shorter than I thought. Cute. Younger than I am.
He opened the door for me, and we were shown to our table. He liked to eat and had something to say about everything on the menu. I liked that. I love to talk about food and how it’s prepared. Reading a good menu is an experience: small dreams manifested into small block letters, giving you specials of the day and prices of by-the-glass wine. Spectacular. Nine times out of ten, I order a glass of espumante, sparkling wine from Portugal. It’s also what I drink at the beach.
We order food, and lots of it. I’m thinking we ordered too much, but he’s confident it’ll be perfect. He’s right, it is. And then there’s dessert. Oh my. Let’s have coffee next and chat a bit. A cigarette, you say? Absolutely.
He paid the bill (lovely, thank you), and we headed to another bar together. He had a nice car, a good job as a corporate lawyer, and owned his own home. His apartment was always neat. He had hobbies and good friends and helped his family out. He was cute. Angolan-Portuguese, and had been married for 10 years once, too. We had a lot to talk about.
But—chemistry.
Most of us can get along with most people most of the time. Unless you’re anti-social or a psychopath, socializing from time to time, with a pleasant demeanor, isn’t hard. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. But one thing you can’t refute when it comes to dating is the value of chemistry.
We sometimes confuse chemistry with love. I have. But I learned fast how to spot the difference, and I’m certain it’s saved me a lot of heartache.
Just like some of us don’t socialize easily, others socialize too well and fall in love more often than they change their bed sheets. I’m somewhere in the middle of these two, which I think is healthy. I change my bed sheets weekly and date casually but am open to falling in love at any time. I like extremes in most things, but when it comes to dating and socializing, I like things steady.
When I feel intense chemistry with someone, and it’s not just sex, I pay attention. You can’t not know it’s happening, because it’s happening all over your body and, most of all, in your mind. Danger.
Ideally, the other person feels it too. If yes, you feel the vibration of the other person buzzing for you too, and that’s chemistry.
In my experience, there are typically two ways it can go when you have special chemistry with someone:
You and said person hit it off and fall in love or establish a life-long friendship. Chemistry comes in all forms.
You or the other person feels the spark but gets freaked out and abandons the relationship somehow, either emotionally, physically, or both. The worst.
I tend to date the second type of man more often than the first. In fact, I think the first one only happened to me once, and I was young. It was lovely while it lasted. I’d like to see how 40-something me handles chemistry. It hasn’t happened yet.
So the date. Our first one goes well, and we kiss goodnight. We text a bit the next day. I think he texted me right after the date, which was okay. I like it sometimes, but this time I could’ve gone without it and been fine.
Our second date, we were at my apartment watching a movie and talking, drinking beer. Easy.
There may have been one or two more dates in here, but I can’t remember.
The final date was last-minute. We decided to go to a restaurant. He ordered and ate most of the food, and we split the bill.
We went back to his apartment to chat a bit. A couple of hours in, he said something I didn’t expect. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good, and it killed the mood. I won’t repeat it, but let your imagination run wild.
After he said it, I gently said I was done for the evening and started to gather my things and got up from the table. A younger me would’ve shouted, but I didn’t.
He asked if I was leaving, and I said yes. I wasn’t feeling up to socializing right now and wanted to rest. He invited me to stay, but I declined, and said, “It’s not you, it’s me.” We hugged goodbye, kissed in a peck, and I left.
I never heard from him again.
I thought a check-in text the next day would come, but none came. A day turned into a week, a week into months, and now here we are.
Things happen, things are said. It’s normal when two people are getting to know each other. In work, friendships, and romance, we all fuck up. How it’s handled is what leaves the impression.
Had my date sent me a text the next day to see how I was doing, I would’ve dated him a bit longer. But not for long, because the chemistry was never a match for me anyway, and I knew it on that first date. But occasional companionship is good for your health, and I like conversation. In the end, none of it was enough to let the way he handled it slide.
No doubt people have had these thoughts about me too. That’s life. Every feeling you’ve ever had, someone else in the world has felt a version of it. We give emotions labels to quantify their experience, but you really can’t. You can’t put into words what your unique experience of a collective human feeling is, but you can try. This nuance is what separates the machines from us, and why we don’t need to panic about them taking over the world. Yet.
Sure, I could’ve texted him too. I’m not shy, and I’ve done it. But the will just wasn’t there, and will and chemistry are lovely complements to one another. My story is an example of why.
If I saw him on the street, I’d say hello, give the obligatory kiss on each cheek. At some point, I’d mention the misunderstanding and close that loop. That’s what I’d do. Sometimes it’s nice to think ahead about these things, but in the end, you can’t control what’s going to happen. That’s the fun of it.
Chemistry is one of those things we’ve all felt. It’s something we seek, chase, and pray for, but it’s mostly luck and timing. Luck of running into someone at the right time and letting your emotions run wild. Glorious. Rare. Dangerous and fun. Anything less is a reason to get up and walk away from the table.
Biggest and most destructive chemistry I had was with a guy I initially friendzoned. I did that right after the first date so for seven weeks we hung out as “just friends” and then one night in November the sky exploded. Then [insert relationship here] We are back to “just friends” and possibly fucking on another astral plane, I wouldn’t know but sometimes I imagine that we do.