When Lightning Strikes Twice

Second date jitters nibbled at my resolve. Having arrived early I took shelter inside the Barnes and Noble to escape the summer heat. The familiar setting offered a degree of calm. The smell of books advertising endless possibilities, a fitting parallel to the online dating profiles that once again consumed my life. I’d just broken up with Gwen at the end of spring, after a year together. She was the first long term relationship since my divorce and offered a brief oasis from the wasteland of dating that followed. A break from endless intros, frequent rejections, infrequent first dates… and even more infrequent second dates, like the one I was meeting here tonight. Well, not here in the bookstore, but at the sushi place around the corner. If I was honest with myself, I wasn’t sure why I’d even pursued this second date. The first one hadn’t been stellar. I think I just wanted to convince myself I could move on. Move on at least to a second date. I was hoping this second date would go better now that we knew each other a little. Hoping.

My nerd brain labeled it a “disturbance in the force”.

I made my rounds through science fiction and fantasy, and then to the more cerebral books on programming. As I browsed the titles a surge of emotions washed over me like a bucket of ice. The intensity of it flooded my brain with static. Reality shifted for a moment as I mentally rebooted. Luckily, it passed as quickly as it started, leaving me light headed. My nerd brain labeled it a “disturbance in the force”. My logical brain chalked it up to dehydration and nerves. After a few deep breathes I headed over to the restaurant and tried to clear the incident from my mind. I put in my reservation and I sat down to send an update text to my date. And then, the feeling hit me again.

The first thing I noticed was her butt. Not just from the familiar contours, but also the distinctive pattern of studs on the rear pockets of her jeans. It was Gwen. From my seated perspective I didn’t see her face as she passed by. All I saw was her posterior and the Barnes and Noble bag swinging by her hip. Had she just been there too?

I should point out that Gwen lived in the town of Lincoln, about 15 miles from my house and another 30 miles from the Sacramento neighborhood where we now were. Across town. In a restaurant neither of us had ever been to.

My date arrived a few minutes later. The fact I can’t recall her name speaks to the unsuccessful outcome of the date. I was flustered from the moment I saw Gwen walk by and horrified when we were seated less than six feet from the table where she and her new boyfriend joined another couple. Gwen and her beau seemed casually cozy, linked arm and arm, hands squeezed together in solidarity. They clearly enjoyed each other company. They laughed a lot. Was Gwen laughing louder than necessary?

Here I was, struggling with an awkward date while she sat inches away having the time of her life. I tried to get my head in the game, tried to establish some banter with the woman across from me, but I was deeply distracted by snippets of overheard conversation. It sounded like a better conversation. They were better company. I was at the wrong table. I wanted to be at the table with Gwen, sharing a laugh with friends, squeezing our hands in secret alignment. It was so much easier. It was so much more comfortable. Why had I thrown that all away?

I thought back to our first date, our instant attraction. It had been such an exciting departure from the encounters that came before, the first person to express a genuine interest in me. Our eyes locked, hands touched. We were in sync. Before we left, she rushed back to give me a kiss while declaring that it was atypical behavior. From there it became such an easy relationship to fall in to.

When their meal was finished Gwen walked over and touched my arm, saying it was great to see me and wishing me a lovely evening. My heart jumped. My brain froze. My mouth plowed ahead unassisted. I’m not sure what came out but, Gwen smiled politely before leaving. My date raised an eyebrow.

After the explanations I was pretty eager to wrap things up. We exchanged pleasantries knowing we’d never speak again. I rushed to my car and took out my phone. I sat there staring at it, unsure which emotion I wanted to convey. The time ticked by and the temperature inside the closed car rose to uncomfortable levels before my brain had spun up enough to use language. I texted her that it was wonderful to see her and to see her happy. The last part was a lie.

On the drive home Pink’s new song “Just Give Me a Reason” came on the radio. The break up song had been haunting me all summer. There was just something about the lyrics that spoke to me. I cranked it up and sang along.

Just give me a reason, just a little bit’s enough
Just a second we’re not broken just bent and we can learn to love again

Like a movie montage, all the sweet memories came rushing back. So much laughter, so much love. Why did we ever break up? Why did I let her go? I couldn’t remember the reasons. What had I done?

The next night I composed an email. A more heartfelt version of my hasty text. I talked about how sad I was without her. How much I missed her. I said I understood that she needed to move on, but I wondered if she’d consider meeting with me and talking things through. Could we learn to love again?

The mind has a funny way of protecting itself and tricking us when needed. Like the pain of child birth suppressed to allow for future considerations, our brains hide the painful emotions of a broken relationship and distills out all but the good stuff. Those distilled thoughts were the ones running through my mind as I wrote the email. However, when I later asked my friends and family the same questions about why I broke things off, why I let her go… they had no problem remembering. And they were quick to remind me. Eager to remind me. A little too eager.

The fights, they said. The arguments. The late-night hours spent in the driveway in a heated argument. You told us of voices screaming in your head, hoping she would leave only to end with her declaring that she was exhausted and had decided to stay the night. The way she made you feel. The times you tried to break up with her and how she talked you out of it each time.

Oh. Right. I remembered. And also, I remembered the why. The main reason I’d left. It was because she saw me as broken, not bent. Her narrative was of a man long suffering in an unhappy marriage who was then shattered by divorce. None of it true. At least not to the degree she made it out to be. But she believed it and she believed that she alone had the power to fix me.

Gwen response was waiting for me the next morning. She wanted to know why it had taken me two months to realize everything I’d said. She wanted to know if seeing her with someone else had been my only catalyst for reaching out to her? I didn’t answer that. Instead, I started by telling her that I’m a cynical, practical person who doesn’t usually believe in signs. I told her about the encounter in the bookstore, how it was like I felt her presence, and how crazy it was that of all the places in a 50-mile radius what were the chances we’d end up sitting six feet apart with different people. It was fate. The universe was telling us something. It had to be meaningful.

She started to sway. She missed me too. But before she drafted a Dear John letter to the other man, she wanted some level of assurance that I was serious. I felt her resolve start to buckle. I knew I was close to getting the reunion I had asked for. The comfort I had missed. That happiness I saw on display at the sushi place could be ours. I could have that all again. Wasn’t that what I wanted?

I said I still loved her. She arrived at my house 15 minutes later.

As soon as she agreed to break it off with John and make it work with us, she beamed. We kissed to seal the deal. Maybe more than kissed. She cried happy tears, so relieved to be reunited, back in the relationship she wanted. The relationship I needed. We could learn to love again.

Dating had been a bandage hastily applied after divorce.

Then a dark undercurrent trickled into my mind. Needed? What did I need from the relationship? I’d had the epiphany that I wasn’t broken to the extent that she thought I was. I could acknowledge there were wounds to heal, and she did help with that healing initially. As I was starting a new life, I needed to know I could learn to love again. To be loved again. Dating had been a bandage hastily applied after divorce. Being in a relationship had allowed the real healing to begin. It was only in hindsight that I could fully recognize the slow incremental recovery that had been taking place all along. But in her eyes, nothing had changed. She still saw me as damaged. She still tried to fix me. And maybe I did still need to be fixed in some ways, but no longer by her. The remaining wounds were for me to deal with. By standing on my own. Learning to love myself. And being enough without anyone by my side.

As we lay there on the couch wrapped in an embrace, the cold wash of emotions struck me again. The cold chill. The mind full of static. I now understood what that sensation was telling me, and when that feeling of dread failed to recede, I realize the full magnitude of my mistake.

This was going to hurt.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.