Every Epic Love Story, Chapter Two; The First Date (a very short chapter)

Ok, the title is cheating. Our first date wasn’t really a date. But it was date-like. I wanted it to be a date! You know that scene in “The Sixth Sense” where Bruce Willis thinks he’s eating dinner at a restaurant with his wife? Yeah, I’m Bruce Willis in this scene. . .

The semester drew to a close. Work wrapped up on the 10th edition of “The Leading Edge”. A gathering was orchestrated, and the staff were invited.

Except at this point, there were no more staff meetings. So a poster got put up in the Office where we held our meetings, and directions were given to the Staff leaders to contact the rest of the volunteers so they would now about it.

I got a phone call from “Jenny”, reminding me that I worked on her marketing staff, and that as a volunteer I was invited to the end-of-the-edition party. It was right across the street from my dorm, at a local pizza joint called “The Pie Pizzeria”.

Invited to a party by her? Of COURSE I said yes.

But then I tried to figure out her name. There was a list of the management staff, and I carefully reviewed it from the top down. No Jennifers. Did she come to work on the magazine after the list was published? I knew she was at least a year ahead of me in school, since she was in charge of one of the departments, but I knew nothing else about her. Where she was from, what her major was. I wanted to know everything about her. But man, I was way too much the coward to actually . . . ask her.

Ah, there was a girl named Jennilyn. Pretty name. I wonder if she shortened it?

Ask me what classes I took that Fall (besides the Tolkien class). Ask me about my finals. I remember nothing. I can’t remember how I got from school to the airport to fly home, don’t remember any assignments, don’t remember the craziness of changing rooms, rearranging furniture, saying good-bye to new friends I’d met as we all scattered for the Winter Break.

But I remember going to The Pie for dinner with Jenni.

Now, I’m terribly mortified that I ever thought her name was Jennifer. I hope she’s forgiven me.

I did manage to not ever say her name wrong; since I was unsure what her name was (or how she pronounced it), I waited until I heard her say it.

The details of how the evening reached its high point are hazy now. I don’t remember who else I talked to there. Were there name tags to make sure each of us could identify our fellow staffers? There was a friend of mine from my dorm who had been working on the magazine with me, I can’t remember if he was there.

But the high point, was a zenith indeed.

I ended up sitting at a table with Jennilyn, just the two of us. I am certain that I spent too much time talking about myself. What I should have done (boys, pay attention) before the party, instead of daydreaming about what her major might be (or how she pronounced her name), was role-play asking her questions.

“Are you dating anyone right now?”
“What’s been your favorite class at BYU so far?”
“What’s the most horrible thing your roommate has done?”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“If you could have any vehicle, what would it be and where would you take it?”
“What’s your favorite thing to cook? What’s your favorite dish to be served?”
"Best movie you've seen this semester?"
"Which are prettier, sunrises or sunsets?"

It’s been almost a quarter century since that first meal. I think having a slice at The Pie counts as breaking bread. I am still desperate to know more about her. I am still often carried away with the adolescent fear that I am not interesting enough, which fear is only allayed when she smiles at me.

I remember talking about my wish to ride a motorcycle around the country, just to see everything, a wish I am now positive I spent time elaborating in the hope to impress her with my bohemian spirit of adventure. She talked about living off campus, talked about the magazine, talked about some of her classes.

I remember losing myself in her eyes, her beautiful smile.

But, alas, I am spectacular dork. I didn’t ask her on a date, didn’t ask her for her phone number (to wish her a Merry Christmas during break! I mean, duh, what a no-brainer). Didn’t even vocalize my feverish wish to see her again next semester.

“I have had a wonderful time with you, and would love to get to know you better.”

How hard would that have been to say out loud? Nope. “Hey, Merry Christmas.”

Worse. Last words. Ever.

We parted, I am certain, with wholly unequal plans regarding each other. I went completely middle school, actually writing her name out on papers I was using and decorating it with doodles. There was no google back then, no facebook to research. I had to content myself with speculation.

I speculated that I would never, ever get a second look. I would never have the courage to ask her directly to pay attention to me.

Christmas was fun, the break from school was fun, but I think if you asked anyone around me, they’d have all said the same thing.

“What’s he so mopey for this year?”

Next Christmas would be a completely different story.

To be continued ... in chapter 3.

Or look backwards at chapter 1.