Let Her Down Easy, But Let Her Down Quick

This was a piece I wrote for my quarter submission in school. I liked it enough to put it here. I think it says a lot about dating while trans and about dating in general. Or maybe it just says a lot about me.

Before I introduce them, I’d like to take a moment to formally apologize to Opportunity. I’m sorry for resenting you. I’m sorry for using you. I am very sorry for leading you on.

Opportunity has been many different people. There have been a few Maybes, and there’s even been a Love or two, but for the most part there’s been Opportunity.

I met Opportunity quite a lot in elementary school, when I was a self-proclaimed “hopeless romantic.” I met Opportunity a few times in junior high, which was when I first started to feel that awful feeling each time I would get close to them. I also met Opportunity last Friday night at the football game.

This time, Opportunity came with black, wavy hair that came down to her chin. Thin square glasses, a pastel pink shirt, and a black skirt that fell just above her knees. When Opportunity texted me and we noticed we were in the same place at the same time, I decided that she would be my new Maybe. Usually, I would at least take a little bit of time to pine after Maybe when I met them. This time, there was so much adrenaline, and she was right there. I knew I had a chance.

In hindsight, it was never about her. It was never about her sharp jawline or the formal way she seemed to talk until she got excited. It was about the fact that she was a she, and I was a he, and the juxtaposition was enticing. Opportunity was a woman this time, and she was a woman in the same way that I was a man. That’s how I knew I had a chance, and that’s why I took the chance. I flirted with Opportunity. I was the one to ask the question.

“Are you free this Sunday?” I cringe just thinking about it.

“I should be. I’d have to ask my dad.” Our faces were right next to each other. She was an inch or two taller than me. I didn’t like that.

“Would you like to go get breakfast with me?” Maybe I had just been wanting to go out for breakfast on a Sunday morning. Maybe I should have realized it had nothing to do with wanting to spend time with her.

“Are you asking me out?” She looked right in my eyes. I looked right back.

“Maybe.”

The next morning I texted her, and she told me she would be free. That was when the feeling started. I knew that feeling. I recognized it the moment I felt it. I thought I had successfully tricked myself into thinking that I had met Maybe, but I pictured her face and I knew that feeling. She was Opportunity. I went to my therapy appointment that afternoon and all I could talk about was Opportunity. I convinced myself that I felt a bit better talking about it, but I slept uneasy that night.

My mom had to practically drag me out of bed on Sunday morning, just one hour before the date. I started getting ready, putting on my white button down shirt and my only nice pair of jeans as I reminded myself that it was just a date, not a wedding. When I went to pick up Opportunity she wasn’t ready, and offered for me to come inside. Very awkwardly, I waved my hand and muttered,

“Oh, uh, I think, uh…” She looked at me. I looked at her. She looked at me some more. I thought I was getting the message across. I wasn’t. It felt like I was standing there gesticulating for an hour. I finally croaked out something about waiting outside. She finally understood. She walked back inside.

I took a deep breath and got back in the car as she walked up the steps into her house. We were already off to a terrible start. When Opportunity came back out I had left the car door open for her, like the gentleman I am, and she got in and shut the door.

Silence. We turned off Fifth street. Silence. We turned onto Sandusky. Silence. We turned off Sandusky. Silence. We turned onto Simmons. Silence. We turned off Simmons. Silence. We turned into the iHOP parking lot. Silence. We went inside. I held the door open for her. She held the next door open for me.

“Table for two?”

“Yeah.” We were directed to a booth. It was the same exact booth I had imagined when I pictured the date. Maybe I should’ve trusted my intuition more.

When we sat down, I looked at everything but her. I looked at the baby next to us. Primary colored plaid shirt. I looked at the wooden floor. Burnt sienna. I looked at the servers. Bright red shirts.

I made some small talk. I told her the origin of “PogChamp,” which I had prepared to say, since she uses the phrase so often. She seemed to think it was funny. Alright. This could work. I can do this. I looked at her. I leaned in so she could hear me through my mask. She looked at me, smiling. I finished telling the story, and then…

Silence. So close. The waitress came. I got some water. Opportunity got… orange juice, I think? My eyes had avoided her side of the table. She needed time to decide what to order. I had chosen iHOP because I knew what I was going to order. Maybe I should have just gone to iHOP alone, if I wanted some stupid crêpes so bad.

I stared out the window at the metallic beasts (well, that’s too generous– it was mostly minivans) in the parking lot. I stared at the gray puffs in the sky, tracing my eyes in between every cloud, separating them by light and dark like I was sorting the laundry. I wished I was sorting the laundry. I hate sorting the laundry. We ordered our food. Our food came. We started eating.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to her. I went to the bathroom and stood there. I thought about Opportunity. Even when I first asked her out, I knew she was never Maybe. I knew who my Maybe really was. My Maybe was the girl from my grade, who had the brightest smile, who always came to class a couple seconds after the bell, who I always stole glances at in class. My Maybe was the girl I had to work up the courage to talk to. My Maybe was the girl I had seen with another boy’s arms around her waist. My Maybe was happy with someone who knew her better than I did, and most importantly, my Maybe was never mine.

I hadn’t asked out Opportunity because of Maybe. Yes, when Maybe walked into class, little neurotransmitters of dopamine would begin to dance around in my head. Yes, I thought of Maybe while I stood there in that bathroom. Other than that, though, Maybe wasn’t on my mind. I flirted with Opportunity because I wanted to feel like more of a man. So what’s something that we all learn men are supposed to do? Date women.

I had stood there long enough. I needed to either use the bathroom or leave. I washed my hands and went back to sit with Opportunity.

We finished our food. We paid for our food. We started to get up.

“Let’s go, I’ll take you home,” I told her.

“We’re not doing anything else…?”

“Well, uh, uhm? I guess we could, like, walk around, I guess, but…?”

“I mean, s’just that we haven’t talked much…”

“Oh, yeah, but like…” I checked my phone, as if I had to look at the time to know I wanted this to end. “I’ve got a lot to do today, so…”

“Okay.”

So I took her home. I dropped her off, then I went home and changed into more comfortable clothes. I really did have a lot to do that day, so I did. That afternoon, I texted Opportunity and told her that while I like her a lot, I didn’t believe we were romantically compatible. Unsurprisingly, she agreed with me.

Opportunity from the football game wasn’t my first Opportunity. Even though I’ll remember that pit in my stomach for years to come, she definitely won’t be my last.

But I’ll never forget the disappointment in her voice when I ended the date. It took days for me to realize it, but I knew that sound. I could hear myself in her voice. I, so many times, had been Opportunity to someone who I saw as Maybe. And for that reason, out of respect for the true feeling of meeting your Maybe, I’ll try to wait until I know I’ve felt it before I realize I’ve been leading on poor Opportunity.