MIND THE GAP

Riding The Tube in London, I love the familiar recording, advising riders to “mind the gap” between the platform and the train. It’s as if the automated voice knows how much of a klutz I am, never mind that the message is repeated even when I’m back home on another continent. A gap can cause a stumble.

And so it goes with dating. This “mind the gap” message plays in my head whenever I have a decent first coffee with a guy and my travel or his travel creates a delay in a follow-up dinner—a real full-fledged date. It’s just as stumble-prone.

I recently had a wonderful introductory coffee with Chris, a soft-spoken, family-oriented gentleman. He showed up in a tank top—hey, it was a warm evening—and it took sustained effort on my part to maintain eye contact. His biceps could have been separately named entities: Hulk and Bulk. I managed. Barely.

I’d like to think that if he’d shown up in an extremely loose fitting turtleneck, I’d have left with the same sense—Let’s get together again. Let’s see where this goes. Yes, a fine man who just happened to have great arms. 

He liked me, too. I could hear it in the nervousness of his voice. I could see it as he was fully invested in the conversation. I could feel it as he apologized for unknowingly choosing a café far closer to his place than mine. Chris, at last, represented promise.

I’m so reserved that I had to push myself to hug him on the sidewalk as we parted. No hand wave or handshake this time. I made it clear that I’d love to see him again and he echoed the sentiment. But then I was leaving the next day for a getaway on Vancouver Island. Dinner would have to wait.

The dreaded gap.

The next day, we exchanged messages, each of us reaffirming how nice the coffee chat had been and expressing an interest in getting together again. I’d email him once I returned from Victoria and then we’d figure out what came next.

Email sent.

Silence.

Chris, like so many men, vanished. Fell through the gap. Ouch.

Of course, I’m the one who felt like he’d fallen. I brushed off the superficial wounds—okay, maybe there was some internal bleeding, too—and did what I tend to do as part of my recovery: I messaged someone new online.

Travis and I met for a drink at a trendy bar in my neighborhood that I’d been wanting to try for a couple of years. It’s always coffee on the first meeting, but I felt I needed to shake up the routine. We each ordered a fancy cocktail, a “cardigan daiquiri” for me, a “cucumber twist” for him. Tasty!

Travis is 40 while I’m 53 so I’d prepared myself for the fact this would be a go-nowhere meet-and-greet. Still wounded from Chris, I made sure my expectations barely registered. And yet Travis and I really seemed to connect. Smiles, laughter, common interests. He commented a few times on my apparent fitness and at one point I totally let my guard down and said, “I’m sorry,…I find you so attractive I’m getting a little distracted.” Truth. I figured he’d either flee instantly or he’d be flattered and not have to second-guess what I thought.

He stayed. A lot longer. When we left the bar, I walked him to his car and the sustained hug he gave me was one of the best I’ve ever had. Text message exchanges that night made it clear that both of us wanted to see each other again. 

Alas, though, another gap. Travis left the next day for Bermuda where he grew up and where much of his business is based. It’s a week. But then I’m away for almost a week thereafter. It’s likely that the gap will be more than two weeks. Despite how great I felt after our bar date, I’m all too aware that a couple of pricey cocktails and one (really, really nice) goodnight hug might be all we ever share.

Damn gap. Sorry, I can’t sound as polite as that lovely London Tube recording. If only the gap could be as inconsequential as the one in transit. For once, let this time be stumble-free!