Funny guy.
Makes a damn good first impression. I’d forgotten that. Heck, thanks to COVID, I’d forgotten any kind of first impressions.
I’d spotted Evan’s profile on a dating site—no, not this one—in December after expanding my search range since there was a paucity[1] of men from Vancouver with profiles. Evan lives in Seattle. Doable. The city, I mean.
So often guys fail to elicit any interest in their profiles due to a lack of photos. Posting a single shot is suspect. Like maybe he had one good day in 2008 and the photo turned out to be spectacular. It doesn’t even look like me! (Not even back in 2008.) Other times, a guy will post a photo of a mountain or a pyramid. (Vegas? Giza? In this case, does it matter? I don’t fantasize about dating a mummy.) Sometimes, the guy is actually in the shot. Tiny. Size of an ant. It was really important to get the whole mountain in frame. I could go on and on about guys’ profile pics. Bottom line: do better, dudes.
Evan was not photo-challenged. Nine pics, himself the main subject of each one.
Evan’s photo gallery showed personality. A true character. Evan in cowboy gear. Evan in leather (not kinky, but another version of a western look). Evan on a hike. Evan on an Alaskan glacier. Evan flashing an impish grin. Evan at the beach, shirtless. (It’s the beach after all and, yes, it’s a nice look.) Every shot was arty. The man knew how to present himself. I’m not one for leather—my standard line is, “I’m a vegetarian”—and I fled Texas after eleven years, needing distance from All Things Cowboy, but to each his own. What struck me was this guy oozed style and after so many dates with guys showing up in a Batman t-shirt or sweaty gear after coming from the gym, style warranted a message.
The next day I had eleven messages from Evan. Okay, I realize that can sound creepy, but it wasn’t. Evan, like my friend Katrina, is one of those people who presses Send after every separate thought. In this context, Evan’s flurry of messages was a stand-out. A man willing to express eleven thoughts at the outset. This goes so far beyond the standard “Hey man” or “Thanx 4 the msg how r u”.
We exchanged messages off and on over the next three and a half months and, as COVID numbers started to go down again, I decided a road trip was in order. Meeting Evan was a catalyst, but I’d been missing the Oregon Coast as well as craving more time in my old haunts in Seattle and Portland so all the better. After booking places to stay, I let Evan know of my upcoming two days in Seattle.
He’d be in New York for work.
Work sucks.
What happened to all that working from home business?
Still, since this trip had very little nothing to do with Evan, I opted not to postpone plans by a week and had a truly amazing time. I’m someone who needs to travel.
All was not lost on the Evan front. I would have to drive through Seattle again as I returned from Portland. We agreed to meet for a drink. Perhaps it was inauspicious that I showed up a couple of minutes early and the bar was closed for a private event…someone’s memorial. That felt like the gods were making a point of going beyond spilled salt, broken mirrors and walks under ladders. I might have to chug my drink and flee, saying something about long border waits as I pushed the toddler standing between me and the exit.
Evan showed up, wearing denim and a stressed caramel leather jacket, flashing his grin and within thirty seconds I was laughing. It wasn’t even a block to the change-of-plans margarita destination—chugging and fleeing would not be very responsible—but I filled most of that space of time continuing to laugh. It was an easy back and forth. I’d like to think my banter was as breezy and amusing as his.
In arranging where to meet, I’d suggested coffee, but Evan had indicated he’d need a drink because he’d be nervous. I’d texted back, duly lowering his expectations, saying I don’t make people nervous. It’s not even possible. True, but perhaps a self-sabotage in the realm of self-promotion. All my in-person giddiness led Evan to comment that I was the nervous one. Nope. When I get the giggles, they stick around. Rather than nervous, I was instantly at ease with Evan. (He still thinks I was nervous.)
It’s entirely possible that Evan could say something mundane like “Today I saw a bird with wings,” then punctuate it with a grin and I’d crack up. I have no idea if others find Evan funny, but he’s hysterical to me. Let me be his laugh track.
The quick drink lasted five and a half hours. Yes, lots of laughs, but also plenty of serious conversation as well. We clicked.
I don’t know what, if anything, will come of us. Last week I officially abandoned my ten-year quest to move back to the United States. Seattle’s a three-hour drive on a good day, five on the not-so-good (and more typical) days—a tunnel, a border wait and ridiculous Seattle traffic lie between us. I saw a couple of red flags regarding Evan. Then again, I don’t think there is a single gay man in his fifties who doesn’t have a few fiery banners flapping in the wind behind him. I openly shared several of mine as well. Not something I’d do on a first date with a local boy but, with the distance between us, why not put everything on the table? If I’m too much, I’ll at least save myself a couple of trips. Gas ain’t cheap these days.
It’s two days later and the feeling of joy remains. We’re still texting so the red flags aren’t death knells (yet).
Funny guy.
Maybe we have wings, too.
[1] Ooh, I’d forgotten how much I love this word. Haven’t used it in ages but it just popped up. Welcome back.
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