ExposedNYC

I decided to give Connect Zero a second chance, not because I thought he would win me over but because I have an empathetic streak that tends to stroll hand in hand with its pall the guilt complex. For all the times I’ve wished for a do-over with a guy I really like the least I could do is grant someone else the same courtesy.

When I met him he was new to the city. We live in a broad definition of the same neighborhood so I originally agreed to get together more under the guise of a tour guide than a romantic rendezvous. It only became clear to me when we started to plan that this was a “date” thing.

I hate having anything to do with rejection- dishing it out or sucking it down- so I listened to those hand-holding chums and took the wimpy way out. I justified to myself that in such a tough city, one that can beat you down even when you’ve known it long enough to see it coming, I owed it to him to soften the blow.

So I took the tried-and-completely-untrue method of dropping subtle hints. I dressed down, didn’t get actively engaged in conversations, and insisted on heading home at a decent hour. I chose a movie that I wanted to see so that I would be guaranteed some form of enjoyment.

And despite that tone, I tried to hold a little corner of my heart open for him to prove me wrong. I knew that I was trying to stop closing elevator doors with a pencil, but my good intentions did their best to battle my cynical streak.We met for a drink first, and my inner judgmental monologue began. I became annoyed when he couldn’t get the bartender’s attention- and she was female. It was more that he seemed not to mind being overlooked. He wasn’t striving for her attention, or mine, and he seemed to be getting the same result on both sides of the bar.

I made sure to split the movie tickets and the popcorn bill, reassuring myself that I hadn’t resorted to an under-paid escort, and settled in to our back row seats with absolutely no intention of inappropriate behavior. Then he turned to me during the previews before Michael Clayton and asked, “So, what’s this movie about, anyway?”

How do you not know anything an Oscar-nominated movie the week before? Particularly when I suggested a few things I hadn’t seen and then you chose the movie?!I said a silent prayer that I was getting off the subway on an earlier stop than he did, giving me an out of the front stoop good night. I almost made it on a casual note, until he threw out, “What are you doing this week-end?”

I stuttered excuses, inventing plans in my head for Friday and Sunday. “What about Saturday?” he persisted. And then, those two free hands gripped my heart and squeezed. I couldn’t embarrass him in public. “Sure, sounds fun,” I said, “but I have to check my calendar. I have a nagging little voice in the back of my head saying I may have something to do.”

That voice was actually screaming at me for postponing an uncomfortable but inevitable letdown.

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