Honesty is a hard pill to swallow

First appeared (in edited version) on PQ Monthly

We’re walking along 10th Street near Everett. Karl and I just had the greasiest, sloppiest meal of our lives at Tilt (I’m sorry, but tater tots should not should be the size of my fist, or my increasingly struggling cardiac muscle). The first date had gone great for sure, ended in a make-out session that had startled my cat Ned away with its ferocity. We scheduled this date, the second one, even before the first had ended. I had good reason to be optimistic about this one. Holy shit, I had even saved his last name in my phone.

This place, walking past the yogawear shop, the rainwear store, the record shop that only sells cassingles, that’s where he drops the Bombshell. Not at the end of the date, and not a day or two afterwards, which would have been better. Here, while we’re wandering around the Pearl district and telling each other embarrassing stories about ourselves, this is where he ruins everything.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore after this.”

I mean, it’s just the second date, but I don’t make it past the first date usually, for a lot of reasons. Sometimes I date too young: 21 year-old gay guys travel in packs, like velociraptors. Surprisingly, a lot of guys just aren’t “feelin’ it” for the awkward, slightly geeky, young Jeff Goldblum impersonator that is me. I throw “jazz hands” in casual conversation. I’m lanky as fuck, and the proportions of my body have been described as “unlikely”. I’m not cool at all (recent example: I held up a picture of a Cambodian temple to friends and yelled “Turn down for Angkor Wat!”). There’s no good reason anyone should even want to date me a first time, much less a second. I’m not a catch, I’m the one thrown back into the ocean.

I pause for a second when Karl says this to me, and sirens are going off in my head. Then they’re literally going off nearby us, as an ambulance speeds by and I almost raise my hand to flag it down like a taxi, then change my mind. Ambulances are the “woo girls” of cars, and I’m better off standing my ground.

I scratch my nose, massaging a pimple thoughtfully (things that can be relied on with impressive regularity: a mother’s love, the sunrise, a massive zit on my nose the day of a date). I stammer out, “Okay. Um, can I ask why?” I instantly regret asking. Ugh, Mike, could you fucking shut up? I chide myself.

“I don’t think I’m ready to date yet,” he says, and I remember the backstory: his relationship, his recent breakup, the tentative feelers put out on OKCupid, where we met (small tangent: dating app suitors, please stop saying “nice to e-meet you” when we introduce ourselves. I literally feel like I’m in a time machine to the 90s. Oh, and also you could try ASKING ME SOME QUESTIONS BACK).

I’m startled into silence. I drive him home shortly afterwards. I’m not upset, but I’m afraid he thinks I am so I try to make conversation. It falls flat. I finally get near his house and pull over. As he gets out he mutters “Sorry” one more time. “It’s okay, don’t…” but my words are cut off as he shuts the car door.

I take some time the next few days to review in my head if I saw this coming. I mean, come on, we only went on one date, but I was so sure he was crazy into me. I’ve misread signals before though, and I’m so damn human. I frequently confuse “I wanna make out with you so bad” with “I wanna network the shit outta you.”

I come to realize that it’s not the rejection that actually stung, it was the honesty. I’m not used to it, and I’m starting to realize that I’ve actually gotten used to guys not being able to say “I’m not interested”. In fact, they do everything but. They give The Fade, where they’ll just stop texting or messaging back. They’ll give the Half-Fade, where you see each other a few times and then they become a lot less available, or they don’t flirt anymore, and they’re super-friendly (yay! I lost a date BUT GAINED A SIBLING).

So why the hell is it so hard to just say what we feel? Why do some people find it impossible to express what they’re fearing, or why they need to say no? Is it so bad to say “Hey, I like you a lot, but I hoped I would start having romantic feelings by now and I’m not”? Or maybe “I’m sorry, I know we saw each other a couple times but the timing isn’t going to work out because I’ve started seeing someone else.” These aren’t that hard to say. In fact, they feel pretty okay once they’re said, and the other person is usually appreciative.

The answer is scarier than you think: We must get something out of it. This behavior, either when we give The Fade, or when we live in the uncertainty of where something is headed rather than just ask, or when we’re unsure whether or not we’re even still dating someone who seems to be unavailable? We want this. As horrible as it sounds, we choose this. It must satisfy a need in us to feel untethered, or that maybe the “not knowing” is better than being certain. We feel fulfilled when we complain to friends about someone we’re dating, or we feel noble martyrdom when we live in the uncertainty of a where a relationship is going, rather than just ask.

I’m not going to waste my time anymore, or anyone else’s. Starting now, I’m going to be honest and upfront. No, not brutally honest, but sincerely and considerately honest. Honesty isn’t that hard, it just takes practice.

Days later, I get out my phone and scroll to Karl. Usually, when I say “No worries, good luck on your journey” it means “Kindly please go fuck yourself.” Not this time.

I start typing: “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for your honesty…”

If you liked this, what’s wrong with you? No seriously. Can we talk when you get off work? We need to have an intervention. In the meantime, you should check out some music I’m listening to, how weird dating apps are, and why I unfriended you on Facebook. Let’s be horrible people together!