In Prandium Veritas

Dearest Rachel –

You’re well familiar with my rule regarding long-distance travel; if it takes longer to get somewhere and back than the time spent at the destination, then it really wasn’t worth the time to bother with. It always struck me as overly cruel when executives from my old workplace were required to fly to the world headquarters in Japan for a two-hour dressing-down (and that only after being subject to sitting outside of the founder’s office for about the same length of time) and promptly being driven back to the airport to be sent back to the U.S. headquarters, but it was clear to me that the process was the real punishment. A trip of that length ought to at least allow for an overnight (or longer) stay.

This applies to shorter trips, as well. I can’t imagine driving for an hour to a restaurant, for example – although I’m sure we’d done so once or twice, especially when meeting up with members of your extended family after your mom’s passing. Granted, that was due to an attempt to connect with literally distant relatives, and eating establishments were few and far between in that part of the state – a situation shared by our one trip to the White Stag back in the day. Normally, though, we have such a wide variety of choices here that the very idea of driving so far and for so long seems ridiculous, when nearly everything we could wish for is right at hand.

But again, when I’m going to meet someone on their turf, there’s more to consider than just the restaurant. The trip involves more than just going for a meal; it’s about making a connection with someone who might eventually be so much more than just a dining companion. Still, that would suggest time spent in conversation that should at least match the driving time, shouldn’t it?

Such was the situation yesterday as I drove what used to be the entire length of I-355 (I mean, back when we were in college, it was the entire length, but they’ve extended it further south in the intervening years) to this place in Romeoville…

…to meet up with “Lee” for the first time since the convention – and really, the first time to actually talk together; by contrast, walking around in a crowded dealers’ room, focused on shadowing her son from a distance, was hardly conducive to holding an in-depth conversation.

I will admit that I really wasn’t expecting much of our encounter, aside from a reasonable meal (which I was looking forward to, having skipped breakfast. Not out of original intent, but since I busied myself with the usual tasks of any given morning, and shortly after doing so was joined by Daniel to watch our usual videos until the time came for me to leave or Logan came down to join him, there wasn’t the time). I had already been growing less sure that this would work out in the long run, especially given that Daniel was expressing displeasure with the situation (although when pressed, he admitted that it wasn’t “Lee” herself that bothered him, but the fact that I was dating at all. I wonder if I would need to find him a girlfriend before I’m allowed to seek one, in which case I should probably look into the monastic life here and now and be done with it – which is not gonna happen). Her son’s situation, while similar, is different, much as how all of humanity is from one another, but there are additional challenges involved. There’s also the question of her spiritual standing and political bent, both of which could be deal breakers along the way.

For now, though, I was willing to spend the time getting to know her better and vice versa, and see where things stand between us, if not start working on where things could go. That’s the whole point of this process, no matter what age you are, isn’t it?

As it happens, I dare say she got the better of the deal, despite offering to pay for our meal at the register – yes, when she arrived, I had been standing in front of the bar for a good five minutes, waiting for a hostess to seat me. It turned out to be a more informal place than that; you go into a different room where the counter is, and place your order to be prepared and brought out, and she had to guide me through that. I brought out cash to pay, but she got out her purse as well, and thinking she wanted us to go dutch (to avoid any leverage dynamic between the two of us), I relented. I hadn’t expected her to pull out a credit card and pay for us both, but there we are; now I owe her a meal next time (which is to say, there will be a ‘next time’). The thing is, after so many lunches with Lars and Pastor Scott, I’ve gotten used to pouring myself out over a table. Any resolve to keep my cards close to my chest was set aside as we tucked in. I found myself thinking of the scene from your beloved classic Doctor Who regarding a captured prisoner in medieval England (my apologies for this being so far out of sync; not sure how that happened):

It would seem, though, that there is little need for futuristic technology in order to loosen my tongue about myself and my situation. Even the old saying about “in vino veritas” doesn’t apply here; no need for strong drink to allow me to speak; a meal is more than sufficient. Perhaps it’s because I’m not comfortable with the silence, especially with someone who’s unfamiliar to me – there’s a compulsion within me to keep the conversation going. Or maybe it’s that I didn’t see that I had anything to lose by telling the whole truth and nothing but; if the relationship falls apart because of something I say, what of it? I’d already been doubting if it would work between us in any event; if anything I say bothers her, that just hastens a collapse I’d already been anticipating.

But strangely enough, it felt comfortable, even natural, to be able to talk with her about this thing or that, and left me looking forward to a next time (even if I do have to pick up the check). And I certainly got the trip’s worth out of it, as we sat there talking and eating for nearly two hours – twice the length of the round trip – before she concluded that she needed to return home to check on her son, and prepare some documentation for the following work day (it would seem they send her off with homework at this job, which doesn’t speak well for its work/life balance, but it’s not like I have room to judge, considering my employer throughout my career).

Is it love? Hardly; for all the talking we did, I don’t know that we really got into deep, important stuff that would prepare either of us for a lifetime together. Similarly, I can’t yet imagine such things between us – even now, when I hear certain music on my feed, there are others in my orbit that come to mind before her. But I will acknowledge a relaxed ability to converse with her on my part (I can’t speak for her), and that’s as much as we had together for most of our mutual time we had at college. If it grows into something more, great, but if not, well, the only thing lost is time, I suppose.

And with that being said, honey, I guess I need to continue to ask for you to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need it.