So There’s This Girl…

Dearest Rachel –

For a moment, I actually thought this could be a possibility, too. I mean, it made sense in the moment.

So there’s this girl who was essentially working as a greeter at church this weekend. We’ve spoken before – in fact, she’s come up to me, rather than the other way around (because I can’t seem to bring myself to do so, and in this case, the thought wouldn’t even cross my mind) – and it so happens she’s fairly new on staff. Now, I’m not accustomed to being approached, or being spoken to by someone of her caliber, and didn’t know what to make of it. To a certain extent, I’d dismissed it in my mind as something she would consider to be part of her job; she’s there to converse with people, and makes them feel at home, despite the fact that she’s the one who should be feeling uncomfortable in a new place.

But her conversation was so much more than the whole “hi, how are you?” level of dialogue. Granted, some of it had to do with my own work at the church that intersected with some of her own specialties, but she was actually asking questions and building upon the answers. Given what I’d just concluded about her ‘job,’ I’d say she was absolutely brilliant at it.

Possibly too much so, to be honest. Given how unaccustomed I am to that level of contact myself, I think I may have read far too much into it. Some time in the wee hours of Saturday night or Sunday morning, it struck me to ask her if she had any lunch plans that afternoon, and offer to join me somewhere nearby if she didn’t. I was expecting she already would have – it was at absurdly short notice, after all – but when the spirit moves, one should respond, right? It wouldn’t be a date, just a ‘getting to know you’ sort of thing; there’s no harm in that.

Sunday morning, and the volunteer staff is assigned to park in several remote lots; either in a nearby school (which has been standard since the campus has been open, because the place fills up, and we don’t want visitors to turn away for lack of parking) or the parking garage by the nearby cinema and shopping district that gives our church such visibility, since it’s on this busy street by said retail district. There are a group of restaurants near the cinema, since even now, the whole “dinner and a movie” routine of our adolescence is still a thing when it comes to dating, despite being rapidly eclipsed by “Netflix and chill” (which is a bit much for my speed, although we certainly engaged in its precursors often enough once we were married). In any event, given my plan, I decided to use the parking garage this time around, in case she turned out to be interested in the offer.

Of course, given the timing of my assignment, I showed up long before any of the greeters would be arriving at their posts. No matter; I could just poke my head into the lobby between services, and see if I could catch her then. Except… when I did so, she was generally positioned facing outside, ready to meet the next person coming in. This was as to be expected, and I didn’t give the matter much thought. But it did serve to delay my plan

Each passing period, well… passed… and it became clear that her duties – if she even considered them to be ‘duties’ in the first place – kept her busy, too much so to afford approach. So I kept my distance, staying in the lobby as long as I could take it before retreating to the safety of the computer booth, and observing as everyone around me (especially her) engaged in conversation.

And as I did so, one thing became clear to me. She talks to, she touches everyone the same way. She’s used to it; it comes completely naturally to her. The fact that it doesn’t to me is irrelevant; she obviously meant no harm by the attention she paid – quite the contrary, given its genuine nature – but it meant no more than any other conversation than she had with anyone else in the room.

Really, it was quite admirable, and a talent I wish I had. But as the realization dawned, it was coupled with another one that I really had no right to make such an offer as came across my mind in the wee hours of the morning. After three services on Sunday – and the passing periods in between them spent in the lobby – I ultimately couldn’t work up the nerve to ask her if she might be interested, because it was clear to me that she wouldn’t be – or at least wouldn’t understand why the offer would come up.

Now, generations of men are raised to act on the impulses, with the understanding that “the worst she could do is to say ‘no,’” which leaves one in no worse situation than I was in, that of not having asked at all. And I’ll not deny that there’s a part of me that wishes I would have taken the shot and found out. But there never seemed to be a ‘right time’ to do so, and the longer I considered it, the less it felt like there ever would be – or should be – a ‘right time’ at all.

Meanwhile, there were rationalizations being made in the back of my mind beyond the obvious. There was the fact that I was trying to fast for the length of Sunday, for instance –which I ended up failing at anyway, but if I were to have taken her out to lunch, it would have been more than worth it. Additionally, Daniel decided to come to the third service on Sunday, rather than the second. Had he shown up earlier and gone his own way while I continued to work, I would have been free to have a separate schedule thereafter, but as we were leaving simultaneously, it would have been awkward to suggest that he go home on his own (even though he was driving your car, and had parked in the usual lot by the school, so we were separate already) while I went somewhere else with someone else. Would he have understood, if I’d had both the nerve and the luck to make this work? I don’t know.

Still, when the shuttle arrived to take him to the school – and the one meant to take others to the garage by the cinema was having mechanical issues – I was left having to walk back to the parking garage, and it was a long walk, let me tell you. I felt like Charlie Brown after failing to chat up the little red-haired girl, and for pretty much the same reason, right down to the fact that if I had managed to talk to her, I’m pretty sure I’d have had the same sort of luck. I’m not sure which walk back would have been worse; this one, where I don’t know what would have happened, or one in which she’d said ‘no.’ The fact that I’m still wondering about it forty-eight hours later may actually back up the argument for having asked, but who knows? Maybe a rejection would be eating away at me at this point, too.

I’m off this coming weekend, but maybe there will be another chance when I’m back on the following one. Or, it may just pan out like it did this weekend; I couldn’t trust myself to suddenly develop the nerve to do this now. Still, if you could keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, I’d appreciate it. As you can see, I’m going to need it.