Then, Now, Me

Chapter 3: Now

It"s not a date, I keep telling myself as I get ready to head to Newport. It"s not a date, it"s not a date. It"s. Not. A. Date.

Jem told me - clearly and repeatedly - that this is just a friendly meeting, but I"m still nervous. I have been trying to figure out what to pack in this little overnight bag all morning. Do I pack cute pajamas or I"m-not-at-all-trying-to-look-cute pajamas? Do I need nice clothing or casual stuff? Skirt or shorts? Flip-flops or wedge sandals?

I opt to go with everything that suggests friends only, hoping I don"t regret it. I need to embrace the fact that this guy is in no way emotionally available to me, and the only way to do that is to take all necessary "precautions."

Shortly after my mini-fiasco with getting dressed and packing my bag, I am getting in my car to leave behind my empty townhouse for the night. Typical of my character, I leave plenty early in case I get lost or stuck in traffic. It may not technically be summertime anymore, but the weather is gorgeous and I wouldn"t be surprised if I hit some traffic full of people hoping to make it to the Newport beaches.

Well, I think to myself, here goes nothing.

And off I go on my trip to Rhode Island.

OOOOO

I roll in right at 4:59pm after an appallingly easy drive with no traffic or delays.

It"s as if it"s meant to be, I passively say to myself as I look up at the art gallery sign.

I slip out of the car, unusually nervous for this meeting. I smooth down my tan tank top, pull down my awkwardly askew white shorts, and flip my long hair around to get the desired volume. Licking my lips, I take a deep breath and take the few steps to the gallery door, sending myself through into the lobby area.

Surrounding me are a series of colorful images of varying sizes and mediums. There are even unique photographs decorating the walls of the gallery. It looks like he"s both an artist and photographer, I think to myself, considering the talent I see on display.

I step up to a particularly compelling close-up photograph of a ladybug on a leaf. The colors, angles, and clarity of the single ladybug reveal Jem to have quite the eye for how to frame a seemingly ordinary creature. In the corner, there is a small sign that lists the awards won by this photograph and I"m blown away by the extent of Jem"s talent.

Lost in my analysis of this ladybug, I barely have time to recognize the fact that I"m not alone in the lobby.

"Like it?" a male voice cuts through my layers of swirling thoughts.

I gasp, and turn around to see who I presume is Jem.

My initial, unintentional impression is, yum - which is immediately followed up by my more measured verbal response of, "Oh, hi! You must be Jem."

Unexpectedly, Jem comes close and I"m hit with the panicked realization that he"s about to hug me. Not a natural "hugger" type, I have to quickly respond with a welcome hug in return.

Pulling back, he looks me in the eyes, and says with his hands still on my upper arms, "Yeah, Jeremias. It"s great to finally meet you, my friend."

Yes, yes, friend. I get it, I think to myself with borderline bitterness. I scan his frame, taking him all in now that we"re in the same room. Average height and lean. Dark skinny jeans. Red v-neck shirt. Black converse sneakers. Brown hair, green eyes, facial scruff.

All of this leads to my final determination: I"m in trouble.

"Are you hungry?" Jem asks with a grin.

OOOOO

"What?" Jem sputters over his bottle of water. "You write what now?"

I laugh at his reaction, which is way too typical at this point. "Science fiction. I"ve been writing that for awhile now. I"m basically a geek."

"I guess so," Jem says, tearing into his buffalo chicken tenders. "I really never would have guessed, honestly. I always thought science fiction geeks were guys who still lived in their mom"s basements, played video games all day, and kept old action figures in their original boxes."

"Yeah, I hear that a lot," I say to him with a smirk, focusing a little more on my food. "I like to think it"s an asset that I"m unexpected."

Looking down at his food, almost to himself Jem mutters, "Yeah. Unexpected."

After briefly showing me around his gallery, Jem brings me to a small restaurant next door for an early dinner. I"ve decided to fully embrace this friendly meeting, and have not thought once about how cute he is, or how much I like talking to him, or how I like a little too much when he makes eye contact.

Right, nothing like that.

Actually, the more time we spend together, the less Jem seems to be looking me in the eyes. I keep poking at myself and dusting off imaginary food to be sure that there"s nothing strange on my face for him to be avoiding me like this.

Strange, I think to myself. Maybe this isn"t going as well as I thought.

Taking a chance on how far Jem will tolerate my geekiness, I say, "I actually really love reading and writing stories that follow a hero"s journey. In fact - and I don"t know what your beliefs are or anything - but I think it really goes back to the story of Jesus Christ."

At that, Jem finally looks at me in my eyes for a moment as if woken up abruptly, "Oh yeah?" He"s slowly chewing his food as he says, "How so?"

"Um," not quite anticipating his reaction, I try to think through my answer, "well, Jesus is called to action, right? And then he goes through trials, tests, and his helpers are the disciples with his mentor being God. All of that culminates in this, sort of, final battle with the crucifixion - which then, of course, leads to his death and resurrection. All of that is, basically, the hero"s journey in a nutshell."

"Hmm," Jem says quietly, still looking at me in the eyes, "so are you a Christian?"

Clearing my throat, I say, hoping not to say anything wrong, "Actually, I"m kind of searching right now. I guess I"d like to be more spiritually connected, but I"m not really sure how. I grew up Catholic and a relationship with God was never really talked about."

He continues to look at me and is quiet for a long moment - longer than what is comfortable. I feel like I might have hit a nerve.

"I hope that doesn"t offend you or anything," I say quickly, thinking of a way to change the subject.

"No, no," Jem says hurriedly, finally taking his eyes off of me to slice another piece off of his chicken tender, "I"m just surprised is all. I go to church every week. I find it interesting that you can connect science fiction to Jesus." He adds, almost as an after thought, "I"ve never thought of it like that before."

It"s quiet for another moment, and I"m not sure what to make of his mood shift. I can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as we silently finish up our meals.

"Well, I don"t know about you, but I think I"m ready for the check," Jem says, looking around for our waitress and then back in my direction - again, not quite in the eyes, but still good-naturedly. "And are you ready for our movie marathon?"

"Ready whenever you are, friend," I say with a smile, moving to pick up my purse and split the check.

Seeing what I"m doing, he stops me to say, "Oh no. This is my treat. You made the trip here, so the least I can do in return is pay for dinner."

With an unsure look, I ask, "Is that alright? I don"t mind paying for my portion."

"I insist," Jem says, flagging down our waitress. It seems he really is ready to go.

After a bit more small talk while paying for the check, Jem gets up and says, "Shall we?"

I stand up and realize, to my slight horror, that I really have to pee. I say with as much grace as I can muster, "Do you mind if I hit the ladies" room first? All that water went right through me."

"Sure thing," he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. "It"s right around the bar in back."

As I"m washing my hands, I scan my face and realize for the first time in awhile, I appear relaxed. Maybe even a little happy.

"Well, nice to see you again, Beth," I say aloud to my pleasant reflection.

I make my way back to Jem by the front door to the restaurant and I catch him looking around for me. We meet eyes and in that moment, something unexplainable happens. It"s like I can see in that nanosecond all of his heavy uncertainty mixed with something that appears to be anticipation, and it simply makes me want to wrap my arms around him in an act of comfort to soothe his apparent worry. Of course, I can"t do that, so when I wade through the crowd to stand next to him once more, I smile up at him and say, "All set, sir. You ready?"

"As I"ll ever be," he says and turns to push open the front door.