Tomorrow is the 13th. Some of those 13ths are Fridays, but regardless– that’s not why I mention the 13th. Superstition aside, it is, in fact, a pretty lucky for me.
“You had something the others didn’t,” says Cortanna in the opening of Halo 3; “Luck.”
I’ve always been lucky, I think. Or perhaps the only bit of luck I have is that I have a eyes that see the world rose-colored, abounding not in setbacks but challenges, not in losses but lessons, and not in heart-aches but the warmth of human connections.
Six months ago on the 13th, I exchanged emails with [Supregirl] for the first time. She was responding to an add I put up on Craigslist, to which she was among only a handful of responses. I’m sure that if you’re a girl and post for men, you get infinite numbers of replies, with or without pictures of penises attached. I guess I’m glad that I specified that I wasn’t into dudes, because all the emails that came back to me were on the level.
On the date of our first dinner, I tried on a fifth combination of shirts and jeans, and then spent another half an hour working on shoes and jackets. When I was finally ready to roll out, I got on (not in) the Warthog (my bike) and headed downtown. About 15 minutes into the 30 minute ride to my desination, it started pouring rain. By the time I arrived at my destination, I was soaked to the skin. Enough water had run down my legs that I could pour water out of my shoes, to say nothing of my carefully chosen button down shirt and jeans– plastered to my skin, they were threatening to give me hypothermia now that I wasn’t moving and sitting across the table from her. Partly to keep my teeth from chattering and partly due to nervousness (I thought she thought I was boring) I blabbed on and on through the night, except for the parts where my friend (the owner of the restaurant) sat down to talk about his abusive family, and where [SiB] made an unexpected cameo to strike up an embarassing conversation on “Just where did you two meet?” which, Supergirl later admitted, made it seem like I had this elaborate farce of a first date orchestrated every step of the way for it’s weirdness.
And this was the premise of my first date– weirdness. It is a tradition, a theme perhaps, that carries on to this day between us. I’m not your typical guy, and, that’s just fine, because she’s not your typical girl.
However, the 13th is not without it’s drawbacks– tomorrow marks 6 months of us being together. Half of a year! That’s so easy to say, but when you really think about it, that’s a really long time, isn’t it?
Every time the 13th comes up though, I don’t know what to do. I feel that somehow I should be able to make something special happen to celebrate, but every time it comes up, I’m either hesitant or simply out of ideas. How to make something romantic? Like with birthdays or holidays or whatever, I’m usually at a loss– I’ve never been much of a celebration kind of person.
But she is, and, I think that part of the importance of a relationship is appreciating the things that your partner appreciates. I’m not a very artsy-craftsy person, so I can’t compete with the two person pillow she sewed and stuffed from scratch for us; she’s a way better cook than me, so she beats me to the punch for those things if only because I don’t think either of us enjoys carbonized meat for a romantic dinner.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that she’s definately the more adept of us two when it comes to being able to make the other person feel appreciated. So whenever the 13th nears, I start getting stressed out.
If you love someone, I think it’s important that you not only say it, and you show it, but you reiterate it constantly. As I write this, it’s 5:23PM, Friday evening. She’s probably cooking up a storm as I write this, since tomorrow, I won’t be able to have dinner with her because I have to deal with some family matters, so we’re having our dinner tonight.
And here I am at work, amazed at how lucky I am. Because despite all my vices, she isn’t one of them, and she is the one who sets the candle out for me.