I Once Dated a Guy

I once dated a guy I never spoke to. I just became tall enough to reach the monkey bars, and he was the only boy who could outrun me. I’d watch him on the court with all the other boys, and he’d watch me on the playground with all the other girls, and we’d smile at each other. He sent me a text asking to be his girlfriend, and I wrote back “yes,” and after that, I looked away whenever his gaze found mine. When the summer ended, we went to different schools.

I once dated a guy, and I have no idea why. He walked me home one night and kissed me underneath the door’s awning. The next day, he called me his girlfriend, and I didn’t mind. When he hugged me and whispered that we’ll have very cute kids one day, I couldn’t picture it. I started walking home alone again.

I once dated a guy I thought was very sweet. But then he pushed me when we argued, about something silly and unimportant, and I never spoke to him after that.

I once dated a guy who was younger than me. His parents were still together, still happy. Mine just got divorced. His life was so simple and serene and predictable. I wanted a piece of it, but when I got it, I didn’t know what to do with it. He wrote me a poem. In it, he described what I meant to him. My stomach tied itself in knots in that very specific way I confused with butterflies at first, but would later learn to call my gut feeling. I’d keep the poem in my wallet for years.

I once dated a guy who had no ambitions. He was cute and fun and had a really nice smile. He’d call me by a different nickname every week. When I asked him what he wanted to do with his life, he said to win the lottery. He’d buy a ticket every week. He didn’t understand my dreams and goals. All he wanted to do was to have fun. It’s been 14 years. He’s still buying lottery tickets.

I once dated a guy who carried a gun. He just returned from deployment, Obama just got reelected, and I just moved to the U.S. I was on my own for the first time and didn’t know anything. He looked at me in a way no one ever had before—I couldn’t stand it, and I couldn’t get enough of it. But the more I understood, figuring out left from right and elephants from donkeys, my eyes would keep finding his belt, forgetting all about his gaze.

I once dated a guy because his roommates had a bet. They told him I liked him to see what he’d do—I’d find out two years later and never let it go. The thing is, I didn’t like him, at first, but he was persistent, and I was lonely. He didn’t choose me as much as he chose to make me his next project, always looking for parts of me that needed fixing. But he couldn’t hack all of me into constant cheerfulness, and he didn’t want the rest, hiding other parts of me present in his apartment every time his family came to visit. I didn’t understand, he didn’t explain. He broke up with me over Facebook.

I once dated a guy who was very ambitious. He bought his first car at 21, his first house at 22, his second car at 23, he told me the first time we went out for dinner he paid for with a voucher. On our second date, he told me about his first and second and third promotion. For my birthday, he made me his favorite meal. He didn’t ask about me.

I once dated a guy for the second time. He felt familiar. Things were different. Things were just the same. We argued. We made up. We argued. We made up. We signed a piece of paper that tied us together. We argued. We made up. We argued. We argued. We argued. We signed another piece of paper that negated the first.

I once dated a guy whom I should have married. He wanted to know my opinions, my thoughts, my aspirations. He read every article I wrote, wanted to understand me. No games, no lies, no pretense. No pressure either. “We,” he’d say. “Ours.” “Together.” Safe. Uncomplicated. I didn’t know how not to argue. I didn’t know how to let him love me.

I once dated a guy with whom we’d talk the night away every time we’d hang out. We’re still friends.

I once dated a guy who didn’t want a relationship. He wanted to spend weekends together, go out for dinners, plan trips. He didn’t want a relationship. He’d tell me I knew him in ways most of his friends never would, and once, in the middle of a drunken night, he whispered that life felt lonely. He didn’t want a relationship.

I once dated a guy who was scared of aging. He planned to retire early, so he could do all the things he wanted to do before getting old, only he was not exactly sure what the things he wanted to do were. He was 33.

I once dated a guy because he made me feel special. He gave me attention. Gifts. Compliments. Affection. In a month, he told me he loved me, was ready to move in after two, get married after three, after an argument, after dinner. I’d try to slow down, he’d persist. I’d express doubt, he’d point fingers. I’d leave, he’d threaten. Blame. Twist. Exxagarate. Lie. Spiral. Rage. And I’d feel special no longer.

I once didn’t date any guy.