My first date landed on a Thursday in February, just before Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t sure what to expect, what to think, what to wear. The flirting caught me off guard in a way that made me smile, that made my heart race. The casual conversations paired with an occasional mention of how charming I was, how pretty I was. I didn’t know what we should do, so I suggested ramen and sake, two things that relaxed me, two of my big comforts whenever anything went wrong in my life. Ramen being one of the first meals I made when I moved onto my property, and sake being the drink I celebrated with after I got the news I wasn’t being evicted. With these two comforts, I knew that no matter what the date threw at me, I could handle it.

    If we wanted to be technical–which I do not wish to be, but will entertain for the sake of telling this story–my first date happened a few years before, with a fellow student from my class. I didn’t know what to expect when he expressed his interest, and felt nerves and anxieties immediately make me jittery. How did I act around someone who liked me? How did I interact with them, knowing that something I did might make them like more, like me less? I convinced myself to say yes to his proposition, and after him losing my number and getting it a second time–with me being less than pleased at the supposed rudeness of it all, while secretly having been relieved that he was suddenly no longer interested only to be annoyed when he approached me later to get my number again–we agreed on a time and a location. I told my friend about it, wanting someone to talk me down, to tell me I shouldn’t go. But they didn’t understand my hesitance, thought perhaps maybe I was being dramatic. I stuffed the feeling down and stopped talking to anyone about it. Nerves before a first date was normal, I figured. The way I wanted to vomit, the horrible sickness of being in my own skin, the uncomfortable desire for my car to break down so I had an excuse not to go–all of that, surely, was within the range of normal. 

    The day of, I figured I should dress up. I dragged myself out of my bed, I put together something somewhat nice. A scarf, a jacket. I put on a little bit of makeup and did up my hair. I was running a little behind, and knew I might be just a minute or two late. With a deep sigh, and the desire to crawl back into bed, I left that night, got into my car, and wanted to cry as I went down to see this college boy who knew nothing of my feelings.

    My immense disgust was no fault of his, of course. He clearly wanted to hold my hand at the movie, but I kept my legs and hands away from him, and leaned against the opposite armrest. At dinner, it was so loud that I couldn’t hear well, and I ate nervously, unable to answer most of his questions because my mouth was full. At the end of the night, he asked if I liked dancing as I headed to my car. He asked if he wanted me to walk me to my car. I said I’ve never gone dancing before so I couldn’t say. And I didn’t need him to walk me to my car.

    I got into my car and immediately felt relieved it was all over. I was free. I could breathe again. I got my car started, and headed home. I didn’t have much to say about it afterwards, and my mom teased me that he probably wanted some of the candy I bought, but I insisted that I bought it, and if he wanted some, he could’ve asked. I was being stubborn for the sake of it. I’ve always offered my food to friends, to women. But not to him.

    I don’t count that date. I don’t count the meeting I had with someone up North where we got dinner and talked about how they were in love with someone else. But I counted this one, this first date of mine, the first date where I felt excitement, where I planned my outfit starting that night, where I started putting together jewelry to make sure I looked somewhat presentable. I planned what ramen we would get, figured out what sake we should try. We chatted up until the hour before, talking about life and our days, and what we wanted to do in a few years time. I couldn’t wait to meet. I couldn’t wait to go, that I came into work early and left a few minutes before the end of my shift. I picked up cupcakes for dessert. I planned where I should park. As I entered the town where we would meet, I took a look in the mirror, and headed over to the ramen shop. I saw her before she saw me, I think. Bundled up to battle the cold, smiling. I was her first date with a woman, too. We got our ramen, we found a spot outside to eat, and chatted more. 

    I didn’t know what I should feel by the end of it, didn’t know where my mind was. All of this was so new to me, so foreign. But I knew that seeing her made me smile, that talking to her was always fun, and that for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel sick when thinking about romance.