I kind of picked a bad time to make my triumphant return to blogging.

I’m finding myself more confused than when I decided to go on my temporary hiatus.

Sunday night I spent some time with a good friend. I hesitate to say “good friend,” because we only met over the summer, and we’ve only hung out thrice now, but it’s a “good friend in progress,” I suppose.

The night started out innocently enough. I picked her up at her house, after trekking the some thirty minutes through downtown Parkville, and then winding lettered highways, because I forgot how to get there the quick way (I basically made a loop around the entire city of Parkville). We decided to hit up the Plaza, because, you know, that’s what the cool kids do. Upon leaving the parking garage on the far side of the Plaza (over by the Palace), she spotted a vegetarian restaurant she’d heard a lot of good things about, but had never been able to find previously. She’s not a vegetarian, because I guess she likes meat a lot, but is sympathetic toward the cause. She suggested that we go there sometime. I obliged, forgoing my typical content for vegetarian cuisine.

We headed into a coffee shop called Scooter’s. Apparently, there were a ton of these in her hometown. Upon entering, she noted that this one was a lot trendier than the ones she used to frequent. Upon leaving, she also commented the coffee wasn’t as good.

Next stop was Barnes and Noble, somewhat ironic considering that the last time we hung out, we got coffee and went book-browsing at Border’s. We spend a good half-hour thumbing through art books. I never knew Dali had so damn many works, but fuck it, I saw all of them, I’m sure.

I offered to take her home, mostly out of misjudgement of time upon finally exiting the Plaza. She said she still wanted to hang out some more. It was then I remembered the clock in my car is an hour ahead. We (read:she) decided to drive to Penguin Park. That was the first suspicious thing that happened during the course of the night, without which I probably wouldn’t even be racking my brain so much about it.

It would important to note here that the entire night involved constant conversation. I mean, the entire night. There was really never any silence in the car. Although, it was not really conversation, per se. We each took turns spilling out long tirades about school, life, and various other somewhat uninteresting things.

Anyway, so we’re at Penguin Park, which was weird because it was ridiculously cold outside. She realized that up reaching our destination, and we decided to stay in the car for a bit. Five minutes passed, and I was already leaving the parking lot to head down to some hole-in-the-wall Chinese place that she apparently loved, as she was rather shocked that I lived so close and had never eaten there.

We walked in the place, which was obviously a converted fast food restaurant (I think it maybe used to be a Taco Bell), where we were the lone people, other than the couple that worked there. The man was slurping noodles from a bowl, which he promptly put down as we approached the counter. He muttered something in Chinese as he stumbled back to the kitchen. The woman took our orders and shouted through the door, also in Chinese. The food was decent, pretty good actually, and rather cheap.

It was during this excursion that the conversation turned slightly. She began talking about her crush on a waitress at Steak N’ Shake. She reminded me that she was not a lesbian, but looked upon homosexuality the same way she did vegetarianism. She noted that she “wanted to keep her options open,” that she could love someone, regardless of their sex, but also that she primarily dated males. Later, she noted that the topic had come up with her mom once, referring to a friend that was bisexual but predominately lesbian. Her mom told her that if she ever dated a girl, she would disown her.

She then asked me, point blank, if I’d ever questioned my sexuality. I mean, the whole night, the only question she had really asked me straight-on was whether or not I like my classes this semester. I was blown away. It’s not really something you ask someone you’d recently met, just right out of the blue like that. I told her it was something I’d never thought about, that I’ve always been comfortable with my heterosexuality. I also mention that I’m comfortable enough to say that I think certain men are attractive, and have no shame in saying so.

But then something rolled through my mind. Do people think I’m gay? It was something I had actually been thinking about recently, mainly because I’m fairly certain a guy at work is hitting on me, which doesn’t bother me at this stage, though it might if he makes any more advances. I told her this, but didn’t ask her about her personal opinion. I said that it’s entirely possible because of the simple reason that I don’t like things that most guys like. I don’t like cars. I don’t like sports. I don’t like uber-tanned, big-(fake) breasted women in scant clothing. I like art, and photography, and writing, and reading, and foreign films, and I like my women modest and naturally beautiful. She didn’t really respond either way. I still don’t know if she, nor anyone, believes that I am gay.

The trek home was perhaps the most interesting one. Keep in mind that the following interplay had an almost cosmic sense of irony and coincidence, given the events of the night previous. I had visited a friend’s apartment with some other people, where we shared various intimate details of our lives and lovelives, and had some nice male bonding. Anyway, my friend (who was pretty drunk at the time, though the rest of us were sober because we had to drive home) said, basically out of nowhere, “Remember [name deleted]?” She was a girl we both talked to around freshman or sophomore year. She sat next to me in band both years, and I remember that we used to play cute little games with each other, like having poking fights and pushing into each other with our shoulders, and that occasionally, she would put her head on my shoulder during the more boring parts of the rehearsals. I loved her. I usually have one big crush every school year, and she was mine for the latter bit of freshman year, and pretty much all of sophomore year. Other than occasional chatting in AP English Lit last year, she and I hadn’t really talked since. My friend then informed me that she told him that I was the smartest person she’d ever met, and one of the sweetest. More impressively, she had planned to go out with me, but never did it due to the fact that she had some “personal confusion” at the time. Instead, shortly thereafter, she went out with one of my best friends.

I suppose this discovery filled me with great confidence, and a serious feeling of “what if?” Realize that I’ve never had a girlfriend. Never in my life. And also realize that that girl was, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful, and sweetest, girls I’ve ever met.

So, anyway, she begins a big speech about her past relationships. She’d only “gone out” with two guys in her life, though I later found out that she had, in fact, dated a lot in between (though, also keep in mind I didn’t know this) . One lasted a few weeks, and broke up because of infidelity. The second basically broke up for the same reason, though it had lasted much longer (five months), and was partly due ot the fact that he and his band were going out on tour. She said that she was happy being single, but that if someone came along that she truly loved, that might change.

It was my turn to spill my guts. Since I had no relationship stories, I told her that I had looked my entire life for a girl that would accept me, with all of my love being totally unrequited. I told her that I had simply given up on ever finding a girl, or at least in high school. We both agreed that high school relationships are generally stupid. I recited the story of the “girl,” and the fact that it kind of restored my faith in ever finding someone. I gave her my whole “high school experience” speech, about how I didn’t really ever want to miss any opportunities in high school, lest I regret them later on in life. Note that what I said pretty much followed, more or less verbatim, perhaps even more verbosely, the latter 8 paragraphs in that linked entry. For a couple minutes, the car was completely silent, for the first time all night. I realized something during the conversation, or thought I did anyway. Was she…hinting at something? At a possible relationship? Was what just happened a date? Could she and I soon become we? All of these thoughts thundered through my mind as I rolled down her street and parked. I expected at the very least a hug, but got a very awkward goodbye instead. Suspiciously awkward, or at least I thought. She said she’d “call me very soon” to hang out again.

And that was it. I sat there and watched her for roughly 15 seconds, debating whether or not to just drive away, or to take my chances. I felt like parking the car, rushing out, and throwing my arms around her. But of course, my insecurities, and the fact that I realized my logic was usually not as infalliable as I once thought, I drove away.

The thoughts occupied my mind, well, until right now, and will probably occupy my mind. Honestly, I’d never really thought of her that way, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? I realized then that my childish crushes couldn’t be pushed away from my mind as easily as I’d hoped, as I was doing precisely what I’d basically vowed not to do anymore.

The worst thing is, I’m not sure if this is good, bad, or insignificant yet. I just don’t know.