The lighting was dim at the Echo when Elliot Moss started playing his new single. Distortion kicked in and I was blown away. It was a radical departure for someone I normally describe as an electronic singer-songwriter. I was there on a date with my husband. We loved the new sound.
I was holding my husband's hand when I looked to my right and saw a guy who caught my eye.
He was so focused on the stage that he never noticed my presence. He was alone at the show and I desperately wanted to start a conversation. I am polyamorous; my husband and I date and have relationships with other people, so a conversation would not have been out of the question. Despite several attempts, I was unable to even get his attention. After a few more songs, I realized I had to take a chance and give him my number. The regret of asking him And if It would have been too strong.
As a courtesy, I asked my husband if he could pass my number on to someone. He looked around and instantly identified the recipient. After six years of polyamory, he knew my type. This recipient was my tall, nerdy, serious type. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
The bar was selling popcorn, so I asked for a bag and pulled a pen out of my purse. On a torn piece of paper, I wrote, “You have great taste in music. I’m not single, but I’m available,” and left him my number. Despite trying to get his attention all night, I suddenly felt nervous and my heart was pounding. I’d only given my number to one person in my life, and that led to a pretty mediocre date.
As I approached him, I suddenly wanted to hide. I had tried to get his attention before, but now I couldn't bear to feel the weight of his gaze. I tapped him on the shoulder, handed him the folded note, and immediately ran to the bathroom. At 42, I felt like a nervous teenager. All that was missing was one song. I didn't see him when I came out.
An hour later, he texted me: “Thanks for your kind message. It was quick, I couldn’t quite get the vibe.” We started chatting. I shared my dating profile, but he wasn’t on the apps. I was curious, but he had just gotten out of a relationship. He wasn’t single, he wasn’t available.
Soon, his status changed: single, but still unavailable, getting over a breakup. We stayed in touch. He was in no rush. All the texts only added to the feeling of being a teenager, the anticipation building.
When we started talking about a first date, I admitted that I had already planned several dates with him in my head. The Museum of Jurassic Technology in Culver City was the perfect place to test how weird a person was. Or maybe one of my favorite dates in Los Angeles: the Broad followed by Angels Flight to dinner at Grand Central Market. I also had the option of a surprise date: something he would have to trust, with no clues. He chose the surprise date. I smiled at my phone; he was adventurous, too.
I told him to buy a bottle of Pinot Grigio that we shouldn’t drink. “I need to ask you a question Virgo: Would you have any glasses for us?”
“It doesn’t matter if I have glasses”
“If we drink it, it does matter!”
I asked him to trust me.
I picked him up at 5:30 p.m. After we talked about our shared feminist identities before the date, I opened the car door for him. He blushed as he realized how nice it felt. I had brought two bottles, so we could choose. I didn’t bring any glasses.
I headed my Prius toward Echo Park. As I began driving into the neighborhood, his curiosity was piqued; he had never been up that hill before.
We parked and found “Phantasma Gloria” by Randlett King Lawrence, an artist who uses the sun and water-filled pots as his medium, turning his entire garden into an object lesson in how our perception of reality is subject to change with a simple shift in perspective. Randy gave us a warm welcome and generously offered to share with us the bottle of Pinot Grigio in his own glasses.
After dinner at Bacetti’s, we planned two more dates for that week. I also invited him to a polyamorous meetup I was hosting in downtown Los Angeles. He accepted. My heart fluttered; he already wanted to be a part of my life. He already wanted to meet my people. He felt for me as intensely as I felt for him.
The second date was as easy as the first.
When I texted him to confirm our third date, he cancelled.
When I wrote to him to confirm the meeting, he declined.
It hurt. It felt like it was over even faster than it had started. Polyamory isn't an orientation or relationship style that's best for everyone. I was curious, but maybe I wasn't right for him. Or maybe I wasn't right for him.
The night of our canceled date, an ambient electronic music concert was taking place at the Annenberg Community Beach House. Underwater speakers were placed in the heated pool. I paid $10, stepped into the water, closed my eyes, and floated on my back listening to Colloboh play. As the sun sank below the horizon, I climbed the stairs and meditated while taking a sound bath.
In that moment, enveloped in sound, I tried to let go of my attachment to the relationship that wasn’t meant to be, to let those other imaginary dates go unscheduled. As the crystal bowls sang over the Pacific waves, I realized that maybe the most important dates I needed to plan were the ones I had planned for myself.
The author works in higher education and lives with her family in Pasadena. She hasn't given up on finding love again and again. She's on Instagram: @valinda.weeee
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