So I don’t.
Instead of wonder or think or question, I just jump in full force: “Sounds perfect. I’ll meet you there,” my message reads.
“It’s a date, then.”
I think I actually gasp, staring at the words for so long the screen dims and I have to touch the message for it to reset. My breath is fracturing, my pulse racing. I force a deep breath, still staring. I feel like there’s been a miscommunication.
My phone vibrates again and a notification tells me that I have a GoodWord Message from my secret person. I tap the notification and I’m stunned.
“Will you go on a date with me?” the message reads. “We should go on adigitaldate. Something together but separate.” Then there are instructions on how to accept: I need to download an app where we can chat anonymously in real time and then we can work out a time to ‘meet, but not meet.’
My mind is swimming through the details. In a moment of loneliness and despair, I had been ready to give up on this secret person relationship, ditch the journal and seek, well, something more separately-alone instead of together-alone. But my secret person has risen to the challenge in a surprising, heartfelt way—while still preserving our secret relationship for the time being.
I’m enchanted.
The creativity of it all boggles me; my wish has been granted in a way where we can meet together without losing the mystery. It’s like we’ve leveled up, but as a natural next-step.
Also, my secret person has such a great way of placing the ball in my court. I’m challenged, but also given the nexus of control, like I can decline at any minute. I’m never forced into doing something, but constantly challenged and surprised.
It’s impossible to not be enchanted.
I download the app and follow the instructions without question. It feels almost magical, like nothing could possibly go wrong.
My phone pings almost immediately and I have a message from my secret person. For being the first time we’ve actually been able to text in real time, our first messages are rather impersonal, almost nervously brief. We lay out some logistics, day and time and our separate places to meet, or rather, not meet. The brevity of our messages feels like there’s an unspokenagreement to save our texting for the date itself, like we don’t want to spoil the moment by texting now. I’m both intrigued by the nuance and frightened by the implications.
“I look forward to it. Can’t wait to be together-separately.” I text.
“It’s a date, then.”
I stare at my screen and can’t stop smiling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I’m all prepared for my together-separate date with my secret person: I have my app queued up, my phone fully charged, and I’m following instructions laid out in our brief conversation the other day. I’m dressed for the occasion and I’m heading to the Rose Cafe in downtown. Once there, I will request a table for one, that’s the “separate” part, and then we’ll drink coffee and text each other, of course, “together.”
My heart leaps a little at the idea of actually talking… er, texting, in real time. I’m also touched by the way that my secret person made this happen. We can still have the mystery of our secret relationship and be together in our separate way.
Of course, when I describe it out loud, it feels weird, but I actually love the premise. And the creativity behind it. It feels like it’s a natural next-step.
Since the cafe is downtown, parking is never nearby but I feel alive as I’m strolling through the quaint shops and restaurants as the sky is darkening and the street lights are coming up on the brick facades. It’s actually nice, I mean, for a date. I can’t help but think if this was a together-together date, then this stroll would be a nervous march where every detail of the world would be lost to my anxious inward focus. Instead, I’m taking it all in: The lights of the shop windows. The pedestrians in various groups together and laughing, often pointing, holding each other. The string lights over thepatio restaurants, the faint clinking of glasses and the hum of conversation. My heart is light and my phone is ready.
After entering the cafe and navigating the “table for one” stir, which may or may not be imagined, I’m finally sitting at small outdoor table under the gently swaying trees that are wrapped in string lights. My table has a candle, glowing softly and flickering in the gentle breeze. My phone vibrates, and I flip it over.
The notification box contains a message with the simple words “Hello William.”
“Hello.” I send, and my gut tightens at the asymmetry of this moment without a name. I’m not sure if it actually bothers me, it’s just asymmetrical.
“Thanks for doing this with me,” my screen says.
“I should be thanking you. This has been a lot of fun.”
“Glad to hear.”
“I need to confess something,” I venture.
“Okay. Should I be nervous?”
“I’m glad to not be writing in a journal. I’m really glad to be talking with you instead.”