I tried to become "perfect".
The whole story of meeting Amy is bizarre from the get-go. I had been dating this woman (whose name I now cannot remember) but we had broken up and remained friendly. One day she called to invite me to a party, letting me know there would be many interesting women there. At the time I was dating frequently and shrugged diffidently -- I would go to the party but I was cavalier about it. I didn't shave or put on clean clothes. I just showed up with a couple of bottles of wine, kissed the hostess and walked in.
It was a total sausage fest. Very few women. Lots of men. I made a single pass through the house, told a few jokes, laughed at a few jokes, had some wine and started to head out -- another wasted evening. But as I passed through the kitchen I came across a woman sitting on the washing machine in the kitchen and in conversation with the hostess. She wasn't very attractive but she was one of the few women there, and no guys were swarming around her, so I decided to chat for a few minutes rather than run home early.
We got to talking. Her name was Amy and she had a great smile which lit up the room. She was smart and quick but I was unimpressed. In my mind I was saying to myself, I will ask her out and give her the thrill of her life. haha. So I did. It was no surprise that she gave me her card and wrote her home phone number on the back. I stuck her card in my pocket, waved good bye and left. And promptly forgot about her.
A week or so later I was doing laundry and came across her card in my pants. I decided to call her for a date. We set up a time for me to pick her up at her house. That day I did the typical preparation, showered, shaved, put on nice clothing, got dressed. I drove to her house, and was impressed at how nice it was, classy, subdued, well-cared for. When she let me in, I noticed she was well-dressed in expensive and conservative clothes. We shared some wine and she showed me her hobbies. She played an instrument and was an accomplished painter. Then we went to eat. Things went smoothly and at the end of the evening, I asked her for another date and she agreed.
The second date went well, and we scheduled a third. At this point I still wasn't taking her seriously, but I knew something was up when I found myself pulling into her driveway at 1:30 for a 3:30 date. I drove around for 2 hours til it was time to see her and was surprised at how anxious I was.
That night while driving home I realized I was in love with her, in love for the first time in my life. I was panicked and terrified. I knew there was now no room for error. I knew she liked me. We had had three good dates, lots of fun, some passionate kissing. We were scheduled to go on a hike the next week and it had to be perfect. It was also the first time she would be at my house, which would never measure up to hers.
The next day I called a landscaping company and paid top dollar to insure my house was as perfect as it could be. I went out to REI and bought the best hiking clothes, backpack, socks and boots I could find, despite already having serviceable equipment. I made sure I knew the hiking route backwards and forwards. There could be no error.
I did my best to be charming, suave and the perfect hiking host that day and we ended up making out heavily on my couch. Things couldn't have been better. But as soon as she was gone, i was in a total panic -- what more could I do? How could I be more perfect.
More dates came and went, and they were going downhill. I was always screwing up at the wrong point. Finally, the day came when she gave me a call to say it was over. "I liked you when this started," she said, "but I can't figure out who the hell you are.". My attempts to be perfect had failed. I had discarded my real self, whom she liked, in a vain and foolish attempt to be the perfect me. Of course I failed. I was heartbroken.
A year went by. I thought of her often. She was the One. I knew it then, the one I could marry. But time heals all wounds, and after a year or so, I came across her email and figured perhaps we could at least be friends. I sent her an email. She responded positively, and was happy to hear from me. I said, "Let's be friends," and scheduled a platonic get-together at a Tony Bennett concert. But as soon as I saw her, I knew there was no possibility of us ever being friends. I was still as in love with her as I ever was.
We went to the concert. It was romantic. We held hands. We had wine. We kissed softly from time to time. I was so happy. It was going to happen. At the end of the night I dropped her off and went home, feeling scared and happy. The next day I sent her an email. I told her everything I couldn't say a year previously, that if I had told her how strong my feelings were so soon after meeting her that she would have run away, and that I still thought she was better than bacon and eggs in the morning. I wanted to know if there was any possibility of us being together.
Her response was, "No." She had had strong feelings for me once, but in the year since she had started to date someone else. My contact with her made her realize she needed to make a choice. She went out with me to test her feelings for the new guy. Now she was certain he was the one for her. I was the loser. They married and have two children now. And me? I still think of what could have been more than ten years later, what might have been, and how all I have of her now is a tree I had planted the week before she came to see me that first time, a tree I dubbed "Amy" as soon as it was planted. They always tell you to "be yourself" and it turns out they are right. The problem is, they never tell you how to do it.