June 18, 2020
“She is one of my oldest and dearest friends…wicked dry sense of humor. She is single and interested in chatting with you. I told you you’ve always been kind to me and I enjoy chatting with you and like your politics.”
So went my friend’s message that would spark my re-entry into potential romantic entanglement. I had been off the dating apps for about 4 months, having deleted them completely from my phone on the advice of my therapist. He recommended that I take a break from seeking out new relationships constantly and take some time to work on myself. This was, of course, pre-COVID, and neither of us had any idea that prolonged singlehood was soon to become not a deliberate choice, but a necessity enforced by global events.
Of course I was hesitant, for a number of reasons. But my curiosity and unmet need for human connection got the better of me. After exchanging texts for a few days we decided to meet. I was nervous. She was intelligent, gorgeous, politically active, and yes, she did indeed have a wicked dry sense of humour.
We decided on doing something appropriately low commitment and safe: a walk followed by some time together in Trinity Bellwoods Park. This was on May 22nd, a day prior to the park party that made headlines and shocked the conscience of Canadians, so there were no white circles on the ground telling folks where to sit. Instead it was disorganized chaos, with folks from the surrounding neighborhoods all descending on the park to take advantage of the first tastes of summer after an extended winter.
We walked from our meeting place at Adelaide and Bathurst, through the side streets and up to the park. We chatted about normal first date stuff: our family structures, our travel histories, our jobs, and our political alignments. When we got to the park we found a relatively clear place to sit and settled in to chat. I offered her a beer. “Oh, I really should eat first.” She said, but she agreed and chose a Farmhouse lager. It’s funny how the pandemic has really normalized casual day-drinking.
I also got her a small white flowering plant I had picked up from the local garden center. Another hobby I had picked up since quarantine started is an interest in plants and gardening. I’m also not someone who normally would have brought a gift to a first date, but something about her excited me so much that I felt the need to go the extra mile. That, or the pandemic has truly taught me to value and commemorate social occasions. I’ve been putting more effort into gifts for friends in general: baking biscuits, pickling vegetables, or gathering flowers from the garden as small offerings when visiting others.
Back to the date: as we chatted we became increasingly aware of the park filling up around us. Again, this was the day before Parkgate, so while the crowds weren’t headline-making they were starting to grow to an alarming size. We decided to call it and I walked her back to her place in Kensington market. We deliberately altered our route several times to avoid the worst of the crowds, trying in vain to enforce the six-foot rule on the fly.
Throughout the whole duration of the date the mood was infused with a sense of danger and taboo. We couldn’t touch, or even get too close, without running afoul of social distancing rules. A part of my mind thought it was wrong to even be seeing each other at all, like we were as morally reprehensible as the spring break partiers who the whole world jeered at near the beginnings of the pandemic. The romantic part of my mind also turned to “Romeo and Juliet”, before the self-aware part banished this thought as “frivolous” and “dumb.”
Kensington Market was perhaps the most intense. There were just…too many people. I felt tense, anxious, and started seeing everyone around me as a potential threat. I also felt my companion draw a bit closer to me near the end of the walk home, and my thoughts were occupied with ways to try and put additional distance between us without coming across as standoffish or rude.
We said goodbye, and laughed a bit about how weird and wrong it felt to not even be able to hug. I don’t think I took a full breath until after I left the market and was back on the relatively empty sidewalks of Dundas West. Tired and a little tipsy, I walked home.
In the end there was no second date. My companion wasn’t feeling the romance and while I was disappointed, I don’t blame her at all. It left me second guessing though: was the problem me, or the circumstances of our date? Could we have found that spark if we weren’t trying to find it in the time of COVID? Whatever the answer, we instead became friends and I hope we stay that way.
The lesson here, if there is to be one, is that the pandemic has really changed how we view relationships whether familial, platonic, or romantic. Once the very act of seeing others becomes a risky activity, we learn to carefully choose when those interactions occur and value them more. This is a lesson we can and should carry with us, as we move forward and adjust to this new normal as a community.
- Anonymous
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