“How do women still go out with guys? When you consider the fact that there is no greater threat to women than men. We’re the number one threat to women, globally and historically, we’re the number one cause of injury and mayhem to women. We’re the worst thing that ever happens to them. You know what our number one threat is? Heart disease.”

-Louis C.K.

Her name was Sheri, she was recently single and on the wrong side of 25. We had met through a mutual friend years prior while at a Birthday party for somebody I didn’t really know and don’t hang out with any longer. It was winter time and she dressed as women do in the winter, leggings, boots, a long buttoned sweater, flannel shirt under (flannel was in then). She carried herself with confidence but not cockiness, was consistently smiling and engaging in conversation. We found ourselves circling around a cheese and buffalo wing plate and regardless of how sexy those wings were I knew an effort had to be made to get to know this stranger. It would help that we both had allowed our inhibitions to drown in Hennessy and Coke. When introduced, I managed to fumble my red cup and spill onto my shirt. Jackass move Sergio. In an attempt to divert attention from the mishap I made a joke involving public urination and how she should be happy I didn’t throw it on her. Crickets. She wasn’t laughing. In between the small talk there was subtle flirting, nothing out of the ordinary and certainly nothing to brag about however there was a connection. 

Back then, when I first knew her, she was a bubbly girl full of life, ambition and was deaf to the realities of life. She spoke of traveling the world, owning multiple homes and following through with her graduate program. As I sat there across from her years later, I couldn’t help but wonder where had that person gone? This woman before me now was jaded, emotionally unavailable, broken and harboring a substance abuse problem. Then, just as now, she was single and not particularly looking for anyone, but rolled with it, a real “free spirit” to put it kindly. I on the other hand was the polar opposite, quiet, dry and in a darker part of my life. I had experienced the loss of a friend and was cold cocked with the truth of how wrong this world could be. Not knowing how to process everything and looking for some sort of human attachment I latched onto her. It was the eyes, her reassuring voice and always positive outlook that sealed it for me. This was the person I could never be but knew I needed. It took me several weeks of persistence to gain enough of her trust but I would finally break through. We had our first date and shared good awkward first-date types of conversations. We ended up sharing more than a cab that night and when it ended we were both left satisfied and wanting a little more. We’d text, call and just hangout with each other. It would be a short time before we’d begin exclusively dating; meeting each other’s friends and family as things organically grew more and more serious. What would our next steps be? As far as we were concerned the future was a blank canvass and we had nothing but our imagination to fill the void. What we ignored were all the hairline cracks in the picture we carelessly painted. Slowly but surely our faults would come to the surface. Starting as small irritations and eventually leading to full fledge disputes. This was nothing like the romantic comedy that we had signed up for and it was apparent that time was being wasted. Neither of us was particularly at fault. You could blame my lack of compassion or her failure to communicate the disappointment that what was on her mind. Either way you sliced it we were fucked. This union had eroded and all that was left was the compost of what once was alive and thriving. It took time but I would eventually admit to my contribution in the breakup. I know now that I shouldn’t have entered into that relationship when I was both emotionally and mentally unavailable. I would make several ill advised attempts to recapture the lightning in the bottle we shared but would never succeed. Once she drifted into another 48 month repeat of our story (with another guy) we lost all contact. She’d wander the dating scene being strung along by some Hotshot that was slightly older, a little edgier and always one step ahead. They would live together, party together and eventually ruin each other. It would be a chance encounter while swiping that would bring us back together for this evening and we both knew this was no ordinary Tinder date. Sheri and I were rolling the dice on a re-match. Historically these things never worked out but fuck it why not here, why not now? I was up for some drinks and a challenge. I was on Cloud Nine, had a solid day of work, some fresh money in my pocket and a revived wardrobe to celebrate a new job title. I was an older, wiser and slightly more experienced version of myself not like the guy she remembered from the last time we had last shared a conversation. What led us here to this fateful night? Let’s call it a Tree Smacker( a terrible cocktail concoction named after the late Sonny Bono), a bag of bad swiping habits, persistence and more than anything our need to connect with a live being. When she arrived there was obvious irritation in her voice. She took less than three minutes to order her first drink. That drink lasted maybe 30 seconds. What was I getting myself into? I would soon learn there was no climbing Everest.