The Most Unlikely Couple ~ Pt. II ~ Faux Dating

Welcome to today's edition of Delila After Dark. Love someone. For those of you who missed it, here's Part One of the most random, mismatched and wonderful couple.

In the spring of 2002, I was giddy about moving from Vermont back to my home state. My career was advancing. I had a job in Duluth. I would be near friends and family. These were all very good things. An old friend, Paul Tschida, put me in contact with a girl in Duluth who would help me find an apartment. msamj2001@ was about all I knew of Amy.

Setting the scene in Morris.

Paul had met Amy at the University of Minnesota-Morris. He was visiting a friend of ours, Mark Strege, who attended the school with Amy, though she didn't know Mark. On a Friday night, Amy decided to do laundry. That's where she ran into Paul, who was shooting pool in the vicinity of the washing machines, which is pretty unlikely, if you think about it. You go to visit a friend at a college campus and you end up doing shooting pool on a Friday night? While a freshman in college is doing laundry? It was Morris, I suppose (population 5,068).

So, about seven years after laundry night,  sports editor Dave Nevanen dug an e-mail I had sent him out of his files. I sent him a job application in July of 2001. In March of 2002, I heard back from him. There was a job for me.


Amy was unusually helpful in my apartment hunting. She even drove by a place that was for rent to check it out for me. Considering we'd never met and exchanged all of two e-mails, I was impressed. She was helpful, but I found a roommate through the personal ads in the local paper. Over e-mail, I mentioned to Amy I would buy her a drink when I got to town. Little did I know she was almost a teetotaler.

Do you have any quarters, madam?

I arrived in June and on June 21, we had our first Faux Date. You'll see why I call it that. I picked her up for lunch and we went to Pizza Luce in downtown Duluth. I didn't have quarters for parking, so we had to visit Fond-du-Luth Casino and break a $20 bill. She still teases me about that. "I should have known then," she says. Lunch was a loaded baked potato pizza. She was cute. We talked about The Golden Rule. We went back to her house and ... nothing. She left my Toyota Corolla and walked inside.

A week later, it was Old Chicago downtown for dinner. Lots of great local restaurants in Duluth. We stood by the lift bridge and watched a sailing class. It was sunny and warm — not always a given in Duluth, even in June. I should have kissed her, but I didn't. I'm like that. Maybe it's because I was the fat kid. Maybe it's just who I am. I don't know. I could have. But I didn't.

A few days later, we went to a driving range and hit some of the worst shots in Lester Park history. Then it was ice cream. See a trend here? We kept going on "dates," but there was: 1. No hand holding; 2. No romantic talk; 3. No kissing. Oddly, we think of this period very fondly.

In July, she developed tonsilitis. I sent her flowers (a $90 hint bouquet) with a card that said "Tonsilshmitis," and nothing more. She had to have her tonsils out. The night before her surgery, I brought her a taco salad and stayed until midnight. I'm pretty sure she wanted me to kiss her. But I didn't. She called me the next day, after her surgery. "I just wanted you to know that everything's OK. I'm OK," she croaked into the phone. She does not remember doing this.

We talked every day while she recovered at her parents' house, usually for an hour. Sometimes twice a day. When she came back to Duluth in August, she was acting a little funny. I asked her if she would do something with me on Saturday. "I can't," I was told flatly, the first time I remember being shot down. "I'm going to a wedding. With someone." That part stung. We'd been spending nearly every day together and she throws in, "with someone?"

That was a Monday. On Tuesday, I flew to Florida to visit family. I was steaming. This girl was all I could think about. Wednesday. Pissed. What the hell? Thursday. I have to talk to this girl, but my flight gets back late. Has to wait.

This might actually be our current 'ton.

Friday, I showed up at her doorstep at 9 a.m. She was in her pajamas still. I was so jacked up on adrenaline, it was unreal. I sat on her futon — It was terrible. Worst futon ever, with about a half-inch of padding — I just waded right in.

I said a bunch of things, but I only remember one exact phrase. Mostly, I remember themes. I told her I didn't get it. I told her I was frustrated. I told her lots of things. She was smiling. That's good right? Early on, I hit her with the line that had been stuck on "repeat" in my head since Monday. It's the only phrase I still remember. "I'm crazy about you and I want to be your boyfriend."

Part III