the first date chronicles: part 3 - Jared-Dylan-Adam

Clarissa Toll

This is an actual event that took place my junior year of college. Be sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 before you read this post, the third and final installment of a very odd first date. 

A bell chimed over her head as she walked in to the diner.

The boy had apologized about his use of chameleon names and tried to explain it away as a bad joke gone wrong. Whatever, she thought, just give me my spot in the library back and we'll move on. 

There was just one problem, though. He wouldn't leave her alone. The boy asked to meet her at a small, local diner to discuss the book over lunch. Intrigue and a foolish grip on possibility made the girl agree, much to her father's dismay. 

She spotted him by the counter, half-way shocked to actually see him there in the flesh. She would be lying if she said wasn't the slightest bit scared of him standing her up. 

They picked a booth by the front window and looked over the menu. She ordered a burger. He ordered the breakfast special.

Somewhere in-between the awkward pauses and surface conversation, it began to ease in to a semi-comfortable rhythm. 

They discussed the book, the author and the little intricacies the story wove together -- both fully enjoying hashing out all of the details. Towards the end of their meal, she mentioned her current stint as a staff writer for their university's newspaper. She had to get back to campus to meet a deadline.

"Really?" he remarked. Interested in continuing the conversation, he sheepishly mentioned he liked to write too.  Then he mumbled something almost inaudible across the table. 

When she quizzically asked him to repeat what he had just said, he leaned back in to the booth pulling away from the table and then said, "I'm actually an author of my own book." 

"That's great," she said. "You'd like to be published?"

"Actually, it's been published," he said with slight uncomfortableness.

Immediately the girl's brain flashed a neon sign that read: I AM ON A DATE WITH A PUBLISHED AUTHOR. HE'S KIND OF WEIRD, BUT THIS IS COOL. ALSO, IS THIS WHAT A GIRL WEARS ON A DATE WITH AN AUTHOR?!

As he explained what his book was about, it all started to make sense why he was so interested in a  girl who laughed as she read books in the library. 

The girl made sure to get the title of this said book of his. She was going to double check his stories. He didn't have a great track record of keeping things straight thus far. 

He paid for the bill and they walked out on to the sidewalk. They both got quiet. Leaving a first date is always strange. Do you hug? Do you mention a next time? No one has ever truly figured out the best method for hopeful strangers to part ways. 

After a few moments of standing there, he was the one to lean in for a hug and the one to say "let's do this again." Those words allowed just a smidgen of possibility to grow. Maybe this could be something after all, she thought. 

When back at her computer and finishing up an article, she googled his book. Sure enough, there it was. His description and name lined up perfectly. It seemed there was no strange joke or story with this piece of information. 

She stared at her computer screen in a busy newsroom smiling like a fool and thought how fun this little adventure could be.

She planned to gain a copy of the book and have him sign it. She waited for her phone to ring and to come upon him in the library the following week, but her phone never rang and her spot in the library never housed him again. 

Just as soon as he had swept in, he left just as quickly leaving no evidence of ever being there in the first place. 

He, in effect, had completely vanished. 

Perhaps, he was using her and the encounter for new book material. Perhaps, he was just a strange character all his own. She never would have the answers to her theories. 

She did, however, learn of a killer diner close to school and gain a cool story out of the experience. That was enough for her.

the first date chronicles: part 2 - jared-dylan-adam

PC: Clarissa Toll

If you missed part one or need a refresher because the blogger took too dang long to get part two up (because that's totally understandable), read here.

A week. A week had gone by since their encounter in the library. No sighting, no call, no text, no Facebook friend request, no sky writing -- nothing had come of the boy who seemed interested in her book and her phone number.

As the girl ranted rather loudly to her carpool mates on their daily trek back to the car about the stupidity of the turned-nothingness of the encounter, her phone vibrated. 

Her dear friend had just got through telling her that maybe she didn't know everything and that maybe, just maybe, this story wasn't quite over yet when the phone signaled a new text message. 

It was from a number not listed in her contacts and it held the shortest phrase of shock/reaction about a piece of the book that only one who was reading it would know. 

The girl stopped dead in her tracks, turned around, and looked into the bushes all while scanning the foreseeable grounds for that tall, lanky boy whom she had met in the library. He and his peacoat were nowhere to be seen.

"How did he know?" she thought.  It was like he was Go-Go Gadget and could hear her rant and hope dwindling out loud. 

With the text and lack of possible spy, those wanna-be hopeless romantic girls instilled new belief in this possibility and began giving him all the typical excuses He's Just Not that into You warns women about. 

Feeling determined to not let boy in on her pervious rant and frustrations with his absence, she held off responding right away and then casually commented about his reaction to the story. 

His response: "This is Jared, by the way. The guy you gave your number to in the library." 

Now, how exactly did "Dyla the Microphone Killa" become Just Jared? No accidental autocorrect could be THAT bad, she thought. She couldn't have created that memory in her mind alone, either. Her memory couldn't be THAT bad.

"Jared?" She texted back, "You said your name was Dylan." 

Again, there was radio silence. With no response to her text, she was left with only her own frustration towards his tomfoolery for comfort.

Who did this fool think he was? Was he playing a game and forgot which name he had used to introduce himself by? How many girls had he met in the library so smoothly? Was he preying on young book nerds just for kicks?

Her carpool mates had also lost their romanticized ideas of him and were no longer so kind to his disappearance. 

They said things like: "What's next? Adam? We'll just have to start calling him Jared-Dylan-Adam." and "If he can't keep his name straight, he must be an ax murderer."

Clearly, they were on to something. 

The girl planned to chalk this event up to one of those "party trick" stories with a few awesome plot twists and just move on with her life.

And then, just like that, the boy reappeared in her spot by the window in the library once again. He was obviously ignoring the unspoken rule about separation of assets, i.e. the cozy spot by the window to the right of the elevators on the third floor, which he forwent by ignoring her text and changing his names like a chameleon changes colors. The nerve of him.

As she casually combed the stacks past him, gathering intel to report back to the carpool mates, she noticed that he was reading the book. HER book. His stature was relaxed as he thumbed through it's pages, as if he was waiting to be noticed. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction, so she begrudgingly trudged her way to the other side of the floor away from her beloved window seat and her coveted sling-back salmon pink chair, all the while muttering under her breath just exactly what she thought of that boy -- whatever his name was.

Three days later, her phone buzzed with a text message from the person previously known as "Dyla the Microphone Killa." He had finished the book. How nice.

As a hail mary, for the sake of the story alone, she texted back: "Is this Jared or Dylan?" At the very least, she was going to nail down his name and take back her spot in the library before she put this encounter to rest.

Nancy Drew had taught her never to allow a mystery to go unsolved. So grab the magnifying glass, because this girl was going to beat the boy at his own game. 

part 1: the first date chronicles - dylan

Photo c/o Clarissa Toll

Preface: This is an actual event that took place my junior year of college. I decided to write it as a third person narrative to challenge my story telling abilities and to make an awkward/hilarious encounter more relatable. Life is funny and it's worth telling the stories it hands you. So, without further ado...

She sat on the third floor of the library killing time during her three hour break between classes. She had cozied herself into an original to the building, salmon pink faded lounge chair by the window. Homework was well avoided during these breaks, and she quietly chuckled often while her nose was stuck in a favorite book and her fingers thumbed through its pages.

"Excuse me?" She looked up. A tall and lanky, pea-coat wearing boy around her age was motioning to the chair across from her. "Is anyone sitting here?" he asked. 

She smiled, uttered a quick "No, go ahead." and went back to her book as he sat down and pulled out his laptop. 

Her chuckling continued and she shared many a "i'm-sorry-if-this-is-distracting-but-you-chose-to-sit-here" smiling glances in his direction. With knowing eyes, his smirks told her it was fine and that his seat choice pleased him.

They went on like this for some time. Her chucking into her book and him smirking at the keys of his laptop. Finally, he broke the silence.

"What book are you reading?" he asked. She told him what it was, who wrote it and how it masterfully combined the heart wrenching with the comical facets of life. Interested, he wrote down it's title and author. Seemingly, he was fascinated with the idea of this book and the girl who had described it to him.

"I thought it was something you were reading for school with the way you were highlighting," he said as his eyes darted to the almost bone-dry yellow highlighter in her hand. She then had to explain her quirk of highlighting other's words; she loved them and those written in books weren't meant to be forgotten. Her explanation seemed to please him, he smiled and said "Your laughter told me otherwise, though."

They chatted a little while longer. What's your major, what year are you, do you often have a break this long, do you sit in the library often -- they rambled through the list of questions acquainted college strangers converse with and then it was time for the boy to stop avoiding life and head back to class.

He packed up his laptop and stood to leave, but hesitated slightly. It was like bravery rocked him back on his feet and said "If i'm going to read this book, I'm going to need some one to talk to about it. Can I have your number?"

She chuckled the nervous laughter that seems to come over all women who realize they are, in fact, being hit on and its no longer just a part of their imagination that they can down play. Thinking the boy clever with his tactics, it was hard not to give him a fair chance.

As she rattled off the digits, she realized neither of them knew the other's name. College students have this horrible talent of skipping over the basics and jumping right to the details. "My name is Clarissa, by the way."

"And what's your's?" she continued. "I'm Dylan Robert Higgins. My mom named me after Bob Dylan." he chuckled. Deadpan he followed up with, "But my customers all know me as 'Dyla The Microphone Killa.'"

Sensing her utter confusion, he then launched into a five minute explanation as to why he as an Apple Bee's server gets very bored and offers to rap for his tables. After the short anecdote he reflected "many of them don't seem to like it much..."

He had an unconventional sense of character and she liked it. She could use a dose of silly in her serious, well organized life.

As they said their goodbyes, she hoped he'd call. Well text, at least, because college students typically avoid phone calls like the plague (in effect, to a college student, a phone call is equal to committing to meet your family and the possibility of marriage all at the touch of the green button).

Or even better, perhaps they'd make a habit of running into each other in the library.

As he headed off towards the elevators, her carpool mates came off the lift.

"Do I have a story for you!" she said as they came close. Adrenalin was the sole reason her blood pumped in those moments as she recanted the encounter.

They'd squeal and giggle about the chance meeting all the way home. And as girls do, they'd dream about how "perfect" this was and would be.