Elevated Dating

The Roundtop Rock Climbing Warehouse was located in the same shopping complex as Deborah’s favorite restaurant, Creek Shore Bar and Grille. The outdoor patio was lined with round, marble tables that were paired perfectly with pink metal chairs. Her favorite part about the chairs were the curved, low back design style that allowed her to move freely with animated laughter when her companion said something especially funny. This was the place Deborah most associated with joy. It was where she met her friends when someone had a birthday, an achievement to celebrate, or a bad date to vent about. It soon became apparent to Deborah that she had never once suggested meeting a potential suitor at the CSBG. There was fear in sullying her favorite spot with an unsavory online dating experience. Passing by without stopping felt wrong, like she was betraying something deep inside of herself.

Deborah had driven in this particular parking lot so many times prior to this moment, but not once did the rock-climbing gym register in her peripheral. There was the nail salon, the dodgy thrift store, the sleezy window-tinted sports bar, a soup and salad buffet called Loads of Lettuce, Dr. Mason’s family dental practice; since 1993, and the shoe store with the missing neon letter, but she could not remember ever seeing the RRCW. That’s what David had called it in the message he sent her online when their profiles matched on Hang. He was 44, lean, athletic, motivated by nature, and his favorite hobby was rock climbing. His profile picture was of himself embraced awkwardly by an unflattering safety harness, dangling above a canyon crevasse in Utah. If it had not been for his indelible smile, Deborah would have most likely swiped left and moved on to the next outdoorsman in her queue.

All of the men that had been hand selected by an invisible algorithm on the dating sites Deborah frequented were the extreme sport types. This conundrum was in many ways self-inflicted, due to her profile entry describing herself as ‘adventurous’ and ‘outdoorsy’. Blatant lies that Deborah justified based on the matches and messages she received when she wrote candidly about herself on Hang. ‘Luscious lover of wining and dining’ attracted the wrong type of guys. In an attempt to showcase her penchant for immature humor, she had inadvertently sent a very raunchy signal to the bland men who populated the app. Now parasails, jet skis, canoes, paddleboards, tandem bicycles, and ziplines all made appearances on more than a few of her digitally assigned dates. On each action-packed occasion the evening ended in a sweaty handshake or a moist side hug, followed by an inevitable wave of grief for the loss of precious time that was wasted while engaged in activities that Deborah downright despised. Love was compromise, right? What better way to show her affability than by sacrificing her preference and replacing it with placation?

David had said to meet him at 7:15pm. He was going to do his regular workout then meet her for some casual climbing. The parking lot was crowded, no surprise on a Friday evening, so Deborah spent more time than usual circling the vicinity. Naturally, she felt the urge to pass her car off to the valet in front of the Creek Shore, but she worried someone she knew might see her in the ridiculous outfit she had worn in order to look like an avid rock climber. She envied the woman she saw strolling into the restaurant in their high heels and meticulously chosen accessories. Almost her entire holiday bonus had gone to a brand-new designer bag that she relished in showing off, no matter the setting. Sadly, the bag was left behind and substituted for a chalk bag. The psychedelic pattern on the canvas bag gave her a headache. It was gaudy, but not in a fashionable way. Tacky is the first word that came to her mind when she spotted it in the discount bin at the Climber’s Emporium.

Finally, at 7:12pm, Deborah found a parking spot. She quickly popped her trunk and jumped out of the car. In a sporty backpack, purchased after she showed up to ten-mile hike emptyhanded, sat the unopened plastic bag of climbing chalk. Rushed for time, Deborah clenched the plastic in between her teeth and tore it open with vigor, causing the bag to burst open caking her face in the white powdery substance. It was now 7:14. A towel. There was a towel in the backseat she had neglected after a scuba diving class she had taken with a guy named Todd. After rubbing her face with the damp fabric, her nostrils filled with the stench of mildew. She patted the top of her head as if she was styling a powdered wig. Looking at her reflection in the passenger window, Deborah saw how ineffective the towel had been in removing the chalk. As she leaned closer to the window to assess the damage, she saw a half full Camelbak buried under a pile of dirty gym socks. When time accelerates and stops at the same moment motions become contorted. Before she could think clearly, Deborah was washing herself with the lukewarm water from the small drinking hose that was attached to the bag. 7:15pm. Drenched in spittle water and climbing chalk, Deborah entered the dreaded climbing gym to meet her date.

Similar to school and work, showing up to a date was half the battle. Who knew, maybe David was attracted to clumsy liars. The smell of sweat and competitive egos wafted through the air with pungent fumes, almost causing Deborah to gag. The woman at the front desk did a fantastic job of ignoring the disheveled state she was currently in.

“I’m here to meet David Collins,” Deborah said, hoping the young woman would just let her proceed through the entrance without any hassle.

“David is on the advanced wall and that will cost you twenty-five dollars for one hour. Forty for two hours,” she replied.

“Does he have tab you could add that to? I am meeting him here for a date,” Deborah said without hesitancy.

“Sadly, David doesn’t pay for any of his dates. They typically have a current membership with us, or they come fully prepared to pay for themselves,” icy ire rolling off her tongue with every articulation.

Seeing that there was no way to bypass this gatekeeper peacefully, Deborah reluctantly forked over the hourly rate and the woman at the desk handed her the advanced climbing equipment and pointed her towards her destination. When she reached the wall, she was taken aback by the scale of the apparatus and her fear of heights hit her full force. David was descending the thirty-foot deathtrap as she approached. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he was talking a mile a minute.

“Deb. Nice to meet you in person. Do you want to go up the wall? When was the last time you climbed? I remember you commented on my picture from my climbing trip to Utah. Man, that climb was epic. You should have been there. Let’s get you set up for some upward mobility. Ha. Just a corny joke. Hand me your harness,” David said all in one breath.

Without offering up any reply, David was securing Deborah to the rope connected to the top of the wall. Even during the rough jostling, she was unable to speak. The kind of fear that sends heat into the ears and causes excessive ringing was turning his words into hazy babble. He was suddenly pointing at her face, her nose specifically. She regained her hearing and heard David questioning the white powder on her face.

“What’s that under your nose? I hope it’s not drugs,” he said in an embarrassed whisper.

He whipped his phone out from the hip holster it was resting in and held the camera to her face so she could see what he was insinuating. The white under her right nostril did give off the illusion that she may have substance abuse issues, but she explained to David what had happened in the parking lot, much to his chagrin. In a moment meant to salvage and not to humiliate, David encouraged Deborah’s ascension up the wall. Feeling that she owed it to him after lying about her love of climbing and arriving to the date looking like a drug fiend, she faced the wall and grabbed onto the rocklike protrusions with her shaking hands. One foot on the wall and one on the ground, Deborah hoisted herself upwards. Immediately she panicked.

“Get me down! Get me down! My god, David, help me down,” she shrieked in terror.

The entire gym went silent. David’s face was beet red, and he stood beside her unmoved. Deborah could not understand his callousness in her moment of distress until she quickly realized they were level, pupil to pupil as she was simultaneously watching her life flash before her eyes.

“You still have one foot on the ground, Deb,” he replied in astonishment.

With both feet firmly planted and in no need of further assistance, Deborah unhooked herself from the climbing wall and ran for the exit. In the parking lot, she dashed to her car and peeled away. Where to go? How to escape this embarrassment she thought as she drove aimlessly towards nowhere. Then it appeared like a beacon, a lighthouse, a savior. Creek Shore Bar and Grille, illuminated in front of her like a sign from above. Her favorite valet took her keys with a smile and a familiar nod and she marched right past the host and sat heavy at the bar. Marcus, the bartender, motioned for the angry host to retreat having recognized Deborah from years of loyal patronage. She did not need to say anything. Marcus gently spun a cocktail napkin in her direction then gingerly set down a glass of house Merlot, her favorite drink.

Deborah guzzled the glass in huge gulps. Marcus brought her another. He knew better than to ask any questions. Across the bar sat a well-dressed man, between 42 and 57, the ambiguous type. Once the second glass of wine was demolished, the man got up and made his way towards Deborah. Still fixed in her trance, he was able to take a seat next to her before she could object. The barstool made a shrill noise that snapped her back to reality when he sat down. She looked into his kind eyes did not ask him to leave.

“Hello. My name is Erick Cobb. Corny, I know,” he said in such a sweet tone that Deborah could not help but laugh.

“My name is Deborah,” she replied, unable to offer any more detail. Erick motioned for the bartender.

“May I please have two glasses of Merlot. House,” he asked in a gentle tone. “Looks like you’ve had a rough night,” he cooed as he slid the wine in her direction.

Deborah was reluctant to share the traumatizing event that was her date with David, but what did she have to lose? Erick listened intently, laughing with her and not at her. For the next few hours they chatted at a friendly pace and at 10pm, Deborah decided it was time to go. As she stood to leave, Erick pulled her chair out for her and walked her to her car.

“That was a really fun date, Deborah. I’ve seen you here before but could never muster the courage to ask you out, but now I have no excuses,” he said while tenderly holding his hand on her lower back as he opened her car door.

“I would like that very much,” she stammered. Erick closed the door and leaned into the open driver’s side window and kissed Deborah with the softest lips she had ever felt. They bashfully exchanged numbers and Deborah drove away from the CSBG with the Roundtop Rock Climbing Warehouse blindly in her peripheral.