Starting the Journey
by Stephen Schwei
Dating apps are a minefield, with catfishing, ghosting, safety issues, and mismatched goals. I tread in them anyway in my elusive quest to find the right guy. My kids laugh at how many apps I have on my phone, even though only five are active. You have to put yourself out there if you want to see results.
Laurent swiped past my picture on one app, but something drew him back. His second look hooked him and we started talking. His pictures and profile were fantastic, so I wasn’t about to pass him by. He was 20 years old, super athletic, and had everything I was looking for. Sure, I knew he might be fake or after any money I might have, but I allowed for the possibility he was truly interested in a 63-year-old man.
Distance was also an issue. He was traveling with his uncle in the San Francisco area and I live in Houston. His home is just outside Paris, France, so it was hard to see the practicality of anything long-term. However, the more we communicated, the better we connected.
We talked several times a day, starting with texting and graduating to phone and video. I held it to 20 to 30 minutes at first because it was hard to believe it was real. I kept other irons in the fire, ever the skeptic.
We abandoned the app after a short time, moving on to direct messaging, WhatsApp, and Skype for video calls. At times, technology failed us, so it helped to have options.
I invited Laurent to Houston while he was still in the U.S. He said he’d love to come see me, but couldn’t leave his uncle on his own. They had made the trip together.
They made one small side trip to Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon, but primarily stayed in Vacaville, nestled in the dry hills midway between San Francisco and Sacramento. After a month of daily contact, I offered to come see him there for five days. I was shocked when he agreed, but leapt at the thought.
We mulled over our timing. We agreed I would come around Labor Day, so I booked a flight for Monday to Friday. We smiled a full hour on that night’s phone call, strategizing about what we would do during my visit. After our call, I booked a motel in the neighboring town of Fairfield, along with a rental car.
We obviously talked about my upcoming trip on subsequent calls, but discussed other things too, trying to avoid building our expectations too high. It was like looking forward to Christmas.
As the day approached, local Houston weather reports started tracking a storm swirling in the Gulf of Mexico. On the second day, they gave it a name – Tropical Storm Harvey. By the third day, they were certain it would be a hurricane, although they weren’t certain of its path or how strong it would get.
By Tuesday of the week before my trip, the path was more certain and it was clearly headed towards Houston. I alerted Laurent that it might get in the way of my trip, putting a severe damper on our hopes and dreams. We were fairly certain we would luck out, determined it wouldn’t interrupt our plans even though it was breathing down our neck.
Houston doesn’t typically experience the full brunt of a hurricane as it’s fifty miles inland from the Gulf. Storms aren’t at their strongest and winds aren’t as severe. Still, this was a significant storm closing in on the region. It was broad and intense, ominous and menacing.
On Thursday, the news was reporting airlines were rebooking people scheduled to fly on the weekend. The area is too populated to try to evacuate everyone but the airlines were trying to meet customer needs.
Unfortunately, my flight was not on the weekend, but it was clear to me the storm would linger into the following week, so flights on Monday would not likely happen either. I called my airline and was thrilled when they agreed to rebook me as well. They had a flight I could take on Friday, so I had less than a day to pack, change my motel and car, and get ready.
I called Laurent to tell him, “I’m coming tomorrow!” He was shocked but ecstatic.
I got out just in time. It was a sunny day as winds picked up, but flights went smoothly, with the second flight only slightly delayed. I let Laurent know of the delay. He didn’t want me to pick him up where he was staying, so we agreed to meet at a nearby Burger King at 5pm.
When I arrived in San Francisco, I retrieved my car and made the arduous journey fifty miles east to Vacaville. Being rush hour, it was not easy to navigate the Bay Area. Traffic crawled. What should have taken an hour took two and a half. I updated Laurent frequently but wondered if he would be patient and trust in me enough to be there when I arrived. Traffic drove me crazy!
Finding the Burger King easily, I parked and looked around. He wasn’t inside. I went out to the patio and there was a young man with his back to me hunched over a laptop. It might be him. He had a suitcase with him. It was him!
I approached and tapped him on the shoulder. He removed his earbuds, turned to me and we sunk into each other’s arms.
Laurent swiped past my picture on one app, but something drew him back. His second look hooked him and we started talking. His pictures and profile were fantastic, so I wasn’t about to pass him by. He was 20 years old, super athletic, and had everything I was looking for. Sure, I knew he might be fake or after any money I might have, but I allowed for the possibility he was truly interested in a 63-year-old man.
Distance was also an issue. He was traveling with his uncle in the San Francisco area and I live in Houston. His home is just outside Paris, France, so it was hard to see the practicality of anything long-term. However, the more we communicated, the better we connected.
We talked several times a day, starting with texting and graduating to phone and video. I held it to 20 to 30 minutes at first because it was hard to believe it was real. I kept other irons in the fire, ever the skeptic.
We abandoned the app after a short time, moving on to direct messaging, WhatsApp, and Skype for video calls. At times, technology failed us, so it helped to have options.
I invited Laurent to Houston while he was still in the U.S. He said he’d love to come see me, but couldn’t leave his uncle on his own. They had made the trip together.
They made one small side trip to Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon, but primarily stayed in Vacaville, nestled in the dry hills midway between San Francisco and Sacramento. After a month of daily contact, I offered to come see him there for five days. I was shocked when he agreed, but leapt at the thought.
We mulled over our timing. We agreed I would come around Labor Day, so I booked a flight for Monday to Friday. We smiled a full hour on that night’s phone call, strategizing about what we would do during my visit. After our call, I booked a motel in the neighboring town of Fairfield, along with a rental car.
We obviously talked about my upcoming trip on subsequent calls, but discussed other things too, trying to avoid building our expectations too high. It was like looking forward to Christmas.
As the day approached, local Houston weather reports started tracking a storm swirling in the Gulf of Mexico. On the second day, they gave it a name – Tropical Storm Harvey. By the third day, they were certain it would be a hurricane, although they weren’t certain of its path or how strong it would get.
By Tuesday of the week before my trip, the path was more certain and it was clearly headed towards Houston. I alerted Laurent that it might get in the way of my trip, putting a severe damper on our hopes and dreams. We were fairly certain we would luck out, determined it wouldn’t interrupt our plans even though it was breathing down our neck.
Houston doesn’t typically experience the full brunt of a hurricane as it’s fifty miles inland from the Gulf. Storms aren’t at their strongest and winds aren’t as severe. Still, this was a significant storm closing in on the region. It was broad and intense, ominous and menacing.
On Thursday, the news was reporting airlines were rebooking people scheduled to fly on the weekend. The area is too populated to try to evacuate everyone but the airlines were trying to meet customer needs.
Unfortunately, my flight was not on the weekend, but it was clear to me the storm would linger into the following week, so flights on Monday would not likely happen either. I called my airline and was thrilled when they agreed to rebook me as well. They had a flight I could take on Friday, so I had less than a day to pack, change my motel and car, and get ready.
I called Laurent to tell him, “I’m coming tomorrow!” He was shocked but ecstatic.
I got out just in time. It was a sunny day as winds picked up, but flights went smoothly, with the second flight only slightly delayed. I let Laurent know of the delay. He didn’t want me to pick him up where he was staying, so we agreed to meet at a nearby Burger King at 5pm.
When I arrived in San Francisco, I retrieved my car and made the arduous journey fifty miles east to Vacaville. Being rush hour, it was not easy to navigate the Bay Area. Traffic crawled. What should have taken an hour took two and a half. I updated Laurent frequently but wondered if he would be patient and trust in me enough to be there when I arrived. Traffic drove me crazy!
Finding the Burger King easily, I parked and looked around. He wasn’t inside. I went out to the patio and there was a young man with his back to me hunched over a laptop. It might be him. He had a suitcase with him. It was him!
I approached and tapped him on the shoulder. He removed his earbuds, turned to me and we sunk into each other’s arms.
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Stephen Schwei, from Houston, Texas, is a gay man who has lived through many societal changes and personal experiences. He has a strong interest in relationships, so examines the joys, conflicts, and resolutions reached by gay men in poetry and fiction. He has published two novels, “Debut” and “When Worlds Collide” under the pen name Scott Damon, and one collection of poetry, "Bluebonnet Whispers" under his name.
Website: www.stephenschwei.com |
