Not A Match

I'd been alone for so long that I felt like the characters on the TV shows I watched were my friends. But it's dangerous to start blending fantasy and reality, and I didn't want to become one of those people who spent all their time watching TV, so I downloaded a dating app. Then another one. Then another one.

Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Match.

Soon, I was buried in profile pictures, one-liners, and so many first dates that the baristas at my local coffee shop tried to pretend they didn't already know my name when they wrote it on the cup. They didn't want me to embarrass myself in front of every new guy who stood next to me refusing to pay in the name of equality.

This one seemed nice. We chatted on the app before deciding to meet. His name was Adam, an engineer who spent his free time hiking. Smart and outdoorsy? I found a unicorn. He ordered an espresso and I ordered an iced coffee. He paid for both. You can tell a lot about a person by their coffee order. Maybe he was a little pretentious or maybe he was just overtired.

We sat down at a little round wooden table that wobbled a little bit and covered the typical first date topics: pets, work, and hobbies. He had a dog, two sisters, and liked his job but hated his boss. Too much of a micromanager, he said.

When he started talking about hiking, I told him I'd love to go with him sometime. He gave me a strange look, like the neurons in his brain just made a connection and he suddenly put two unspoken concepts together.

"What?" I asked.

“I just feel like you weren’t honest with me.” He said.

“About what? We just met.” 

“Well, you said that you were into hiking.”

“I am! I love walking in nature.”

“Okay…” I know that tone of doubt. I've heard it so many times that it doesn’t even hurt anymore. 

“You don’t think I can do it?” I mirror his incredulous look. 

“I didn’t say that…” 

“Great!” Now I’m baiting him. “We could plan something?”

“Um…” 

“What?” 

“How can you like hiking? Isn’t it hard for you?” 

“Yeah, but that’s what I like about it. I like the challenge!” 

“But what if you fall?”

“I usually carry a First-Aid kit with me.” 

“I mean, like, really fall. I don’t know if I can help you if something happens.” 

“That’s never happened. And if it did, we would figure it out. There’s always helpful people around.”

“But you can’t count on that. It’s dangerous.” 

“I’ve done it before…”

“I just…don’t think this is going to work.” 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t think I can get past you not being up front with me.”

“About what?” Is nobody going to say it? I'm waiting for him to admit it.

Instead, he looked down at my left leg sticking out from underneath the table. “You didn’t tell me you have a disability before we met.” There it is. He finally noticed my leg brace.

“I didn't realize that was a requirement.” I said, a little indignant.

“Well, I don’t think I can trust you after this.” He started to fidget then got up and walked out of the coffee shop we’d been sitting in for over an hour. I've heard every excuse for ghosting me after I reveal my disability but this is a new one. He didn't even throw away his empty cup.

"Coward," I muttered. I wanted to shout it but I wasn't on a TV show. I had to settle for the unclimactic unmatching process on the app. I looked at my phone and his profile still showed on my list of matches. I clicked the Unmatch button and settled for the satisfaction that I got to it first.

To disclose or not to disclose? That is the question I constantly ask myself. If I put my disability right on my profile, I get less matches. One could argue that's weeding out the weak ones from the beginning but it's still frustrating. If I wait to get to know the person before revealing it, they felt betrayed in some way. Really, they were just trying to cover up their thinly-veiled terror at the thought of dating a woman with a disability. To them, a future with me was a future of hospital bills and pushing my wheelchair.

I should just give up altogether but something inside of me refuses to give in. The same thing that helped me survive 10 surgeries, high school, and my parents' divorce. I know there's someone out there for me and I won't let dating apps turn me into a hopeless cynic. I have a lot to offer someone and there's nothing to be afraid of.

My mother always told me that I would find the perfect guy. I didn't believe in the perfect guy anymore, but I believed in me. And that was enough to make me get up from that table with my head held high, walk out of that coffee shop, and make a date with the next match. I'd rather be alone forever than ever let that guy get to me.

On my way out, one of the baristos stopped me. We've made small talk a few times. I found out his name was Glenn and he was working his way through grad school.

"Did he just leave you?" He asked.

"Yeah, he didn't like the whole disability thing. He couldn't wrap his little brain around the idea of me hiking."

"That's messed up." He said, rummaging in his apron and producing his phone. "I'll go hiking with you. Just put your number in, if you want." His sheepish smile told me this was about more than hiking.

"Absolutely," I said, taking his phone without hesitation and typing in my number.

"Sweet," he said, trying to keep his demeanor casual. "I'll text you."

I walked out of the coffee shop feeling like Adam never even said those things to me. It didn't even matter anymore. It's already forgotten and replaced by Glenn, the grad student. That had a nice ring to it.