Our first date was perfect, then she died

Beth Atkinson died. She was one of the best first dates I ever had.

It was a long time ago, so we met the old-fashioned way, on Match.com. We had coffee at Mercury Cafe on Chicago Avenue. We laughed so loudly we made the other patrons blush. You could tell they were merely pretending to study or work, peering up from their books and laptops to witness the splendor of a first date gone well.

After that, we rode our bikes to a taco place and talked about our dreams. She wanted to move to France someday. I did this thing I sometimes do where I look at someone I’ve just met, and mentally picture what they might look like in 30 years. Where will the wrinkles settle around that smile? Then we went to my place and made out on my couch.

“When can I see you again?” This was what I liked about Beth. Most people were too busy protecting themselves to be direct. Beth made unflinching eye contact when she spoke to you. I envied the congruence she conveyed between her internal and external worlds.

I was moving to another apartment in a couple of days. So, we’d have to wait until after that.

We exchanged text messages for a couple of weeks, delaying our second date due to minor inconveniences and somewhat-full schedules. Then, Bethstopped responding.