Aquinas' Story - 3. Aquinas Reasons

Was this a date?

I asked myself this question for the thousandth time as I watched the landscape pass by in a fifty-mile-per-hour blur through the window.

If so, I was on my first actual date in decades. With a man, no less.

The early morning half-light tinged everything in grey. Even Fletcher's face and hands, partly illuminated by the panel lights, took on the early blue-grey cast of dawn.

What was I doing here? How did this happen?

Less than twelve hours ago, I'd been having a perfectly agreeable, pleasant dinner out with the very attractive man whose vehicle I now sat in. Less than twelve hours ago, I'd told my inner voice of reason and logic and self-preservation to shut up – just this once - and I'd kissed him. Kissed him in the dark, and not just a little peck on the cheek.

An all-out, dam-bursting, take-the-risk-now kind of kiss. In full view of the neighbors, if they were looking out from behind their curtains.

Nothing had ever felt that good.

But when our lips parted, and Fletcher's hoarse whisper called my notice to his unfocused gaze, my inner voice decided to reassert itself. It screamed. What had I done? Exploded a wonderful friendship, quite probably. Destroyed a relationship with a colleague I really liked, most likely.

In a panic, I mumbled some kind of foolish apology and left. I practically ran, coward that I am.

I was lucky not to get a ticket for erratic driving on the way back to my apartment. My mind was at war with itself again. Of course, I'd surprised Fletcher. I'd astonished myself, really. I never do things like that - kissing attractive men in public, I mean. Of course, attractive men never take much notice of me, anyway, so that hasn't really been an issue.

Until now. The first time I kissed a man in years, and my brain exploded.

I paced the living room of my second-floor walkup in the center of town so thoroughly, I must have worn a track in the carpet. I'm surprised the neighbors didn't complain.

I couldn't seem to calm down. If only I could rewind time and go back to being the dry, careful Religion Professor I'd learned to become. If I could go back, I'd keep a tighter rein on my emotions, hold my impulses in check. Not stalk across Fletcher's lawn so I could kiss him, because I wanted more than friendship from him.

What was it I wanted? What is it I still want?

Love? Romance? I didn't know what those things meant, really. Not from experience. I understood the theological definitions of love; so many and various in their nuanced, translated, annotated and footnoted forms.

I'd grown to love Fletcher as a friend: Storge, as the Greeks put it. I felt a kinship, a bond of brotherhood. I was sure I had my attraction to him confused with what I ought to feel – Agape, all accepting, unconditional love – that's what Fletcher needed, after coming out to me over appetizers at the restaurant. I should have been content with Phileo – warm, Platonic love.

Last night, I reasoned that if I could just explain this to him, perhaps our friendship wouldn't be completely, irreparably damaged. Not utterly ruined by the Eros which turned my gut inside out.

So late last night, I screwed up what was left of my courage and called him.

By some twist of digital fate, Fletcher and I were simultaneously connected. He'd been trying to call me at the same instant.

Why? My mind went numb at the idea that Fletcher was going to tell me off. All my carefully constructed exegesis on the theory and history of love flew straight out the window.

It took me several moments to realize Fletcher was being perfectly civil, if a little disjointed. He was going on about planning some kind of outing.

Today. With me.

He was asking me along. "Um. I was thinking about taking a little excursion to a birding spot I know tomorrow. I, um. I wondered if, you might want to come along."

I tried to clear my brain. Pay attention, I told myself. Birding? Oh. Yes, he uses that as a verb.

"Yes. Sure. I mean, I'd love to," I stumbled over my reply. I must have sounded like a complete idiot.

So that's how I wound up in the near-dark, waiting on the curb in front of my apartment, dressed for a safari, nervously checking my watch, even though I was half an hour early. For a date. Except this could hardly be a date. It couldn't be.

And darned if Fletcher didn't drive up in his Jeep fifteen minutes earlier than planned. Good thing I was ready.

I got in.

"Good morning," I greeted him anxiously.

I searched vainly for the seatbelts; I'd never ridden in one of those Jeeps with the cloth covering and roll bars.

"It's, um, further behind you," Fletcher advised me quietly.

I found the buckle and snapped myself in.

"Sorry I'm early," Fletcher mumbled hesitantly.

"I was ready." I tried to smile.

"Yes, I can see that." He peered down at my work boots.

I followed his gaze. They were practically new, and they were the closest thing I had to the hiking boots Fletcher had instructed me to wear for this outing.

"I got these when I rented my apartment. Thought I'd need them for…fixing things," I concluded lamely. My shoes never did turn me into a handyman.

Fletcher only smiled a little in answer and put the Jeep in gear. That smile was the first real light in the darkness I'd seen.

"Where are we going?" I ventured, as Fletcher negotiated the silent streets on the way out of town.

"A kind of odd place I know. There might be some interesting sightings, and there are some notes on raptors I need to make…" his reply petered out.

Was he embarrassed?

I nodded. "Okay."

The two of us were a study in contrasts. I observed my companion – dressed in a dark maroon jacket and navy pants; a checked shirt showed underneath the coat. This stood in disparity to my khaki trousers and grey hoodie. Fletcher had told me to wear something warm and dark, and this was the best I could manage, without breaking out my winter coat. He looked perfectly ready; I felt at sea. He handled the stick shift of the Jeep adeptly. That was something else I'd never learned to do.

Once at highway speed, the Jeep's engine rose to a high pitched roar that precluded much in the way of conversation. Fletcher watched the road carefully, but his eyes flicked from side to side, as if he could spot something interesting or significant in the trees that whooshed by. I could tell he also looked at me from time to time out of the corner of his eye. Of course, I was doing the same thing, or I wouldn't have noticed.

"What are you looking for?" I nearly shouted.

"Saw a hawk back there," Fletcher commented, raising his voice effortlessly. "Red Tailed Hawk," he added.

A hawk? I'd missed seeing something as big as a hawk? And he'd identified it at fifty miles an hour? He saw my bewildered look and grinned.

"Get used to it. Do this long enough, you can see them in your sleep."

This could not possibly be construed as a date.

I hadn't been on a date – not an official one – since high school. I attended a Catholic boys' high school. It was expected that you’d get a date from the girls' school a block away for Spring Formal, for Prom, and all the other date-worthy social occasions.

I'd made that error, once. It hadn't gone well. My chosen victim showed no appreciation for my poorly coordinated feet, or for my attempts at witty and intelligent conversation, still less for my clumsy approach at the obligatory kiss at the end of the evening. I heard about her reviews on my dating skills from my better talented classmates for weeks afterwards.

Even then, I wrestled with myself, unable to name to my sixteen year old brain what I feared, what I knew to be true. So I pretended that I just didn't understand girls, that I just didn't do the whole casual relationship thing well.

Of course, I never really understood boys, either. Not as I wanted to. I didn't dare, not then.

So was our trip a date?

On the two-lane highway to whatever esoteric destination Fletcher had chosen, I tried to reason it out. What would my namesake, St. Thomas Aquinas, have done? He'd have written a scholastic treatise about it, probably deducing the nature and theology of the date along the way, under innumerable headings and articles. I'm surprised Aquinas never addressed dating in On the Nature of Man. Did he know any men who dated? A small smile curled my lips as I posited the possible Thomistic treatise:

Inquisition Concerning the Nature of this Outing

Proposition: It seems as if this is a date.

Objection 1: A date is a romantic encounter, or an event intended to lead to such an encounter.

Objection 2: A date is generally agreed to include a meal or promise thereof. Candles may or may not be lighted.

Objection 3: A date is conceded to include dancing, drinking or similar cultural behavior.

On the Contrary, I argue that a date can be any encounter with a person of mutual interest and goodwill. From first principles, it is merely the arrangement of mutually advantageous meeting times and places. Aristotle clearly wrote…

I privately snorted at the thought of Aristotle’s writing on dating. But how could this be a date? This was hardly a romantic encounter. Definitely not. And Fletcher hadn't mentioned breakfast. I'd made sure to eat something before I departed the apartment for the curb. And dancing? No. Definitely no dancing.

Fletcher interrupted my train of thought by braking suddenly. He signaled left.

I looked quizzically at him.

"Not far now," he said, perhaps a little anxiously.

The Jeep took off like a scared rabbit down a narrower, ill-paved secondary road. Scrubby forest alternated with tall stands of mature pines as we whizzed down the road. The Jeep seemed to sway dangerously on the high-crested pavement. I realized it had been almost an hour since we'd pulled away from the curb.

Suddenly, Fletcher hit the brakes, and the little vehicle slowed to a stop. There, on the right, an overgrown track into the trees. He shifted into low gear and slowly pulled in.

Not far along the track, a gated fence barred our way. A rusty sign hung from the ancient chain links, reading "KEEP OUT: CATALPA COUNTY MUNICIPAL WATER AUTHORITY," warned us away.

"Excuse me a second," Fletcher said apologetically, and he got out.

He approached the gate, extracted a key from his pocket, and unlocked the rusty padlock. He swung the gate open. Moments later, we rolled through.

The track through the woods became progressively rougher and narrower, jouncing us in every direction as we crawled along.

"There's a parking area at the end of this. The trail starts there," Fletcher commented, keeping his eyes firmly ahead.

The Fletcher drove the Jeep determinedly down the awful road, slogging fearlessly through several very swampy spots without a moment of hesitation. Finally, Fletcher pulled to a stop in a well tracked clearing at the road's terminus. Early morning sunlight filtered at an angle through the trees.

Suddenly, he seemed very shy. Tentative.

"So, we're, um, on foot from here," he told me.

"Okay, I'm ready to get moving." I tried to smile, but I was apprehensive myself.

I've never been very good at nature walks and such like. It was much easier to give God the credit for creation in prayer rather than looking at it in person. I got out of the car, and stretched. I realized how cramped my legs had been.

Fletcher walked around back of the Jeep and extracted a backpack from the rear compartment.

"I, um, packed a little breakfast for us, for later," he said almost apologetically. "Coffee, some bread, a little fruit, you know, um, nothing fancy."

A meal or promise thereof.

I smiled at his thoughtfulness. He knew I'd be hungry. "Thanks. That's great."

"Come on, this way. It's not too far." Fletcher led the way down a meandering path, mostly marked with red blazes on the trees.

The path led slightly downhill, weaving its way forward through an understory of high bushes and shrubs. I followed Fletcher carefully. I couldn't help but notice his slimmer body moving easily ahead of me, how his pants hugged the curve of his behind.

He stopped and turned. I looked away quickly, but he might have caught me staring. "You'll want to be quiet, now. We're getting close."

We moved forward again. I tried not to make much noise, placing my big-booted feet carefully on the ground at each step. I kept my head down, trying to keep pace with Fletcher's heels. I hadn't noticed where we were until I sensed a change in the light. Fletcher stopped, and I looked up. My jaw dropped.

Birds. Thousands of them.

At least, it looked that way to my untrained eye. Sunlight danced on a wide expanse of water, encompassing maybe ten acres. It was filled with waterfowl. Flotillas of ducks bobbed easily near the reeds to our left, in their variegated browns, greys and whites. Dark birds with almost snakelike necks rode low in the water beyond. To our right, I thought I saw something stork-like standing in the shallows. The raucous honk of geese rang out from the far shore.

And suddenly, as if on cue, a flock of large, snow white creatures rose simultaneously from the surface of the lake, their wings flashing with reflected sunlight.

It was magical. They circled the lake, and then, as if by some unseen signal, they landed again. The birds had put on a show for us. Dancing in the dawn.

A date is conceded to include dancing…..

I took a step forward, standing next to Fletcher, who gazed out at the sight with me. We watched for goodness knows how long, entranced. Here was creation, on display, glorious and beautiful. How could I have missed it all these years?

I turned to Fletcher. "Thank you for this," I said quietly.

And without thinking, I reached for his hand and took it. Our hands slipped together easily. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. His face flushed.

"You’re welcome," he smiled.

A date is a romantic encounter…

Point taken. We were dating.