The Dead-End Date That Changed My Life
He broke my heart, and cracked open my life.
On a June night in 2004, I sat in the backyard of a Brooklyn bistro discussing Fahrenheit 9/11 with my date. We were both Democrats who were disgusted with the Bush administration. I mainly expressed my outrage by yelling at the television; my date went to marches, manned phone banks and organized a yard sale that raised $1,500 for the progressive group MoveOn.org.
He cared about the larger world, but he also knew how to have a good time—he played in a band, threw lots of parties and made floats for the city’s Mermaid Parade. I was very happy when he suggested we walk through his neighborhood—even happier when we kissed on the stoop of his building.
The next weekend was July 4, and I was heading out of town. We agreed to get in touch after that.
I never saw him again. In a devastating email the next week, he explained: He had started dating another woman about the same time as our first date, and while I was away things between the two of them took off. He di…