“All I need is the air that I breathe...and to love you...” Rick tells me that he plays that song, in my honor, since on our very first date some kind of panic anxiety runs through my entire body, causing a minor asthma attack.  By the end of our meal, almost-full plates with uneaten cold food and over three hours later, I labor to breathe, wondering if I sound like a steam engine.  Not that it matters how I sound.  Yet still, it is our very first date.  Silly things like that tend to matter to me.

We meet online, through a fun dating site.  We begin slowly, emailing now and again, then exchanging phone numbers.  Our first phone call is a success; there is voice chemistry and we seem to have a lot in common.  I look forward to our next call.  Meanwhile we email back and forth, sometimes a couple times a day.  Our email chemistry shoots me to the moon: he is not only intelligent and funny, he is playful and romantic, all the thingys that matter so much to me. 

By the time we physically meet, we have already been communicating for at least a month, sometimes the taste of longing and desire reading into the emails.  I attempt to let go of any expectations I have, knowing that we already have the email and phone/voice chemistry.  It is tough to avoid the mind games that play in my head and each time my thoughts reach a negative place, I shoo them away, let them go.  I think I am ready to be open, accepting and loving. 

On the way to the Mercury Cafe, where we decide to meet, it feels like a magical evening. Earlier, I call to arrange to be seated at the most romantic table in the house—the one against the wall, at the back of the bar—and the guy on the phone informs me that he has already reserved that very table for us.  As I walk from my car, some guy next to a mini-van points his finger at me.  I cock my head, thinking he is communicating with this other woman, who is a couple of feet away from me.  Then he asks, “Ruthie?”

Earlier that day, I ask the cards about our date.  The message speaks of opening my eyes to a different perspective.  I don’t understand the message, at the time.

We hug, Rick and I.  And as he locks his car and I stand waiting in the parking lot, rain begins to fall.  The feel and scent are heavenly and Rick says, “It’s good luck.”  “Yes,” I agree.  Suddenly I can see the wind pick up and come toward us, yet its force is (as Rick jokes), like out of the Wizard of Oz, in Kansas City.  “Wanna jump into the car?” Rick quickly opens the door, I scramble in the front seat and move over to the passenger seat and we shut the door, sitting there for the next ten minutes or so, while leaves, trash and molecular movement swirl like mad, outside.  He’s such a “gentleman,” goes through my head.  Unfortunately, we miss the rainbow that decorates the sky while we sit in the car, talking—hearing about it through our waitress.

When the wind calms down, we exit the car, walk inside and sit at our reserved table.  Rick asks if I would like a drink and I wonder if he just wants to drink, skip supper and go back home.  Then he says, “I’m drinking...” and opens up a menu.  Relieved, I say no.  It takes us at least an hour to order; we are both like chatty cathys and we connect through our language, laughter and our eyes.  Meanwhile, I can feel that my body is a bit stiff, my neck, especially, and although not concerned, my breathing is a bit challenging.  I am having a great hair day, feel confident, really enjoy his company immensely, almost as though we have been friends a long time, yet something is amiss.  My body is telling me that I feel uncomfortable, uptight and in fact, rigid.  What is going on, I wonder?  I have to be honest with myself: he isn’t what I picture.  Not that he is unattractive—how could someone with such a giving and loving soul be anything but beautiful?  My mind simply fixes itself with another picture and I am having difficulty in letting it go.  The cards, I think...the cards.  Now it all makes sense.  I need to shift my perspective, look at him at who he really is: kind, funny, intelligent, giving, tender, playful and affectionate.  That is the reality, nothing less, nothing more.  Well perhaps a lot more. 

At one point when he asks how I am feeling, I confess, “Fucked-up.”  By then, I am wheezing greatly, almost gasping for air, telling my body to just calm down.  But it won’t. 

Inside my chest is chortling, rickety, weakened, stale air moving through only slightly, pushing/squishing in-between tiny open spaces.  Each inhalation is a gasp.  I pretend I'm fine.  Yet I continue to breathe through my neck and chest and everything is tight-tight-tight.  My face is probably ashen-white from the lack of oxygen and my brain begins to slacken; slowly I can't remember things and thinking becomes a chore.  

I concentrate on my date, hoping this won't turn into a full-blown-emergency room-asthma-attack. I've already been through those, with my ex-husband--twice.  Once, on the emergency floor in a room in bed, I am working hard at inhaling through the oxygen machine, while my then-husband takes my reluctant-to-leave daughter to our neighbor's house to spend the night, because it is a school night.  As I sit up in bed, a brightly, fancily dressed woman walks past my hospital door.  She looks like she is going to a party and I watch her pass to the door on my right, thinking there is some kind of celebration going on.  I mean--this girly is all decked-out in the works--high heels, sparkly dress--smile on her sweet-looking face--she's practically dancin' on her way next door, to the fabulous party she's going to.

Hours later, when I finally get off the machine and they have me walk around the floor, to see how my breathing is, I notice something: I was already in the last room; there isn't any room on the right.  The only thing I can chaulk that up to is an angel, letting me know that I am supported, that I am not alone, that everything is going to be alright.  It is pretty scary and I don't want to go there, ever again.

We continue to talk.  At one point in our conversation he admits, “I give too much.  And then I get hurt.”  (Really?  I thought only women love and give too much...is this man for real?)  I share that I tend to do the same and have had to pull back from doing that, to reign in my love.  Kind of strange, when I think about it.  Why would anyone want to reign in their love?  Yet I admit that I have been cooling off my heart, especially since someone I once dearly loved suddenly disappears and has recently shown up in my life, again.  In fact, I have had to cool my heart off quite a bit with this person, not wanting to fall into the same trap of “loving too much” and being left.  My daughter doesn’t want to hear about him, anymore and tells me to stop comparing everyone else with him (it’s not purposely; it’s just that we are so perfect for one another in every way—we make such a great team).  Yet I know she’s right and in distancing myself, I know that it wouldn’t work for me anyway, long term. 

The more I watch Rick make faces and look into his expressive blue eyes, the more I am drawn to him.  Yet still my wheezing and rigid body continue.  Rick is compassionate and understanding and says to me, “I’m not running away.”  I know exactly what he means and it throws me off, a bit.  Is this really happening to me, I wonder?  Are we going too fast, here?  Am I worth this?  (Is that what this lack of breathing is all about?)  As if he reads my mind, Rick tells me that there isn’t any hurry, that we can take our time; that everything is “good.”  Well, okay, that’s a redundant cliché.  Yet still, it sounds like music to my sensitive ears.

Returning home, my teenage vocalist daughter spends time teaching me how to breathe properly. Her teaching works magic.  Maybe now that my body has opened and relaxed and air flows through it, my silly brain will relax, as well, letting my heart feel and even lead the way through this new relationship, letting what comes, come.  Rick calls me, to find out how I’m doing and tells me that he plays the Hollies' song, “All I need is the air that I breathe...” in my honor.  Honestly.  It’s time to honor myself, to let loving relationships in, to stop chasing the ones that don’t fit...to know that indeed...I am worth it, it’s all going to be okay (it all is okay) and it’s all good.  Isn’t this what I have been wanting and everyone wants, all along, to love and be loved?