I didn’t know it then, but now I understand the importance of being given up on. I was behind the blue and white screen of a newly single-fyed Facebook account when I met Austin. As of almost two years ago now, his profile picture had glassy blue eyes and curly hair so long the brown ringlets frayed to form an afro.

I messaged him first. The simple, shy, “Heyy,” probably influenced by a variety of equally disgusting whipped cream flavored vodkas as my best friend convinced me the attention would do me good. I had left a destructive and toxic relationship.

The kind that you can never really leave, but when you try you end up in the clinging grasp of desperation just before you reach the door.It was built on unfollowed rules, CiCi’s pizza, and lots of arguments. After a year of that, I had never been on an actual date. Austin decided to be my first.

I parked next to his paint chipping, rear widened, old white truck. We met in the desolated, wintertime parking lot of a beach themed mall. It mimicked the sand with its beige and wood themes throughout but failed to calm me like the lull of the ocean always could. He tried to keep the conversation going, unaware of the one I was already having in my head.

“Can I get you a Coke?” He asked as we entered the illuminated beige rotunda of the mall, I froze in that moment. No guy had asked me that before. Such a common, random niceness made the blush in my checks and the phlegm in my throat rise as I realized just how damaged I had become.

“I’m gonna get one anyway,” Austin responded to my silent nod. He was lankier than his profile let on, taller than me, but every limb had about half the density of mine. His tan skin and build must have set us out as an odd pair…but he was kind. The lack of creased judgment in his face when I cringed at his continuous offers, it was a stark contrast to the empty niceties I was used to.

As a first date, we saw Amy Schumer’s "Train Wreck." The grotesque amount of sexuality splayed in front of me made me grateful Austin never reached for my hand. As Amy’s John Cena boyfriend penetrated her unclimatically and she sought out partner after partner, Austin continuously laughed and my awkwardness expanded through every limb. My palms sweat, my face blushed, and my heart raced in discomfort. At least I tried getting out there.

He walked me to my car like we were just friends as if he could feel the tension the romantic comedy failed to melt away. Austin never pushed for my hand and never grabbed that stereotypical goodbye kiss, he just offered a warm and hopeful goodbye. I stopped talking to him after that, and the best part was that he let me.