So we left things exactly as they were.

Until one summer night when we were nineteen.

We had both gone on terrible dates.

Mine had spent nearly the entire evening talking about himself.

Jeffrey’s date had left early after they argued over some movie.

Later that night, Jeffrey and I met at our old high school football field.

The gates had been left open, so we slipped beneath the bleachers and sat in the grass.

Jeffrey leaned against one of the metal supports.

“We’re terrible at this.”

I laughed.

“At dating?”

“At choosing people.”

“That might be true.”

He became quiet.

Then he asked,

“What if we never figure it out?”

“We’ll survive.”

“What if we’re both still single when we’re old?”

I looked at him.

Jeffrey held out his pinky.

“If we’re both single at sixty, we stop being idiots and find each other.”