“What do you recommend?” she asked, as her eyes scanned the glossy menu.

“All good,” Jake remarked, tilting his head downward as his gaze focused on the woman with auburn-streaked hair seated across from him. Behind her stylish, rectangular glasses, her brown eyes revealed a mix of anxiety and hope. “Whatever pleases your palate.”

“Lived in the area thirteen years, never been to The Fort. Has a great reputation,” she remarked, trying to spark conversation with her single-syllable blind date.

“Yep.” Jake found the tall pages of the menu awkward to handle. “Too many choices,” he muttered with a tone of irritation. “Care for an appetizer?”

“These Rocky Mountain Oysters look interesting,” she said, tapping the menu. He then politely asked her if she knew what they were. Upon his explanation, she quickly chose the Sam’s Famous Guacamole.

The Fort’s refined ambiance set the stage for a memorable dining experience. Crisp white tablecloths draped over precisely spaced tables, set for four, were adorned with polished silverware and sparkling crystal glasses.

The room’s soft, ambient lighting cast a warm glow on Beverly’s stylish outfit, which, in Jake’s uncultured opinion, hinted at a keen fashion sense and a personal sense of comfort. However, he couldn’t help but notice that she had overdone the perfume, making it challenging at times for him to breathe.

A young waiter, dressed in an immaculate uniform, moved gracefully between tables, carrying a pitcher of ice water, a white napkin draped over his muscular forearm. Jake watched as he refilled their glasses, even though they had barely taken any sips.

“You’re not really big on conversation,” she observed.

“More of a listener,” Jake replied. He was torn between choosing the Elk Medallions St. Vrain and the Special Game Plate. Deep in thought, he found her small talk to be a distraction.

“To learn … or to posture?” she persisted. She was a woman on a mission, a fact not lost on anyone except Jake. Dating serves a purpose; it’s like a job interview of sorts. Getting no response, she shifted back to the main topic. “I’m thinking of going for the Rum Fig Duck Breasts. They look succulent,” she said, in the hope that this might prompt a more meaningful response.

“Perhaps a bit of both,” he observed, noticing her look of confusion. “Primarily to gain understanding, but I suppose there’s also an element of keeping things guarded.”

Happy that he had even heard her previous question, she took advantage of the moment. It was becoming evident that he preferred obscure banter over serious conversation, so she decided to play along. “That’s a form of control, you know,” she remarked.

After thinking about her remark, he stated, “I’m not good with people. If history repeats itself, I’ll probably set fire to this night.”

Beverly was glad and relieved that Jake had graduated to full sentences. And he has a good vocabulary, she noticed. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be okay. At least, you didn’t attempt to order for me,” she commented, hinting at his potential controlling tendencies.

“You a psychologist?” Jake inquired, closing his menu and sliding it to the edge of the table. From where he stood at attention, off to the side and with his left arm elegantly tucked behind his back, the observant waiter noticed Jake’s instructional gesture.

“Nice job, Jake,” she praised. “I have a Master’s in psychology, but I work as a school counselor.”

“Where and why?” Jake signaled for the waiter. “Are you ready to order?”

“Not quite,” she replied. Jake waved the waiter back to his station. Beverly placed her menu on the table and took a quick sip of water. “Where? Columbine High. Why? Because our kids are our future. I couldn’t think of a better way to use my education and any talents I might have been given by God than to assist the next generations in preparing to navigate this chaotic world we live in.”

“Columbine, huh? Were you..”

“Yep, I was there. April 20, 1999. Wow, a decade already. But it still seems like yesterday.”

“Did you know them?”

“Eric and Dylan? Yeah,” she sighed. “Unfortunately, both. I carry a unique kind of guilt. I should have noticed the signs…” Her voice trailed off.

“Hey, I’m sure you did your best,” he reassured. She didn’t appear convinced. “You seem like a very dedicated, conscientious professional. Well, aren’t you?”

“I strive to be,” she replied, looking directly into his eyes.

“That’s what I thought. That’s the impression you give. You give your complete attention to each person when they’re with you. Like you’re doing now.” He waited for her to absorb his words. “If you didn’t see the signs, then neither did anyone else. Besides, maybe you had other issues to focus on. Doing our best,” he added, “isn’t the same as doing everything. It’s all limited by our circumstances. Cut yourself some slack, Beverly.”

“I suppose… but, I’m not sure…”

“Anyway, with your education, you could have started a private practice and made a decent income,” he suggested, attempting to shift the conversation.

“What about you?” she inquired. “What’s your profession?”

“Me? I’m…” searching for a word, “taking it easy. Done various things over the years. Now? Pretty much…” Jake’s voice trailed off as he realized the next word would be ‘aimless.’

After careful consideration, Beverly finally made her decision for her entrée, Buffalo Filet. Jake went with The Fort’s Game Plate. After they placed their orders, the conversation continued.

“So, you’re retired?”

“Nah. Don’t like that word. Used to be a firefighter. In ‘07, I had back surgery. Things didn’t go smoothly. Ended up with differential numbness from the waist down. It’s minor at the waist, but major at the feet. Can’t feel much of anything in my toes.”

“Goodness. Never heard of that.”

“Anyway, without balance… no longer a smoke eater.” Jake pinched a tortilla chip and scooped a generous portion of guacamole from the appetizer plate. “They say this is Denver’s best guacamole.”

“It’s really delicious,” she agreed.

“Had to sell my pool table, too,” he returned to the discussion. “God, it was a beauty.” Beverly winced when he used the Lord’s name in vain, but she bit her lip. “Intricately carved legs, smooth railings made from red mahogany, wine-colored felt, polished leather pockets. It was a beauty!”

“College?” she inquired.

“Studied structural engineering at the University of Arkansas, Little Rock.”

“Did you enjoy it? I’ve always imagined it might be a bit dull, you know, with all the tables, charts, and calculations,” she remarked, quickly adding, “No offense.”

“None taken.” He carefully formed the answer in his head, before speaking. “Suits my personality. It reflects how I navigate life in general. Everything must balance. You see, in my field, every material has its limitations, its stresses. Same in life. We’re either in compression or tension, aren’t we?”

Beverly took a bite of a loaded tortilla chip and chased it with a sip of unsweetened iced tea. “Well, I guess we are,” she remarked, her tone indicating surprise. “So, you view everything in life as a zero-sum game? It all has to even out, huh?”

“Never considered it like that, but yeah, I appreciate reciprocal relationships. I don’t tolerate one-sided or unbalanced ones,” he explained. Then, he added, “Probably why the marriage experience didn’t work out.” He scooped a forkful of garlic mashed potatoes. “And in case you’re wondering, it was me who didn’t reciprocate.”

“You were married?” She appeared concerned.

“Sort of. Lived with a woman and her kids. But it wasn’t a good fit.”

“Oh.”

“I guess I’m more comfortable being alone.”

“Control issues?” she asked tactfully. “I mean, the engineer in you wants things a certain way. On your own, you can always have that.”

“Control issues? Hers or mine?” She gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, mine,” Jake confessed. “Before you ask, it wasn’t her. I was… broken. Maybe still am.” He paused to take a sip of his whiskey sour. “Guess I shouldn’t say that on a first date, huh?”

Beverly smiled. “We’re all damaged in some way or another. Childhood leaves no one unscarred, Jake.”

“Maybe it’s my engineer’s mindset. Relationships are like intricate structures. If there’s too much weight, no amount of melodramatic claptrap is going to prevent it from collapsing under the stress.”

“Spoken like a true engineer,” she said. “Do you approach all relationships so logically?”

“You mean with detachment? Emotionlessly? Sort of, yeah. Life is too short to get stuck in emotional cul-de-sacs,” Jake flippantly noted.

“What goes around comes around…” Beverly trailed off.

“Yeah, so if I’m the one throwing the boomerang, then I can predict when and where it comes back,” Jake replied.

“Time and place. Full control,” she noted for the record. “So, why me?” She waited for his answer, observing his face for context. “Why this?”

“You’re asking,” Jake gestured between the two of them with a waving hand, “why go on a date? And why you?”

“Yeah, good enough,” she smiled. She intertwined her fingers, keeping her elbows on the table.

“I, uh… I’m not sure. I guess curiosity.”

“About what?”

“Your profile and our brief conversations on American Singles caught my attention. Your writing is clear and coherent, which is quite refreshing. Nice to encounter a woman with intelligence. Thought it might be enjoyable to spend an evening together.”

Wow, we’ve graduated to whole paragraphs, Beverly thought. “So, is this just a departure from Wednesday Night Football?” she inquired. “No expectations of romance?”

“Well, this is probably where I begin to set the night on fire but … I really don’t like people all that much.”

“Everyone? Or are you referring to specific individuals?”

“Well, there’s a distinction between dealing with individuals and dealing with groups. I absolutely can’t stand or handle groups. When it comes to individuals, it’s a different story.”

“What do you mean?”

“With individuals, I can decide who gets to invade my privacy.”

“Clearly, that’s something you value,” she remarked with a touch of sarcasm.

Ignoring her comment, he continued, “But groups? They’re aimless, senseless. Just a chaotic, internally-conflicted cackle of mad hatters.”

“Oh dear, they sound absolutely dreadful,” she replied, now openly mocking him.

“You can’t talk sense with them. They’re a group! Everyone has their own opinion. And how do you find common ground when opinions clash?” His question wasn’t just a figure of speech, she understood, as he looked intently at her.

“Maybe through discussion? Negotiation? Compromise,” she suggested.

“Now, that – that’s the dirty word of the century. No one wants to compromise. It’s seen as a sign of weakness.”

“Aristotle’s Golden Mean,” she chimed in. Jake appeared puzzled. “That was his idea of finding the ‘fair middle,’ as he called it. He believed that virtuous moral behavior involves staying in a balanced zone between two extremes, avoiding excess and deficiency.”

“Well, there’s the rub. If you observe the sharp political divide in this country, it seems to be polarized between extremes and deficiencies, as you described.”

“I’m having trouble understanding,” she confessed.

“Okay, it used to be that differences existed within each political party. But there was a large group of moderates, from each party, clustered in the middle. But now, it’s more about the differences between the parties. Each side views the other as extreme…”

“Can you provide an example?”

“Think about almost any subject. Uh, say, the southern border. Republicans claim that Democrats are pushing for completely open borders with no restrictions – although that’s not their stance. On the other hand, Democrats see Republicans as unfeeling tyrants who endorse harsh and inhumane policies – which is also not accurate. Both sides tend to describe each other in the most extreme terms possible.”

By now, the two were sharing a delectable chocolate volcano cake, its outer layer covered in chocolate ganache that created a rocky and textured surface.

“So, you’re in favor of middle-ground solutions.”

“I believe compromise is the highest form of civility, Beverly. It requires us to show respect for each other and avoid arrogance. But, as I mentioned before, it’s a dirty word.”

“You seem to be discussing politicians. You know, Jake, religion and politics might not be the wisest topics for a first date,” she said, offering a gentle smile.

“Well, maybe we can save the evening by recasting the subject as patriotism or Americanism.”

“That sounds interesting,” she exclaimed. “Please continue!”

“Compromise is crucial in a democracy. Our country was built on compromise. In fact, our entire government structure came from the Great Compromise. Do you know what that is?”

“I think I remember my 9^th grade Civics, but go ahead and remind me,” she said.

“At the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia, there was a debate on state representation in the federal government. Small states preferred equal representation for each state, while larger states argued for representation based on population. The Great Compromise settled on different systems for the Senate and the House of Representatives.”

“So, each state has two Senators, no matter its population. But in the House, the number of representatives is based on population. That’s a compromise.”

“And our whole government system follows a majority rule idea. We don’t shoot for unanimous. So,” Jake said, pausing to take a bite of food, “when politicians insist on having things only their way and won’t budge…”

“Nothing gets accomplished,” she remarked. “That’s why Congress has such a low approval rating.”

“They’re all looking out for themselves. The lying bastards.” Now the authentic Jake was beginning to reveal himself. Or was it merely the influence of the two whiskey sours?

“I agree, though I might have expressed it differently,” she teased. “And, if I may dare to say, it’s reminiscent of the gun control debate. A recent survey revealed that 65% of Americans support some form of sensible gun control, such as universal background checks, registration, and licensing. However, only 2% of lawmakers are willing to vote for these measures. Why do you think that is?”

“Pardon the salt, but – because they’re greedy bastards. They fill their pockets with bribes from special interest groups. Did you know that only 4% of Americans are millionaires, while over 50% of Congress members are? Why do you think that is?” Jake inquired, echoing her choice of words. They’re supposed to represent us, remember? Not just themselves. But once they’re in office, it seems like their sole focus is staying in office. So, they cater to their voters.”

“But,” Beverly explained, “they put their finger on the scale. While they do listen to their voters, it’s only after shaping their constituents’ views so they align with what their special interests are advocating for.”

“Take guns, for example. The NRA practically controls the Republican Party,” Jake asserted a bit too loudly, causing some heads to turn at a nearby table. Beverly looked surprised. “What? Do you believe that just because I’m a confident right-wing conservative, I need to punctuate every conversation about guns with 2nd Amendment arguments?”

“Well, as long as we’re smashing stereotypes, you might see me as a bleeding-heart liberal. But I carry a Ruger LCR 38 in my purse. It’s lightweight and its hammerless design won’t snag on my clothing,” she explained.

“Just shows the risk of judging the book by the cover. Even if we have political differences, they’re seldom as extreme as politicians would have us believe,” Jake remarked.

“Furthermore, it supports your point about the value of compromise. If people didn’t just stick to their preconceived ideas but talked to each other, they might find they have more similarities than differences,” Beverly commented, relieved that the conversation hadn’t turned bitter.

“I’m just concerned that our country is going to hell in a handbasket. Too divided. Too disrespectful. Too aggressive and intolerant. Too damn opinionated,” Jake added.

“And, if I may add one more, too apathetic.”

“Now you’ve hit the nail on the head. Most people simply don’t care. They take it for granted that our form of government will always be here. They don’t spare a second thought for their country, except for how it impacts them.”

Glancing at her watch, Beverly remarked, “Oh my, it’s almost 9:30. I have a golden retriever at home staring anxiously at the back door.”

Jake signaled for the check, and the waiter acknowledged. Within minutes, he was signing the bill and placing his folded napkin on his plate.

“Well,” Beverly remarked, as they stood between their parked cars in the restaurant parking lot, “this has truly been enjoyable. The dinner was amazing. The conversation… it made me think.”

“Do you mean it was mind-bending? Heart-wrenching?” Jake quipped. “Welcome to the constant whirlwind inside my mind. It’s like this every minute of every day.”

“Thank you for a wonderfully pleasant evening, Jake,” she expressed. They bid farewell with a simple handshake, destined never to cross paths again.