Renaissance Man

When I was 18 and had just moved to the city, I met this boy named Lance. Lance and I worked together downtown and we would occasionally take the subway home together. Lance was in college studying to be a photographer and he always seemed to know interesting things about art. I kind of developed a crush on him, even though, looking back, he kind of looked like Doug, that Nickelodeon cartoon. And I think he fake-baked. His skin had an orangey glow that I didn’t notice in the throws of a barely-out-of-adolescence crush.
Finally, right before Christmas break, he got up the nerve to ask me on a date. He wanted to take me to the Met. I was still young enough to be impressed by a date that only costs the guy a suggested donation. We decided to go the first weekend we were back in the city.
The night before, my friend A came up from Ivy (where she went to school) to spend a night in the city. We were puttering around in my dorm room, getting me ready for my big date, when she brought up something I hadn’t even thought to be concerned about.
“How well do you know this guy?”
“Not that well. I mean, we work together, we spend a lot of time together, but I don’t really know him all that well. Why?”
“What if his favorite section is Arms And Armor?”
At this, we burst into giggles. “A,” I said. “Nobody’s favorite section is Arms And Armor!”
I met Lance at the 6 train at Astor Place and we went uptown. I felt so excited. I remember having these delusional ideas that this was exactly why I moved to the city instead of going to some state school with a campus. I was going on a “real” date, one that was full of culture, instead of getting drunk and hooking up with some random I met by the beer keg at a frat party. The thousands of dollars in debt that I was going to be in when I graduated all seemed worth it somehow in that one moment.
We get to the museum. He pays well below the suggested donation for each of us. We wander through the museum for a while, sit by the Temple of Dendar, and then find ourselves in Arms And Armor.
“This is my favorite section of the museum,” he says, gazing up at a suit of armor.
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Really?” I ask, trying to keep the smile from my voice. After all, this is a very mature date and mature people don’t laugh at their dates for no apparent reason.
“Oh yeah, I’m totally into this stuff,” Lance says.
“Really?” I ask again, proving my incredible conversational skills. I am still trying not to laugh at the ridiculous coincidence of it all.
“Yeah. In fact I have two suits of armor at home.”
“Two suits of armor like these?” I ask, gesturing to these massive steel suits. I can’t imagine where, except in a museum, you’d have room for one, let alone two. Unless you own a castle somewhere. And I was pretty sure he said he grew up in Long Island.
“Not like these. Mine are more chain mail, mesh things. I made them myself. I wear them when I go fighting.”
I’m not laughing any more. “When you go fighting?”
“Yeah, I do these Renaissance re-enactments sometimes. We go upstate in the woods and re-enact battles the way they would have been fought in the Middle Ages. They’re great. Usually, they take the whole weekend. It’s a lot of fun.”
We left the museum shortly thereafter and walked around Central Park for a little while before heading back home. I saw Lance at work, of course, but generally kept my distance. I’m just not the Maid Marian type.