The Girl That Could Have Been but Never Was
A story about a text pal
“What are you doing?”, “Why are you packing up your things?” I asked him with a confused look on my face. It had been three years and nine months of being with, what I thought was, my soulmate. He turned to me and said, “We’re not working out, and it’s not getting any easier. I found a room to rent with some friends. I’ve decided I need a break and I’m moving out.”
I couldn’t believe it! Well, that’s a lie, I had an idea that ultimately this wasn’t going to work out. It was only a matter of time before one of us broke it off. Kind of glad it was him first because I considered myself to be a loyalist, sometimes to a fault. We continued to detach for the next three months. The last day spent with us (me and our dog, now mine) was nothing but tears and hurt in my heart, it was time to start the healing process.
How does one heal from a broken heart?
I re-signed up for on-line dating. OkCupid was my new drug of choice and it was, I was addicted. Seeking, searching to find that vibrational match.
Profile: White male, hazel eyes, dirty blond hair, 5’8" and average build. Photos of him; traveling all over the world, one with him and his dog, a profile picture of that structured jawline (that I would soon obsess over) and one of him jumping in the air. The look on his face with a fit of happiness and a keen statement that follows. “I will go out of my way to step on a crunchy leaf!’
I opened up a new message to spark up a conversation and start the introduction. Sadly, I’ve always been the one to write men first on these silly sites. I exude a strong confidence that scare more men off than the cringe four letter word.
In the body of the message I wrote, ‘You’re easy on the eyes and I assure you that jawline has a lot to do with it.’ We sparked up a conversation that would soon lead to a first meeting.
I’ve never dated in the conventional way and being pegged as a millennial, I’ve been searching for love on the inter-web. Plenty of Fish, OkCupid, and the dreadful Tinder. Funny, others that surround me have found love in the most conventional way through; school, work, friends and the like. I, however, choose the former path because I am never thrilled in being ‘conventional’.
Unconventionally speaking our first meeting was just that an unconventional meeting. I drove to his place located on the shores of the Southern California. The fact that I was meeting him at his place was a good indicator on how this goes.
No first dinner date, no awkward conversations over drinks, just easy and comfortable. I met him at the gate and he invited me up to his space. As we settled in, he invited me into his room to share a glass of wine with music playing. As I took a quick gaze at his surroundings I noticed a lot of art placed all around.
We instantly sparked a conversation over a new art piece that he was working on. At this early on in my art career, I had yet to meet any artist outside of University, or at least those who were passionate enough to talk about their interest with a complete stranger. I was smitten. We continued to share our similar interest in artist such as; Pollack, Dali, Kahlo, Monet, Basquiat, and Van Gogh.
I expressed my love for the arts and how I too was an artist. I expressed with passion and conviction of how I think that art holds more power then we give it credit. As I continue gabbing about my internal mind and love for the arts, I looked over to him and caught his eyes in stare, then our eyes dead locked on each other.
A flutter in my stomach that sent me on a high that I’ve yet to experience. Maybe sightly with drugs but this was on another level. In that moment, he leaned in and we kissed. A kiss that transcended. I indulged in his masculine body, his gaze, scent, and gentle touch. Our bodies intertwine and ecstasy exude from our pores. All time and space would cease to exist, in that very euphoric moment. A night I will never forget. As all Rendezvous start, they also have to end. After a few hours of laying with each other, I decided it was time to leave. Told him I was leaving, embraced once more and kissed him good-bye. He walked me out to the door and I left before the sun rose to expose any mishaps or wrongdoings I might have made.
Since that beautiful summer night of 2013 we would only have stagnate meetings to be in each others presence throughout the next four years. It was due to failed attempts to meet because of unfortunate circumstances; weather, phones dying, dating other people and just the sheer distance (we only live 20 miles est. away from each other, all within the same county).
I accepted and welcomed all sparse interactions with him. It was always playful, magical and with pure intention. As memorable as our interactions were, I accepted that every time we met up him would be the last.
We continued to keep a nice tether between one another and kept in touch, via text. With wishful thinking to hopefully, one day soon we’ll rendezvous and re-live those amazing, passionate nights we share.
In hindsight, I wish I saved all those text messages. Definitely one of the few men who knew how to keep a text conversation going. A man who is able to navigate this mind, not something I find often.
However deep our conversations were, they were also sparse but with intent. I would take trips and send him photos from the road and he would do the same. He became a pen pal for the modern ages.
One fall day of 2016 in the City of Angels, I happen to be in his neighborhood for a string of business meetings. I decided to reach out to him in the only means of our communication, text.
Me: So, I’m in the area for some meetings. Would you be free to meet up?
Him: I won’t be off until five o’clock and I have a dinner in Santa Monica at seven. I can meet for a drinks.
Me: Great! Where do you want to meet?
Him: The Library, it’s a local bar.
I was elated, how could I not? Although there was a little bit of doubt in the back of my head, not only had it been over two years since I’ve see him. Will he even remember me? Will I him? I was nervous and my palms instantly became to clam up.
I practiced some deep breathing, gained composure and moved forward with the remaining few hours I had before we met up.
I Googled The Library and started to drive en-route. As I valeted my car, I texted him, “I’m here!” I sat at the corner of the bar at a booth. Sitting anxiously, excited to hear about all his adventures life events.
Two years is a long time, has he changed, did he lose hair, did he get fat, will I recognize him, will he recognize me, will that spark still be there?
Him: I’m on my way.
The butterflies began to flutter in my stomach. I all of a sudden didn’t know how to sit, should I cross my legs, my arms. I moved to a table instead of the booth. Anxiously tapping my toe, five minutes had passed, where the hell was he? Did he stand me up? Is he really playing this game?!
(Ring ring)
Him: Hey!
Me: Hi!
Him: Where are you?
Me: I’m at the library where are you?
Him: I’m at the library.
Is he joking is he really here? I begin to wonder… this is a really f***** up, standing me up like this.
Him: I’m here. I’m at the library let me send you a picture.
I got the picture, looked at it and lo and behold it wasn’t the place I was at.
Me: That’s not where I’m at. I’m in Hollywood, at the Library in the Roosevelt Hotel.
Him: I’m at the Library bar in downtown LA.
Me: You gotta be kidding me! We are at two different bars with the same name in two different cities!!
I started to freak out and then suddenly became upset, not because I couldn’t see him but because I didn’t leave well enough alone. I kept holding on to that out of this world, euphoric, amazing and indescribable feeling. Something that, I am starting to believe, will come only once in a lifetime.
Him: The universe is conspiring against us. Sucks you drove all the way to West Hollywood.
Me: I guess my attempts will just be that.
Him: I guess the stars aren’t aligning!
Me: Maybe in another life.
Him: When we are both cats.
Me: Where time doesn’t exist.
That was the last time I heard from him. I tend to fall into these fantasies of hopeless romantic fairy tales.
I’m a hopeless romantic.
