It all began in a chat room. We started babbling at each other and we just hit it right off. Every day when I logged in, I did a who to see if he was around and I’d send a message to say hi. It wasn’t long before we were matched on each other’s messenger lists and whoever was on first always got that first instant message sent right away. It rocked. I loved coming home from work to seeing him online where we could catch up.
We liked to chat about the same movies, the same books and sometimes we’d watch a program on T.V. and send messages back and forth about it. We did the email thing too, if one or the other wasn’t on, we’d invariably send a long email detailing the day, the problems, the good and the bad. And it didn’t matter how badly a day had gone, I could always count on smiling when we chatted.
Finally, we took that big step and we exchanged phone numbers. It was crazy, he lived in California and I lived in Texas. What could we possibly talk about on the phone that we hadn’t managed when we were online? Well, $700.00 a month worth of phone bills later, we found that our relationship translated from the typed medium to the spoken medium faster than we could boot up a computer. I would get home from work and pace around, feeling a bit anxious and waiting for the time to arrive when he would be home too. We could talk on the phone until 3 in the morning some nights and other nights; we’d roll over and start chatting at dawn. The time we talked never seem to matter and the content of the discussions never seemed to dwindle.
I sent him two movies he mentioned he loved. He sent me flowers and a book that had come out recently. We sent cards, letters, emails and of course, phone calls. We were hooked. It was insane and it was crazy, but he was my boyfriend. We’d never laid eyes on each other, although we had swapped photographs. I sent him a 4×6 and he returned the favor. This was long before I had a scanner to upload the photograph with or even had any idea of what a digital camera was capable of.
So it came that after six months of lengthy phone calls, hours spent online in IMs and hundreds of swapped emails, we wanted to meet. We longed for it. We talked about it incessantly. We juggled logistics, timing and where to stay. Who should go to whom? Maybe we could just hook up halfway. Talking about getting together seemed to be as much fun as the actual event.
Finally, we decided on it. We were going to meet in Las Vegas. It was halfway between where he was and where I was. It was a great city with fabulous things to do, great hotels and we could both get relatively cheap airfare. Our stomachs churned, as the date grew closer. Our conversations were almost frantic. Neither of us could wait. Our flights were a bit off, so we couldn’t meet at the airport but chose to hook up at the hotel. That was better, we both decided. Airports were just too crowded. The day of our flights, we talked for an hour at six in the morning and then I headed to the airport. I felt twitchy throughout the hour and forty minute flight.
By the time I arrived at the hotel, my nerves were all a jumble. I couldn’t make up my mind whether I was excited or terrified of the meeting. But I checked into my room and left a message for him at the desk with the number for him to call. I grabbed a shower, changed my clothes and then headed down to play with the slots for a little while. He wasn’t due for another two hours at the airport and we were meeting for a late lunch early dinner. Anticipation is the best appetizer and when he rang up to the room to say he was in the lobby waiting, I practically bounced to the elevator. When the doors parted and we saw each other, we both grinned like idiots. He looked just like his picture and thankfully, I looked pretty much like mine except my hair was longer, but he’d been forewarned of that.
We greeted each other with a hug. I felt like I had reunited with a long-lost friend. Arm and arm, we made our way to the restaurant. We laughed and giggled like children as we swapped stories about flights, arrivals and of course, nerves. We ordered our food and we talked, it was a lot like when we’d been on the phone, only with a handful of hesitations thrown in. By the time we finished the meal, we decided to go for a walk, we were both still nervous, but it was going great.
I told him about my love for the slot machines and he laughed because he liked to gamble too, but he always lost when he did so he avoided it. Indulgently, he paid for some coins so I could play and sat on a stool next to me so we could keep on talking. It was after ten at night when we found another restaurant and more food. The pauses in the conversation were growing longer; we broached the topic of whether we would retire to together or separately for the evening. It had been present with us for the whole of the day, but after a kiss and a few more nervous laughs, we decided to part ways and meet up for breakfast.
It was a great start. A great day and it was hard to sleep. The next morning, when I arrived at the breakfast table, I was still feeling all the shivers of anticipation. It wasn’t until he was thirty minutes late that I called his room to find out if everything was okay. He answered groggily and with a hint of irritation. When I mentioned that I’d been waiting, he mumbled an apology and said he was going to get a shower. The momentary disappointment was no big deal or so I told myself.
The second day seemed a lot like the first, we talked and we wandered. We got to know each other, but in a way it felt strange. Where we’d been giddy the day before, the giddiness seemed to be drifting gradually away. The attraction still existed, but the person that I loved to talk to on the phone, the one I sent those eager emails and instant messages to, he didn’t quite feel the same as the one I was sitting across the table from. It was odd, the distance that seemed to intensify our relationship, seemed pale when brought up close and personal.
When we parted to return home on the third day, it retained a bittersweet quality. I sat on the plane, staring out the window and wondering what was it that had gone wrong. Nothing obvious leapt to mind. There was no act that screamed out this man is wrong, there was no lack for chemistry and nothing concrete that could be labeled ‘wrong turn here’ throughout the weekend. Not even the lateness of his arrival to breakfast. So what was it that had me brooding on the plane? Was I missing him? No. Did I want to rush off the plane for one more hug or one more kiss? No.
No, the feeling I was wrestling with was relief. I was relieved to be on the plane. I was relieved to be going home. I was relieved to be increasing the distance between us again. When I made it back to my apartment, I reached for the phone to leave him a message that I’d made it home safe and sound. But something in me hesitated to dial the number.
Why?
After only three days together the allure had dimmed. While I had enjoyed our long talks as well as walks, it didn’t seem so urgent for me to pick up the phone and hear his voice. We did talk again, but the conversations were different. The excitement that often seemed to crackle between one day, and us seemed dampened we missed a call. Another week, we missed more than one. But gradually and with some small ounce of regret, we drifted apart.
He finally brought it up one night and said the words we’d both been reluctant to commit to in conversation. What we shared had changed. We’d been a great couple. We’d enjoyed ourselves immensely and we were deeply fond of each other. But the spark that might have kindled to something more extinguished during the first meeting.
We’d been a great couple and now it was time to move on.
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