After mourning my late husband through an extended illness and lingering death, I quickly discovered though I was a young widow, I did not feel ready to return to the dating scene for a while. I put it off as I finished rising our children, finished my college degree and found out what I wanted to be when I grew up was not really what I wanted to be at all. Life seemed to be taking a mad bouncy crashing ride on a road that went nowhere four years after he was gone.
Then I met Mr. Almost Right. Yes, he seemed good, but not really too good to be true. I met him on the Internet, in a mad moment before the holidays when the loneliness for a cuddle by the roaring fire on New Years Eve was overwhelming enough to risk a dating site. I could reach him anywhere, and leave messages on his home phone. I could call him at work. He could call me and talk at will, no whispers or unexpected meetings.
I could hear nothing in the background when he claimed to be home except what I expected to hear … TV, water running. No wife or girl seemed to co-exist in his world. I felt safe enough to proceed with caution.
We talked for hours over several days, Mr. A.R. and I. We couldn’t meet in person right away, because he lived an hour’s drive away and the winter was cruel that year. He said most the right things, made some right plans, called when he said he would, and sent the cutest little text messages. I brought the sexiest panties I dared, I chilled the wine on December 31st and then he called. “Sorry sweetie, weather report says snow.” I tried to keep the dashed dreams tone from creeping in as I replied, well at least we can be together in conversation. Call me at midnight.
He never called. I tried his number at 12:15 a.m., 12:30 a.m., and 2:00 a.m. I was torn between worry and anger. He was not answering his phone. Was he hurt, did he fall asleep, what happened. I left a series of messages, online and on voice mail.
After a week, I finally accepted it was the big kiss off. Probably just another online good time guy, playing games. Probably while his wife and kids were sleeping in another part of the house. It had been fun while it lasted, not too much emotional damage to my ego. I threw the panties in a charity box and decided it really was ok to be single and fifty.
Three days later, he called again. It was, from his point of view, as though nothing had happened. “Hi Sexy, what’s up” popped up on my computer screen as I checked my email. Me: “What happened to you?” Mr. A.R; ” I miss your sweet smile.” Me: “What happened to you?” Mr. A.R. “ I want to see you really soon. I need to see you.” Me: “well … ok. Call me soon. ” He didn’t call, text, or IM. It’s over.
Flash forward to May. Checking my email again when “Hi Sexy, I been thinking about you” appears on my IM. I had neglected to take off his profile. I ignore it, though several little teases appear. “Talk to me” “I miss you”. I remember he said mostly the right things, and made most of the right plans. I should have known better, but curiosity won the day.
He swore off online dating for a while, he explained, to sort out what he wanted. He couldn’t get me off his mind. He wanted another chance. Reluctantly, or at least pretending it was reluctantly, I made a date with him for two days later. I dressed in my bright pink “find me” tee, and went to the meeting place. He was there when I arrived. We talked for over four hours. We talked every day for the next two weeks, he called when I went out of town, we met in person three more times. He declared we were “going together”, and was happy as he had been in a long time. Then silence.
