If it looks too good to be true, it probably is.
What were you thinking?
At my age you’d think the schoolboy stuff would be over and done with. Guess I’m a poster child for arrested development.
Welcome back to the bipolar rollercoaster ride of love. I probably shouldn’t call it love yet, considering we’ve only had one date. Date number two didn’t go well. In fact, it didn’t go at all.
To be fair, it wasn’t an actual date. More of a “Meet you after work for a little bit?” The first night, Angel’s kid was sick and she needed to get home, but I was told to make myself available Friday night. We both got paid at the same time, and fun was to be had.
I texted her about an hour before the meetup, no response. No big deal; she’s at work, probably rules against talking or texting on work time. I proceeded as planned, getting my banking done and ‘making myself available.’ I found a bus stop on Sixth Avenue, and waited.
Every few minutes I’d check the phone for texts, in case I’d overlooked the vibration. (Not likely. The phone rests next to my nipple.) After an hour or so, I moved up to Pioneer Square. I sat in front of the TV newsquarium, and texted her again. “In the shade @ Pio SQ, probably on the news.” I waited some more, but was getting a sinking feeling. It wasn’t gonna happen.
I walked, and walked some more. I wanted to fight, wanted to drink. Why is she ignoring me?
I waited until the last bus, then headed home in a blue funk.
Sleep came slowly. I’d get up every few minutes and check my phone. Nothing. After thrashing around all morning, I decided to get up and go. Anywhere. I had to get some air.
A bus ride downtown did the trick. I went to Safeway and bought bananas. I walked them across downtown and hid them in the back room at work. I walked past Angel’s work, casting a sideways eye but seeing nothing. She wasn’t due at work for a few more hours anyway.
I found a shady spot near the waterfront, took a huge puff of something green and pulled out my clipboard and yellow legal pad. “hey baby…” Rip, wad, toss.
“Hey you-” Rip, wad, toss. Think, asshole.
“Angel,” I began writing. “Sorry if this is messy. I’m not used to writing notes longhand. I’m bummed to have missed you last night. Hope everything is okay.”
I continued, “Sorry if I seem too excited about all this, but I am. I’ll ease back a little, but I want you to know I think about you every minute.”
Rip, wad, toss. I picked up my three attempts at love notes and threw them in the trash. Then poured the remains of my diet soda over them, so bums wouldn’t take the notes and play with them. The first part of easing back is easing back. I’ve made enough attempts at contact, she knows how to find me. I walked on.
Was I too pushy? While I make her sound like a wild child, she’s quite grounded. I see her as the perfect blend of Class and Crazy. She’s up for fun, but also up for work. Maybe she likes me, but doesn’t *like* me, and is trying not to hurt my feelings. If that’s the case, I’d prefer she’d just tell me.
And her kid is sick.
Another thought: There’s been no contact. Maybe her phone is out of service. Not likely, but…
Most likely? After the brandy wore off, she sees me for what I am, and not what she wants me to be. Why can’t booze goggles last just a little longer?
I still haven’t heard from her. It’s unlike her to go dark. She has always canceled if she couldn’t make it.
As I hope for the best and anticipate the worst, I can’t help but feel like I should know better. I’ve been through this enough times. I get a bit of attention from an attractive lady, my brain blows it up like a Malibu wildfire and the next thing I’m doing, thinking and saying stoopid mushy stuff. I try to take things slow, but that never works…