Valentine’s Day is coming up. The single person’s day of Hell.
When I knew that I was going to be moving to Atlanta, I decided that I was going to really make an effort to be active in my search for Mr. Right. How did I do this, one might wonder. Well, before I left California, I registered with an online dating thingie—you know, a matchmaking service. I didn’t go with Match.com, but I went with something like it. I know it sounds crazy, but I wanted to get a head start with getting to know someone so that when I got to Atlanta, there would be someone there to meet.
It worked, ya know. I had talked to a couple of nice young gentlemen before arriving, and shortly after I arrived, I met one of them. I really liked him. He seemed to really like me. Let’s see, what shall I call him? How about Harry? Yes, Harry he will be. Heh.
Harry and I met one night in early August, even before school started. I messaged him that I was in town, as he had requested, and he said, “Well, let’s meet tonight? Have you eaten?” I thought about it for awhile. I usually don’t meet people online until I’ve known them for a good while. I decided to go for it. Isn’t this what it was all about? Meeting people? We scheduled a time for later in the evening (at Applebee’s near my apartment). I arrived there a few minutes early. I knew what car he was driving (a Mercedes) and what he’d be wearing. We planned to meet in the parking lot.
Well, I waited. Then I waited some more. I actually waited for 45 minutes or so! I kept thinking, Maybe he got hung up in some kind of traffic. I finally gave up and went home. I called him, and he asked me where I was. I laughed and asked him where he was. Apparently we were waiting at different restaurants. Oops! He asked if I still wanted to meet him and I assured him that I did. I freshened up a bit (floofing the hair, reapplying lipstick, etc.) and made my way back to the restaurant. When I pulled into the parking lot, he was there standing by his car. He was beautiful. I got out of my car and went over to him. He took my hands and gave me a hug. I won’t go into detail of the whole dinner, but let me just say that it was wonderful. We had fabulous conversation and he didn’t seem put off by me in any way. That’s always a good thing, right? Heh. As he had opened the restaurant’s door for me on the way in, he opened it for me on the way out, his hand on the small of my back, leading me. I love that. That is the most reassuring thing a guy can do sometimes! Anyway . . .
We walked out to our cars and stood and chatted for a bit. The vibe that I was getting was that he wanted to kiss me. I wanted to kiss him, too, but it was just too soon! He asked if he could call me later. Of course! And he did. We talked for a couple more hours. It was so nice. I couldn’t stop smiling, and I of course messaged some friends earlier and told them that I met a really great guy! He asked me when he could see me again. I had a dinner with my future third-grade team the following night, so we planned for two nights later.
It was the beginning of what I thought was going to be a really nice relationship—if even just a getting-to-know-you kind of relationship. Hey, I was giddy with hope! We got together two nights later. He left me phone messages telling me he was thinking about me. He wanted to see me again. We saw each other again. I called him, and he answered, seeming happy to hear from me. We talked sometimes a couple of times a day. The days between our dates began stretching from one or two to three or four. Then I realized that it was a week since we last saw each other. He was also arriving later and later at my apartment. Then he called and said that he’d be late because he was picking up a friend at the airport. He didn’t show up. I called him the next day, and he said that the plane was delayed and he didn’t think that I’d want him calling so late. I assured him that if there was a next time (that he’d be late), that I would more than appreciate a call, I’d expect a call.
He stopped answering my calls. I’d always get his voicemail. I would leave messages, happy little messages. Inside I was questioning things. What did I do. What happened here? Did I say something to turn him off? He’d call me days after I left a message to “get together”. I was beginning to see a pattern that I didn’t like. I was there for him when he “needed me”, but he was not there when I wanted to be with him. Finally, I asked him if we could go out on a real date. It had been awhile since we just went out—restaurant, movie, etc. He agreed and asked me to call the following day for details. I did. We made our plans and picked a time. As I was walking out the door, he called and left a message that he was running late (at the barber’s) and that he would call me when he was finished there. He never did. Did I call him? Of course I did. For a week. I wondered what the heck happened. I wanted to know if he was okay. No answers. No returned calls. Nothing.
I gave up. I was devastated. I was hurt. I really liked this guy a lot. He seemed to like me. However, it became abundantly clear that something was not quite right. I thought that maybe he had a wife. No, there were things about him that indicated he was definitely not married. Maybe he was in a serious relationship, though. Still, I couldn’t believe that. Something was definitely not right, though.
When I didn’t hear from him for a week, for two weeks, for three weeks, I had started looking again for Mr. Right. I dated a couple of guys briefly. It was much of the same, though. Guys running late. (I’m talking LATE, not tardy. Not 15-20 minutes or so. Hours.) It became quite clear quite quickly that these “dates” were just a formality to get me into bed. It seems that is what is wanted, not a relationship. So, I’d move on.
Three-and-a-half weeks pass by. I get a late-night call but the caller hangs up. I come home from school to an unfamiliar number on my caller I.D. I begin wondering. Finally, I get another late-night call, and it’s a man’s voice. “Hey there, Maggie.” Groggily I respond with a, “Hello? Who is this?” I am fairly certain I know who it is, but I wasn’t quite sure. “It’s Harry.” I stumble through another hello and just laid back. He asked me if I still wanted to talk to him. I did. I hated that I did, but I did. We didn’t talk for very long because he knew he had awakened me, but it was contact once again. When we hung up, I checked my caller I.D., and it was the same unfamiliar number that I had seen before. He had recently moved into a new apartment, so I realized that it must be his home number. I had only used his cell number up until then.
That’s where the long, twisted tale of Harry begins again. We began to “see” each other again . . . at his whim, not mine. It continues on like this. I go to his place. He comes to my place. We have great conversation and stuff. I feel weird vibes from him before I leave, like he doesn’t really want me there. Then winter break comes for school, and we make plans to meet a couple of days before I leave for Wisconsin to see my family. He says that “tonight” wouldn’t be good. That’s okay, what about tomorrow night. He hems and haws and then says that’s not good either. Again, a weird vibe. I asked him what was wrong, and he says, “Look, Maggie, I’ve been seeing someone else and I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stand the guilt.” Hmmm. He said it quite coldly, too. I was upset. I was hurt. I asked him for how long, and he said “awhile”. He’d give me no more information than that.
I went home for the holidays. I cried all the way home on the plane. I tried my hardest to be joyful and happy with my family. I wasn’t completely successful. I found a statement written by my sister to my mother that “Maggie and Don [my brother who’s in prison] are in the same boat except that Maggie has created her own prison.” What? That just added to a wonderfully heartbroken holiday season. While I was home, though, I had come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going to see Harry again. I was almost okay about it. I hated myself for letting it get to the point that it did. I hated myself for really liking someone who would do this to me. I’m better than that. I deserve better than that. Yada yada yada—all the things that I say to myself and others say to me, too. (I wish my heart had ears so that I could give it a good talking to!) On the way home, I listen to my music and am fairly okay.
I get home to several messages from Harry. He wants me to call.
I am once again in the spiraling downfall of Harry. His “friend” moved in with him. He knew it was a mistake right away. He didn’t feel the same about her as he did about me. She was an ex-girlfriend from back home, and they began talking again a few months back (interestingly around the time that he stood me up on our date). She moved out after a week or so. And he wanted to come see me. I let him. He was a different Harry. He was the Harry that I first met and knew and fell for. He was loving and kind and didn’t make me feel unwanted after awhile. He made me feel beautiful and special.
Until I went home or he went home. Then it was him not answering my calls or returning my calls. We are at a point now where he calls me when he wants to see me, but he doesn’t call or answer my calls in-between those times. It sucks, quite frankly. However, I’ve come to terms with it, as I did a long time ago. He isn’t looking for a girlfriend. He isn’t looking for a relationship, not the kind that I want. So, I continue to be on the lookout for Mr. Right. I am not so stupid or naïve to think that Harry is Mr. Right. He may never be ready to be someone’s Mr. Right. But I am going to enjoy the few times together until I do find Mr. Right.
Since I’ve been in Atlanta, I’ve dated four men. I can’t seem to get Harry off my mind, though. I try. I imagine when the right guy comes along, I’ll forget all about Harry. Until then, I will keep my options open and my heart guarded.
Happy Valentine’s Day! Heh.
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