Hey, how was your weekend? I typed, in what I hoped was the perfect, casual, friendly-but-not-too-eager text message. After a flurry of back-and-forth text messages of the get-to-know-you variety four days earlier, I hadn't heard a word from Kevin since, and I was starting to get nervous.
("He's probably
just waiting for the weekend to ask you out," my friend Ian had
assured me. "Knows he has a better chance of getting laid.")
It still couldn't
hurt to at least touch base mid-week, I figured, and so I waited
anxiously for a response, which came almost immediately.
His weekend was
good, he said, and mine? Also good, I said, and mentioned I had just
returned from Billy. And how is your week looking? I said, inching
closer to my real reason for texting. He was busy, he said, and felt
buried under work at the moment. Sensing that this conversation was
going nowhere fast, I decided to take the bull by the horns, and typed,
Well if you ever have some free time, we should hang out.
I will definitely make time, he replied, and added a smiley face after. And that was it.
My heart sank.
I've been playing this game long enough to recognize rejection when I
see it, even when it is cloaked in feigned enthusiasm. If he had
actually planned on seeing me, he would have said something like, I will definitely make time. How about Saturday? Or, I was thinking Friday, but I'll have to let you know.
Though to the untrained eye it might appear otherwise, I knew that by
not including any kind of time frame in his response, what he actually
meant was I will definitely never make time to see you, the
smiley face alleviating any vestiges of guilt he might have momentarily
felt. A peace offering made of a colon and a parenthesis and a
non-rejection rejection, and then--a clean slate. Absolved.
No, you say? But he said he was buried under work, you say? He said 'definitely;' surely he will call, just give it time,
you say? And oh, my poor, dear, naive reader, I do hate to be the
bearer of bad news, but grab the bull by the horns enough times and you
learn to spot some bull shit. Anyway, that conversation took place
eleven days ago, now. With two weekends in between.
And Dio? I
haven't heard anything from him since his last message suggesting
dinner or drinks "later this week," twelve days ago.
Now, Internet,
you know I have experienced some rejection, in my day. (Which is kind
of like saying that Bill Gates has some money.) I am queen of the Charlie Brown-style flying leap,
forever chasing that basketball, and like Tiara, always landing flat on
my back with the wind knocked out of me. But it used to be that a girl
had to actually put herself out there before she got rejected. Used to
be she had to actually date a guy before she could be dumped, but no
more. Now they can reject you before they even go out with you.
I took myself out
of the game months ago because I just couldn't take it anymore. Took
myself offline, laid low, told myself I would finish up the semester
and get out of this town. Done. I go to school, I go to work, and I go
home and curl up in a boring, comfortable little ball. You can't hurt
what you can't see, after all. But the universe, with its twisted sense
of humor, said ha, we'll see about that, and now guys are coming into my place of business, just to reject me.
Next guy who so much as smiles at me is getting his head ripped off.
I'm done. You hear me, Universe? Done.
