Crazy Chinatown Man and I last saw each other ten days ago. He'd spent the night on a Sunday, and I had to rouse him from his Xanax-and-alcohol-induced-slumber so I could make it to work on time. Three days later I hadn't heard from him, so I sent him a text.
He responded less enthusiastically than in previous weeks. Messages continued over several days, but I detected a distant tone. I was confused. He seemed uninterested, yet he gave me just enough response to keep me coming back for more. At one point I was ready to give up and call it a wrap, but he followed up a seemingly apathetic text with "you suck cock pretty nicely," and I realized that, at least on some level, he was engaging.
I asked him to hang out on a Friday. He said he was sick. Then he sent a message the next day saying he was headed to Portland.
"Are you back yet?", I wrote on a Monday. The answer was no, without any follow-up about when he might return or if he wanted to see me again.
I was agitated. I felt that seven dates in, with bodily fluids exchanged, I deserved more clarity. I ruminated about what I should write to him to make it clear I needed straightforwardness.
"I want to convey," I told my friend M, "that I had a fun time and am interested in seeing him again in ANY context- dating or friendship- but also that I deserve honesty and that I kind of think he's a dick for not just leveling with me about what's going on."
"That's way too complicated," she advised. "Keep it simple and don't seem crazy."
With the help of a 22-year-old representative for the male species named Sam who we roped in at a bar, we composed and recomposed the perfect message:
"Hey,I just wanted to check in with you because it seems like you've lost interest. I've had a great time with you I've had a fun time hanging out with you but if you don't see this going anywhere, that's cool want to keep seeing me please let me know."
"Hey J______, thanks for the gooddates times these last couple of weeks. I've noticed a lack of communication recently which leads me to believe you're Haven't heard from you in about a week, just wondering if you'd like to go out again. Just let me know."
"Hey, it seems like you've lost interest. If that's the case, can you let me know so I can go back to masturbating aboutMatt Damon Charlie Sheen?"
I didn't send any of them. They all seemed bitter and needy, while I was neither. Somehow, with one simple text, I needed to seem casual, flirtatious, and easygoing, with no neuroses about dating whatsoever.
I repeat: no neuroses. I'm not neurotic. I would never sit down and plan out multiple versions of a possible text message because that would be crazy. Right?!?
M and I switched locations and consulted a legitimate dating expert: our friend's boyfriend, the bartender at Rione XIII. If there is anyone who knows the ins and outs of cross-gender communication, it would be someone who liquors people up for a living. He thought about it for a moment and then delivered:
"So is this going somewhere, or do I need to buy new batteries?"
I typed it in and hit "send." I wasn't nervous at all. In so few words, everything I wanted was communicated.
He responded an hour later.
"New batteries may be in order. I'm down here still because I got that job offer in Salem and am taking it. I'm happy about that, but these sorts of texts are sad!"
It was just what I needed to hear, and I sighed relief with the clarity. I told him I was happy for him and that I'd had a really, really nice time.
"I did too :-)"
Will I ever see him again? I don't know. I told him I would like to say goodbye when he comes back to Seattle to move out, and he said he would like that too. But part of me wants to keep those happy moments in my memory, unchanged, with no associated regret of what might have been. I want to remember him crooning a cheesy love ballad at karaoke in Bush Gardens, teaching me the importance of castling in chess, staring out the window of my apartment imagining the city of Seattle covered in stalactites and stalagmites...
I want to remember how he held my hand before we ever kissed and how we had sex the first time, completely sober.
He responded less enthusiastically than in previous weeks. Messages continued over several days, but I detected a distant tone. I was confused. He seemed uninterested, yet he gave me just enough response to keep me coming back for more. At one point I was ready to give up and call it a wrap, but he followed up a seemingly apathetic text with "you suck cock pretty nicely," and I realized that, at least on some level, he was engaging.
I asked him to hang out on a Friday. He said he was sick. Then he sent a message the next day saying he was headed to Portland.
"Are you back yet?", I wrote on a Monday. The answer was no, without any follow-up about when he might return or if he wanted to see me again.
I was agitated. I felt that seven dates in, with bodily fluids exchanged, I deserved more clarity. I ruminated about what I should write to him to make it clear I needed straightforwardness.
"I want to convey," I told my friend M, "that I had a fun time and am interested in seeing him again in ANY context- dating or friendship- but also that I deserve honesty and that I kind of think he's a dick for not just leveling with me about what's going on."
"That's way too complicated," she advised. "Keep it simple and don't seem crazy."
With the help of a 22-year-old representative for the male species named Sam who we roped in at a bar, we composed and recomposed the perfect message:
"Hey,
"Hey J______, thanks for the good
"Hey, it seems like you've lost interest. If that's the case, can you let me know so I can go back to masturbating about
I didn't send any of them. They all seemed bitter and needy, while I was neither. Somehow, with one simple text, I needed to seem casual, flirtatious, and easygoing, with no neuroses about dating whatsoever.
I repeat: no neuroses. I'm not neurotic. I would never sit down and plan out multiple versions of a possible text message because that would be crazy. Right?!?
M and I switched locations and consulted a legitimate dating expert: our friend's boyfriend, the bartender at Rione XIII. If there is anyone who knows the ins and outs of cross-gender communication, it would be someone who liquors people up for a living. He thought about it for a moment and then delivered:
"So is this going somewhere, or do I need to buy new batteries?"
I typed it in and hit "send." I wasn't nervous at all. In so few words, everything I wanted was communicated.
He responded an hour later.
"New batteries may be in order. I'm down here still because I got that job offer in Salem and am taking it. I'm happy about that, but these sorts of texts are sad!"
It was just what I needed to hear, and I sighed relief with the clarity. I told him I was happy for him and that I'd had a really, really nice time.
"I did too :-)"
Will I ever see him again? I don't know. I told him I would like to say goodbye when he comes back to Seattle to move out, and he said he would like that too. But part of me wants to keep those happy moments in my memory, unchanged, with no associated regret of what might have been. I want to remember him crooning a cheesy love ballad at karaoke in Bush Gardens, teaching me the importance of castling in chess, staring out the window of my apartment imagining the city of Seattle covered in stalactites and stalagmites...
I want to remember how he held my hand before we ever kissed and how we had sex the first time, completely sober.
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