When I wrote that post on dating a few weeks ago, I almost didn’t post it. Just before I wrote that, I met someone. Well, let me rewind…
Last November, I was invited to a holiday party. It was to meet people, make some friends and some social contacts. When I moved to Vegas, I had a broken ankle and couldn’t drive. A couple of months after moving and I still knew almost nobody. Vegas isn’t the easiest place to make friends and a cast which makes it impossible to drive just hinders the process. So I went to the party and met several people. There was one in particular that caught my attention, but I discovered he was not available and so while I thought of him afterwards, I never saw him again and never had any contact.
Until about a month ago. One Friday night, I decided to go to a place I had never been before just to get out of the house and see something different. It was the same night I met Stephen who I know from India. I walked into the bar, and there he was, the guy from the party, who I will call Jim. He was standing with a friend of his who I also knew a little and we began to chat. Jim introduced himself and I told him we had met before at a party. He suddenly remembered me as “the guy in the suit.” I was indeed the only guy in a suit and then he told me how I was the topic of conversation for a couple of weeks after the party. Nobody knew where I had come from or where I disappeared to after the party, but he was happy to see me again and he asked why I never tried to contact him. Long story short, he mentioned he would be interested in dating and so we decided to try it out.
It was a great first date. We met downtown, went to a few places, had a few drinks and talked about anything and everything. Friends, family, life, dreams. It was amazing. Then we said our goodbyes and made plans for a second date a couple weeks later as he would be travelling. We sent texts back and forth every day. I was excited. Elated. I liked him and he liked me. What I knew about him made me feel safe, told me he was different. I thought about him a lot and told a few people about him and how excited I was to finally have met someone like him here and how I was looking forward to seeing where it would all go. Even if it went nowhere. I was excited for the adventure.
Last week Tuesday, when I was in the ICU, we started texting. I just sent him one to wish him a good night. He sent one asking if I was having a good evening and as he knew about my first stroke, I told him a little bit about what was happening. I said that I was in the hospital due to a brain thing. I didn’t want to worry him at all and I didn’t want him to visit me. My idea of a second date was not over 24 hours without a shower, hospital pillow hair and wires all over the place. I wanted to keep things moving forward nicely, but also did not want to lie especially with something that would soon come out when we saw each other. He told me to get some rest and sent a smiley face. I made me smile and I tried to sleep, imagining going on our second date when I was a free man.
That was the last time I have heard anything from him. We went from texting at least once a day to nothing in a week. At first I was hurt. Maybe a little angry. Now, I just have two questions: “Why?” and “Who does something like that?” I can’t imagine treating someone that way. Even if I didn’t like them, I would not do that. If he would have just said that it was too much for him to deal with, I would have understood. People from my work who I have barely said more than hello to sent texts, offered to cook meals, and give me places to stay to recover. This was someone who was supposed to like me. And to vanish when someone is in the hospital. All I wanted was a text asking if I felt better, if I was ok. I wasn’t looking for help. I wasn’t looking for a visit. I thought maybe he was travelling for work, but having mutual friends on Facebook, I got the updates that he was at bars, happy hours and whatnot. All I wanted was a text, a few seconds from his day.
I have thought of sending a message. I want to ask him, I want to tell him how it hurt. I want to make him feel as he made me feel, but I know it will mean nothing and well, it is just not me to do that. He is 48. He knows what he’s doing and so now, I just take comfort in the fact that I found out before I was invested in something more.
As Maya Angelou said “When someone shows you who they are believe them; the first time.” Such basic, no-nonsense advice, yet much easier to say and write than to put into practice. I don’t want or like to believe those things sometimes, but I have indeed learned that if you don’t believe them the first time, they usually go out of their way to keep showing you again and again.
But all that said, I still can tap into my inner Charlotte York and believe and hope that there is someone out there and I just need to be patient.