OoOoooOooO
Let's talk Spooky...
this is not about Paranormal Activity the movie (1-5)
this is not about Halloween
this is not about Ouija boards (although that form of communication might be my last resort...)
This is about Ghosting
-No amount of sage can save you now (and trust me, I've tried.)
If you don't know what Ghosting is (which I wish you didn't, but you probably do.)
Ghosting is "the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone by suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication." (Also how FUCKED is it that there is an ACTUAL DEFINITION CONNECTED TO THE ONLINE DICTIONARY? COME ON, GUYS.)
Unfortunately, most of us are far too familiar with the newest term connected to such a haunting. We've either
a.) been ghosted (may God be with you now)
b.) have ghosted (may God knock some sense into you because hey, that shit ain't cool)
c.) been at a friend's side as they've exercised ugly demons of the past.
Because that's exactly what a Ghost is. An energy sucking, time consuming, numbing entity of the other side who's memory haunts your daily existence. Their vauge memory, the time you've shared, the conversations expressed, their imprint on your body, repeats and reappears until one day their existence fails to move inside your mind. And then they die. Until they become zombies and return from the dead (but we'll save that for another post.)
This past year in my playwriting class I wrote a handful of short plays over the topic because it endlessly facisnates and disturbs my imagination. I'd like to go on record and announce that I have ghosted ONCE in my dating lifetime. And I'd also like to add to said record that it was accidental (I typed out the whole message and SWORE I HIT SEND, OKAY?! I SWEAR!) and, a year later, I wrote said person with a heartfelt apology ending with,
"Sorry that I was a fucking asshole."
(Their response was extremely kind, and ended with "If I had a dollar for every time I was ghosted, I wouldn't have any student loans." And they were a grad student.) ((Note to reader: perhaps leave that part omitted next time.)) )
I'm making this post today because I'm currently being haunted. Transparently, I'm hoping this post will offer a sense of completion, because I don't know if I'm going to get what I want in the end. I've done some googling (I'm still trying to find a therapist in Georgia, so for now I'm a slave to the internet and the input of my friends, who I'm terribly certain are tired of this age old tale.) Reductress has yet to offer advice to my problem...
What Do You Do When a Ghost Has Your Belonging?
So here's the story. I'll set the scene.
Chicago, August 6th, 2017. 11:00 PM.
The Green Mill bar in Andersonville.
Lights up on a swanky jazz club (in fact the oldest in Chicago) the two lead characters sit in a large wrap around booth.
Cassandra, 22
Dick, 24
We'll call him Dick, not in a mere act of sardonicism but because his name is actually Richard- which makes the name play both sweet, simple, and appropriate.
Now, I would like for you to imagine an episode of Haunted or I Survived a Paranormal Attack. I'm sitting in what you'd assume is my cleanly home. It might be fun to imagine my image blurred and voice altered by a machine to conceal my identity. But I have no interest in hiding- I just thought it could be a satisfying exercise for you, reader.
And I say...
We met on tinder. Around early June I purchased Tinder Plus because I had extra iTunes money in my account and I figured it wouldn't be a bad idea to get an early start and discover something (er, someone) to do while I lived in Chicago for the final two weeks of the month. Swipe, swipe, swipe... nothing. Until Dick's profile appeared. Now, I'm not typically one to strike gold online... but wow. He was beautiful, cuban, and had a comedy page on instragram and the content was pretty solid. I realize now the first red flag-
never, ever date a comedian
but I digress.
I decided to send a message. Something alluring and interesting, surely to sway his opinion away from merely my striking jaw line, blue eyes, and simple intro message ("50% actor, 50% fine dining and breathing ")
"Ooh, I'm an ENFP." (He shared in his profile to be an ENFT.)
Nothing.
No reply.
Which was fine, I decided. Because this is the internet and everything comes here to die. So I was completely moved on after a day and three quarters. Yet once I arrived in the city I shared with my friend (Who is Margaux. But she probably isn't reading this and if she is I'm sure she doesn't mind being an active part of my story.)
Cassandra- look at this cute boy.
Margaux- omg we matched too!
Yet upon pulling out our phones and up our apps... there was no longer a match.
Margaux- haha
Cassandra- haha
But he never messaged me back so we laughed and shrugged and swiped some more.
Setting: Dublin. Boarding a flight through Aerlingus to Marselle. 6:00AM
Go sound cue two: Typical Tinder Text Tone
Across Cassandra's phone appears "New message from Dick"
Cassandra- who the fuck is Dick?
Dick- I'm also an actor and work in fine dining. I also have Toto on vinyl.
(This is probably an appropriate time to mention that my anthem on tinder is Africa by Toto. Rightfully so.)
From there we begin to message back and forth, mostly during odd hours of the night. Like 3:00am (because it was around 8:00pm in the US)
We discuss getting drinks upon my return to the States. We talk about french red blends that cost me three euros. About Chicago neighborhoods, working eleven days in a row, deep frying our freedom on the fourth of July, shitty Paris hotels. We talk about the 80's (which he is obsessed.) How the Rumors album by Fleetwood Mac is a masterpiece. We talk about Jesus. I ask if he's seen Cars 3. He tells me to see Baby Driver. I send him a dating video from the 80's and he can't believe it, because it's his favorite Youtube video of all time.
Finally, after five weeks of transatlantic communication at odd hours of the night I land in Chicago and turn on my data to find a few texts from him that day. I ask when we want to meet up? He explains that he works for the next few days, but will be off on the 8th.
Which just so happened to be the day I fly back to Atlanta.
We decide on drinks after he gets off from work. Sunday night, 11:00pm.
As the date approaches... I began to feel apathy and I didn't really want to go. You see, I was holding onto the secret that I wasn't going to be moving to Chicago anymore (because this was when Amsterdam was still the plan.) But after a few hours go by, a comedy show at Second City, a party, I decide that I'm in the mood to go on a date.
The Greenmill:
I arrive on time, therefore I'm the first one there. I notice a sign that says "Cash Only" which makes my skin crawl because I'm adamit to pay for myself... but I only have euros. I pick up the phone and call my friend, Megan. I wanted him to arrive and see me in my natural state. Talkative. Eventually, he rounds the corner and I'm met with a feeling of comfort.
Yup, I decided.
This will be good.
There was a live jazz band playing. He pays my cover charge and purchases me a gin and tonic. We find the only booth available and begin to chat. Nearly immediately I reveal the goods.
As in the good news of my future plans.
I can tell he's caught off guard by the fact that this is not only our first date, but probably only date for um... about a year. But as I reveal the story we share in my excitement for the future.
Without going into too much detail... sitting next to each other in the bar was one of those instantaneous moments of mutual attraction met with incredible underlining connection. It was like one of those acting exercises where you're playing mirror to the other person, but you're both hella in sync and it's electrifying and alarming because this is only an exercise and it shouldn't feel so connected and real and as if you're one of the same.
So I wasn't surprised when he kissed me.
But I was surprised by my interest in intimacy.
Because, if you know me well, you know that it takes time for me to feel comfortable and physically available to another person. I'm incredibly vulnerable and open with my words yet entirely coy and skittish with my physical warmth- much like a rescue cat in the PetSmart adoption booth, who offers just enough to make you think it's a worthy idea to come back next week and see if they're still up for adoption.
And even now when I reflect on this story, I can't believe that I had only known this person for two hours and yet it was like I had known them much, much longer.
Before I know it I'm standing in the warehouse of his apartment, meeting his roommates and friend. Having our polaroid picture (which DAMN, I wanted to see it!) taken against our will. Excusing ourselves to go explore the rest of the apartment and, you know, talk.
And in lieu of further details- I'm going to give Dick some credit.
He was entirely respectful of me and the entire experience. Obviously there were probably expectations going into the event and I wasn't hesitant to quickly shatter those. When I said I didn't want to have sex he didn't push back. And in result, I liked him all the better and we had an entirely comfortable night that, in a way, I'm still grateful for.
I want to share one detail that gave me ghostly goosebumps. Remember earlier, when I talked about details that continue to replay in your brain?
I like to sleep with my head by the window. So, typically, this results with my pillow being at the foot of the bed and away from the headboard. And once we decided to go to sleep...
Dick took his motherfucking pillow. and he put it at the foot. of the damn bed.
In the morning we shared coffee and he walked me to the train station. We shared more stories and further shocked ourselves with eery similarities. He showed me the neighborhood and expressed that I should move to Logansqaure once I return. When we got to the L we discussed plans to see each other that night, my last night in the city.
And I hopped on the train.
And melted into my seat.
And thought how sad I was to not have more time with him.
But to be grateful for what I did.
And then I realized
Cassandra: Oh fuck... where is my ring?
The symbol.
I left my ring at his place! My brand new ring from FRANCE. The ring I was SO EXCITED to buy. The one I took ages to decide upon. The silver band with a jade gem stone. The one I loved and chose and wore every day since purchase.
But it was cool. Because I would see him later.
But... later rolled around. And my text went... ignored.
And it was midnight.
Then one.
Then two.
Then... the Ghosting hour.
I considered drinking the three euro bottle of red that I brought back from France for us to share because I'm "adorable" like that. But instead I fell asleep full of bitter blackness, because I had to wake up early for my flight home. A flight that I didn't want to take, because I love Chicago. I love the city. I like this boy. And I don't want to begin my five months of living at home.
I hoped to wake from a text from him. But I didn't.
It took me two days to finally muster up the courage to make the phone call. And I don't fear phone calls. I don't have callers anxiety. But I was literally shaking. I ran over my script multiple times, prepared to leave a voicemail because I was certain he wouldn't answer.
Finally, I clicked on "Dick" in my phonebook. And after one ring he answered. Much to my surprise...
Cassandra- Oh! Hey?
Dick- Hey! I'm on Michigan ave. Where are you?
Cassandra- ... I'm in Georgia?
Dick- Right, right. Because your flight was today-
Cassandra- Yesterday-
Dick- Yesterday! How was the flight?
Cassandra- Uh... not great? Um... yeah, I was just calling because... my ring?
Dick- Right! I have it.
Cassandra- (mocking surprise) Oh! You do? Good, good. I was worried-
Dick- Yeah, I meant to tell you. It must have sentimental value, huh?
Cassandra- Of course, or else I wouldn't-
Dick- Do you want me to mail it to you?
Cassandra- Would you? That would be great.
Dick- Yeah, yeah I meant to. Just text me your address.
Cassandra- Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.
Dick- And hey, I'm sorry I didn't text you the other night. I'm not good at texting, like I told you, and I got home at 11:00 and passed out.
Cassandra- It's fine. (It wasn't)
Dick- But I really enjoyed meeting you-
Cassandra- Me too.
Dick- So send me your address, okay?
Cassandra- Sure.
Dick- And let me know the next time you're in Chicago.
Cassandra- Yeah, yeah. Sure.
So I texted him my address. And I felt good. Because it wasn't over and I didn't want it to be. Sure, it was shitty that he didn't get back to me. But we were up late, and he worked all day, and I love to make excuses for other people who don't deserve my time.
A few days later, my dentist asked me if I had seen Cars 3 and I couldn't believe it because no one saw that stupid fucking movie. So I texted Dick about it. And I didn't hear back.
And then almost a month went by.
And I didn't have my ring.
So I called him on the September 4th. I remember the date because it was the other day, my first day of serving tables and collecting tips, and it was his birthday. But he didn't answer. So the next day I sent a text requesting the status of my ring.
.... Nothing.
And even though I knew deep down earlier... I had to face the fact that I, for the first time, had been
Ghosted.
I was sad about it, sure. Because truthfully, yeah, I was looking forward to seeing him again in October (when I'm going back out to the city to visit.) I was sad about the beautiful words and kind compliments he offered me. I was sad about having to wonder what was real and what was manipulation in the heat of the moment. But mostly...
I'm sad about my ring.
This object that I bought for myself to always remind me of the adventure I experienced that summer.
A symbol of my post graduate summer.
A gift I gave to myself.
So I texted him yesterday,
Cassandra: Look... it doesn't bring me pleasure to burden you with your own offer, but that ring holds significance or else I wouldn't bother. Obviously it's my fault for leaving it, so if it's missing that's on me. But if you have it, I want it. If sending it is a problem I'll take it back in October.
Nothing.
.....
Tonight at work I served a family who is from Miami, and they think they lost one of their cars to the storm. A pang hits my heart.
Dick is from Miami. That's where his mother and plenty of his friends are living.
I wonder... am I being entirely selfish? He's going through this... time. And I don't know, I figure he's obviously still in Chicago but where is his mom? Is she safe? With him? Somewhere in Georgia? Toughing out the hurricane? Is she okay? Is he okay?
And then I wonder... why am I like this? Why do I have to care about someone who so clearly does not care about me? I don't mean to care, mind you. But it's this like... problematic programming in my personality.
But I was decided that I would call him *sigh* again. I figured that it would probably go to voicemail. I could at least offer my genuine empathy towards his family and then focus back on my ring. Once I left work and got to my car I clicked, again, on "Dick" and waited for an endless ring. To my surprise it went directly to voicemail. Which makes me wonder.... did he actually block me? I didn't leave a voicemail and I drove home, determined to make this post. Because all I could think about was how he held me late at night and asked,
Dick: (with a smile, stroking her hair) So, are you going to write about this?
Let's talk Spooky...
this is not about Paranormal Activity the movie (1-5)
this is not about Halloween
this is not about Ouija boards (although that form of communication might be my last resort...)
This is about Ghosting
-No amount of sage can save you now (and trust me, I've tried.)
If you don't know what Ghosting is (which I wish you didn't, but you probably do.)
Ghosting is "the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone by suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication." (Also how FUCKED is it that there is an ACTUAL DEFINITION CONNECTED TO THE ONLINE DICTIONARY? COME ON, GUYS.)
Unfortunately, most of us are far too familiar with the newest term connected to such a haunting. We've either
a.) been ghosted (may God be with you now)
b.) have ghosted (may God knock some sense into you because hey, that shit ain't cool)
c.) been at a friend's side as they've exercised ugly demons of the past.
Because that's exactly what a Ghost is. An energy sucking, time consuming, numbing entity of the other side who's memory haunts your daily existence. Their vauge memory, the time you've shared, the conversations expressed, their imprint on your body, repeats and reappears until one day their existence fails to move inside your mind. And then they die. Until they become zombies and return from the dead (but we'll save that for another post.)
This past year in my playwriting class I wrote a handful of short plays over the topic because it endlessly facisnates and disturbs my imagination. I'd like to go on record and announce that I have ghosted ONCE in my dating lifetime. And I'd also like to add to said record that it was accidental (I typed out the whole message and SWORE I HIT SEND, OKAY?! I SWEAR!) and, a year later, I wrote said person with a heartfelt apology ending with,
"Sorry that I was a fucking asshole."
(Their response was extremely kind, and ended with "If I had a dollar for every time I was ghosted, I wouldn't have any student loans." And they were a grad student.) ((Note to reader: perhaps leave that part omitted next time.)) )
I'm making this post today because I'm currently being haunted. Transparently, I'm hoping this post will offer a sense of completion, because I don't know if I'm going to get what I want in the end. I've done some googling (I'm still trying to find a therapist in Georgia, so for now I'm a slave to the internet and the input of my friends, who I'm terribly certain are tired of this age old tale.) Reductress has yet to offer advice to my problem...
What Do You Do When a Ghost Has Your Belonging?
So here's the story. I'll set the scene.
Chicago, August 6th, 2017. 11:00 PM.
The Green Mill bar in Andersonville.
Lights up on a swanky jazz club (in fact the oldest in Chicago) the two lead characters sit in a large wrap around booth.
Cassandra, 22
Dick, 24
We'll call him Dick, not in a mere act of sardonicism but because his name is actually Richard- which makes the name play both sweet, simple, and appropriate.
Now, I would like for you to imagine an episode of Haunted or I Survived a Paranormal Attack. I'm sitting in what you'd assume is my cleanly home. It might be fun to imagine my image blurred and voice altered by a machine to conceal my identity. But I have no interest in hiding- I just thought it could be a satisfying exercise for you, reader.
And I say...
We met on tinder. Around early June I purchased Tinder Plus because I had extra iTunes money in my account and I figured it wouldn't be a bad idea to get an early start and discover something (er, someone) to do while I lived in Chicago for the final two weeks of the month. Swipe, swipe, swipe... nothing. Until Dick's profile appeared. Now, I'm not typically one to strike gold online... but wow. He was beautiful, cuban, and had a comedy page on instragram and the content was pretty solid. I realize now the first red flag-
never, ever date a comedian
but I digress.
I decided to send a message. Something alluring and interesting, surely to sway his opinion away from merely my striking jaw line, blue eyes, and simple intro message ("50% actor, 50% fine dining and breathing ")
"Ooh, I'm an ENFP." (He shared in his profile to be an ENFT.)
Nothing.
No reply.
Which was fine, I decided. Because this is the internet and everything comes here to die. So I was completely moved on after a day and three quarters. Yet once I arrived in the city I shared with my friend (Who is Margaux. But she probably isn't reading this and if she is I'm sure she doesn't mind being an active part of my story.)
Cassandra- look at this cute boy.
Margaux- omg we matched too!
Yet upon pulling out our phones and up our apps... there was no longer a match.
Margaux- haha
Cassandra- haha
But he never messaged me back so we laughed and shrugged and swiped some more.
Setting: Dublin. Boarding a flight through Aerlingus to Marselle. 6:00AM
Go sound cue two: Typical Tinder Text Tone
Across Cassandra's phone appears "New message from Dick"
Cassandra- who the fuck is Dick?
Dick- I'm also an actor and work in fine dining. I also have Toto on vinyl.
(This is probably an appropriate time to mention that my anthem on tinder is Africa by Toto. Rightfully so.)
From there we begin to message back and forth, mostly during odd hours of the night. Like 3:00am (because it was around 8:00pm in the US)
We discuss getting drinks upon my return to the States. We talk about french red blends that cost me three euros. About Chicago neighborhoods, working eleven days in a row, deep frying our freedom on the fourth of July, shitty Paris hotels. We talk about the 80's (which he is obsessed.) How the Rumors album by Fleetwood Mac is a masterpiece. We talk about Jesus. I ask if he's seen Cars 3. He tells me to see Baby Driver. I send him a dating video from the 80's and he can't believe it, because it's his favorite Youtube video of all time.
Finally, after five weeks of transatlantic communication at odd hours of the night I land in Chicago and turn on my data to find a few texts from him that day. I ask when we want to meet up? He explains that he works for the next few days, but will be off on the 8th.
Which just so happened to be the day I fly back to Atlanta.
We decide on drinks after he gets off from work. Sunday night, 11:00pm.
As the date approaches... I began to feel apathy and I didn't really want to go. You see, I was holding onto the secret that I wasn't going to be moving to Chicago anymore (because this was when Amsterdam was still the plan.) But after a few hours go by, a comedy show at Second City, a party, I decide that I'm in the mood to go on a date.
The Greenmill:
I arrive on time, therefore I'm the first one there. I notice a sign that says "Cash Only" which makes my skin crawl because I'm adamit to pay for myself... but I only have euros. I pick up the phone and call my friend, Megan. I wanted him to arrive and see me in my natural state. Talkative. Eventually, he rounds the corner and I'm met with a feeling of comfort.
Yup, I decided.
This will be good.
There was a live jazz band playing. He pays my cover charge and purchases me a gin and tonic. We find the only booth available and begin to chat. Nearly immediately I reveal the goods.
As in the good news of my future plans.
I can tell he's caught off guard by the fact that this is not only our first date, but probably only date for um... about a year. But as I reveal the story we share in my excitement for the future.
Without going into too much detail... sitting next to each other in the bar was one of those instantaneous moments of mutual attraction met with incredible underlining connection. It was like one of those acting exercises where you're playing mirror to the other person, but you're both hella in sync and it's electrifying and alarming because this is only an exercise and it shouldn't feel so connected and real and as if you're one of the same.
So I wasn't surprised when he kissed me.
But I was surprised by my interest in intimacy.
Because, if you know me well, you know that it takes time for me to feel comfortable and physically available to another person. I'm incredibly vulnerable and open with my words yet entirely coy and skittish with my physical warmth- much like a rescue cat in the PetSmart adoption booth, who offers just enough to make you think it's a worthy idea to come back next week and see if they're still up for adoption.
And even now when I reflect on this story, I can't believe that I had only known this person for two hours and yet it was like I had known them much, much longer.
Before I know it I'm standing in the warehouse of his apartment, meeting his roommates and friend. Having our polaroid picture (which DAMN, I wanted to see it!) taken against our will. Excusing ourselves to go explore the rest of the apartment and, you know, talk.
And in lieu of further details- I'm going to give Dick some credit.
He was entirely respectful of me and the entire experience. Obviously there were probably expectations going into the event and I wasn't hesitant to quickly shatter those. When I said I didn't want to have sex he didn't push back. And in result, I liked him all the better and we had an entirely comfortable night that, in a way, I'm still grateful for.
I want to share one detail that gave me ghostly goosebumps. Remember earlier, when I talked about details that continue to replay in your brain?
I like to sleep with my head by the window. So, typically, this results with my pillow being at the foot of the bed and away from the headboard. And once we decided to go to sleep...
Dick took his motherfucking pillow. and he put it at the foot. of the damn bed.
In the morning we shared coffee and he walked me to the train station. We shared more stories and further shocked ourselves with eery similarities. He showed me the neighborhood and expressed that I should move to Logansqaure once I return. When we got to the L we discussed plans to see each other that night, my last night in the city.
And I hopped on the train.
And melted into my seat.
And thought how sad I was to not have more time with him.
But to be grateful for what I did.
And then I realized
Cassandra: Oh fuck... where is my ring?
The symbol.
I left my ring at his place! My brand new ring from FRANCE. The ring I was SO EXCITED to buy. The one I took ages to decide upon. The silver band with a jade gem stone. The one I loved and chose and wore every day since purchase.
But it was cool. Because I would see him later.
But... later rolled around. And my text went... ignored.
And it was midnight.
Then one.
Then two.
Then... the Ghosting hour.
I considered drinking the three euro bottle of red that I brought back from France for us to share because I'm "adorable" like that. But instead I fell asleep full of bitter blackness, because I had to wake up early for my flight home. A flight that I didn't want to take, because I love Chicago. I love the city. I like this boy. And I don't want to begin my five months of living at home.
I hoped to wake from a text from him. But I didn't.
It took me two days to finally muster up the courage to make the phone call. And I don't fear phone calls. I don't have callers anxiety. But I was literally shaking. I ran over my script multiple times, prepared to leave a voicemail because I was certain he wouldn't answer.
Finally, I clicked on "Dick" in my phonebook. And after one ring he answered. Much to my surprise...
Cassandra- Oh! Hey?
Dick- Hey! I'm on Michigan ave. Where are you?
Cassandra- ... I'm in Georgia?
Dick- Right, right. Because your flight was today-
Cassandra- Yesterday-
Dick- Yesterday! How was the flight?
Cassandra- Uh... not great? Um... yeah, I was just calling because... my ring?
Dick- Right! I have it.
Cassandra- (mocking surprise) Oh! You do? Good, good. I was worried-
Dick- Yeah, I meant to tell you. It must have sentimental value, huh?
Cassandra- Of course, or else I wouldn't-
Dick- Do you want me to mail it to you?
Cassandra- Would you? That would be great.
Dick- Yeah, yeah I meant to. Just text me your address.
Cassandra- Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.
Dick- And hey, I'm sorry I didn't text you the other night. I'm not good at texting, like I told you, and I got home at 11:00 and passed out.
Cassandra- It's fine. (It wasn't)
Dick- But I really enjoyed meeting you-
Cassandra- Me too.
Dick- So send me your address, okay?
Cassandra- Sure.
Dick- And let me know the next time you're in Chicago.
Cassandra- Yeah, yeah. Sure.
So I texted him my address. And I felt good. Because it wasn't over and I didn't want it to be. Sure, it was shitty that he didn't get back to me. But we were up late, and he worked all day, and I love to make excuses for other people who don't deserve my time.
A few days later, my dentist asked me if I had seen Cars 3 and I couldn't believe it because no one saw that stupid fucking movie. So I texted Dick about it. And I didn't hear back.
And then almost a month went by.
And I didn't have my ring.
So I called him on the September 4th. I remember the date because it was the other day, my first day of serving tables and collecting tips, and it was his birthday. But he didn't answer. So the next day I sent a text requesting the status of my ring.
.... Nothing.
And even though I knew deep down earlier... I had to face the fact that I, for the first time, had been
Ghosted.
I was sad about it, sure. Because truthfully, yeah, I was looking forward to seeing him again in October (when I'm going back out to the city to visit.) I was sad about the beautiful words and kind compliments he offered me. I was sad about having to wonder what was real and what was manipulation in the heat of the moment. But mostly...
I'm sad about my ring.
This object that I bought for myself to always remind me of the adventure I experienced that summer.
A symbol of my post graduate summer.
A gift I gave to myself.
So I texted him yesterday,
Cassandra: Look... it doesn't bring me pleasure to burden you with your own offer, but that ring holds significance or else I wouldn't bother. Obviously it's my fault for leaving it, so if it's missing that's on me. But if you have it, I want it. If sending it is a problem I'll take it back in October.
Nothing.
.....
Tonight at work I served a family who is from Miami, and they think they lost one of their cars to the storm. A pang hits my heart.
Dick is from Miami. That's where his mother and plenty of his friends are living.
I wonder... am I being entirely selfish? He's going through this... time. And I don't know, I figure he's obviously still in Chicago but where is his mom? Is she safe? With him? Somewhere in Georgia? Toughing out the hurricane? Is she okay? Is he okay?
And then I wonder... why am I like this? Why do I have to care about someone who so clearly does not care about me? I don't mean to care, mind you. But it's this like... problematic programming in my personality.
But I was decided that I would call him *sigh* again. I figured that it would probably go to voicemail. I could at least offer my genuine empathy towards his family and then focus back on my ring. Once I left work and got to my car I clicked, again, on "Dick" and waited for an endless ring. To my surprise it went directly to voicemail. Which makes me wonder.... did he actually block me? I didn't leave a voicemail and I drove home, determined to make this post. Because all I could think about was how he held me late at night and asked,
Dick: (with a smile, stroking her hair) So, are you going to write about this?
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