ScallionLove

of a relationship ending silently? It's not as if it is blown to bits and a "ping" is made as each shard hits the ground. It's not as if it was dismantled, brick by brick - followed by the sound of two trucks driving away, each carrying the bricks they initially brought to the project. There isn't the smell of gunpowder. There's no great rainbow after the storm. It just ends...slips back out to sea like a beautiful conch shell that no one noticed and therefore didn't pick-up off the beach. It goes back from whence it came - leaving one to ask the question, 'did it ever really exist?' "Was I dreaming?" And if I do believe that it really existed, "What happened?"

Perhaps the most painful thing in the universe is when someone you love or something you love just slips away. It gives no reason for its departure. Nor does it provide a time and place in which it will be totally gone. But, it dims, quiets, thins out and evenutally - you're alone. And all you can do is pose your questions to the wind. "Why?" you ask it. And like the person or thing you loved, the wind just whips by you, unanswering. It passes you by. And then you realize, you too are beginning to fade away. Fade away from this place where you loved them. So you let yourself dim, let the wind carry you onto the next place. Saying goodbye to the old place forever - because you know the wind won't carry you back there again.

I saw a man die yesterday. Well, I guess I saw him right after he'd died. I was crossing Prince St. heading North to my train station when a a policeman started yelling, "Get out of the way!!!" My coworker, Alan, grabbed me and pulled me off the curb. Fifteen seconds later, three paramedics came dashing up the stairs carrying a man on a stretcher. As soon as they got to the top, they dropped the stretcher and began performing CPR on him, pounding on his chest and shooting air into his lungs. He was gone.

It's strange how clear it was that he had died. His face held nothing - no color or energy. Absolutely nothing. I looked down at his feet. His ankles were thin the way only an old man's can be. I looked at his blue trouser socks pulled half-way up his shins and thought, "not 12 hours ago, he pulled those socks up. Dear God, I wonder if he had any idea that today was the day he would die."

I prayed - for the first time in a while, I prayed. I asked that if his life was over, that his transition to the next place be gentle. I asked that his family remember his life more than his death. That's when I realized that his wife, his children, they were somewhere at that very moment, having no idea that their husband and father had died. I knew this man was gone before his poor wife did. I felt like an intruder, privy to information I had no business having. I wonder today how she is doing and my heart aches.

Being confronted that dramatically with one's own mortality is a powerful thing. I wanted to simultaneously hold everyone I love and everyone who has ever meant anything to me and say "Thank you. I value you. You're loved."

I called my Mother at midnight last night just to make sure she was okay. When she left me a message this morning she said, "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. But, I know you said a prayer for him. I know you wished him well." And, I felt like she knew what i'd felt and what i'd done. I can only hope that this man and his family share a similar connection - and that they know how he felt.

And so, for everyone who's shared with me in this life. Thank you. I value you. You're loved.

So after my CL debacles, I decided to kick it up a notch and join match.com (Brilliant!). Initially, I got 'winked' at a lot by guys whose names I can't pronounce and who are a good 6" shorter than me. Finally, I came across Dan's profile and 'winked' at him. Dan's description paragraph was exquisitely written. Like, literarally (is that a word?) this guy could charm the pants off Conde Rice. Also, the pics looked good and I saw that he was in grad school (i do like 'em smart).

Dan wrote me an email in response to my 'wink' the next day. He was extremely flattering, saying that reading my "portrait" really brightened his day. We exchanged several emails over the next few weeks (most of which required me sending them to a proof reader before sending cause i was embarrassed about my writing skillz compared to his) and set up a date to meet.

My first impression upon meeting Dan in person is that he was PAINFULLY awkward. While attractive, the very way in which he walked seemed to illustrate his discomfort. So I thought, "damn I'd better get shitfaced if I'm gonna get through this," and we headed over to LaGuardia and Houston to a little bar called Madame X. (I would later discover that this bar generally caters to the girls-who-like-boobies kind of crowd - oh well, they still have wicked drink specials.)

The evening that ensued wasn't awful - but certainly wasn't good. Conversing with Dan turned out to be just as awkward as walking with him. He had a stutter and what I was beginning to think was a facial tick. But, cliche' as it may sound, I was lonely as hell and he was big and strong and well, there. So, in true Marshall-girl fashion, I kept him engaged in (this now very painful) conversation, smiling and asking questions about his life. And, when he leaned in for the kiss, I didn't stop it. I sort of let the darkness of the bar with its red leather couches wash over me and told myself I didn't care.

Christmas fell shortly after my first encounter with Dan. This meant a week at home with my Mother and going to visit my Step-Father in the rehabilitation hospital (he'd just had his esophagus removed). Celebrating Christmas in a hospital is no fun, let me tell you. I was at my wits end - being "the strong one." Of my Step-Father's four children, I was the one who flew in for his surgery, visited every day at the hospitals, listened to my Mother talk about her fears and feelings, and put up the goddamn Christmas tree - all the while feeling very much alone and scared and mad that there wasn't someone to help me shoulder the experience. I kept feeling like it would be easier if I was in a relationship - then I'd have that person, that person who is there for you in a way that only a partner can be. Someone who I could talk to about what it's like to be the "catch all" child who can't talk to her Mom about what she's feeling because she knows her Mom is already going through too much of her own emotional roller coaster.

During this time, Dan and I emailed frequently. His emails were consistently complimentary, eloquent and really a pleasure to read. Reading them because my escape - an escape for which I was so grateful. So, in a way, he became very important to me, because he provided me with something else to think about. With the majority of our communication via email, Dan continued to wow me with his expert writing skills. As a writer myself, I had great respect for both his abilities and his determination to express himself.

When I returned to New York, we continued dating, but I noticed more and more that something wasn't right. He would talk about the same topics for hours on end - chewing the conversation till there was no flavor left. He'd call me at 4 AM on a Tuesday and think it an apt time to have a friendly chat. And, as far as bedroom activities went...well, let's just say I didn't really need to be there and he couldn't give a crap about my ahem experience.

I let the 'relationship' continue, behaving like a dead fish and "going with the flow," until one night. My cousin and I met Dan and his friends at his apartment - the five us were to go to the village for a pub crawl. Watching my cousin's face as she interacted with Dan (and was clearly confounded by his awkwardness) the doubt inside me which had been bubbling erupted and I felt confused, uncomfortable and like I needed to bolt. So, when I got home that night, I called him and broke it off. Understandably, he was confused and angry. Actually he teetered between depression and rage and called me repeatedly during the night to tell me about it. Finally, after a half-hearted attempt to 'be friends' in which he used his literary skills to berate me, I cut off all communication

Ever the constructivist, I tried to learn something from this particular experience. Actually, I came out with two pearls of wisdom. #1 - always trust your gut. #2 - some people are just fucking crazy. When I came to New York, I knew the possibility of finding someone spectacular wasn't going to be all that high. But, I had no idea of how much this place truly is a breeding and thriving ground for the mentally insane. Words of wisdom to the reader:

Watch your hands kids. Because, every time you masturbate God deposits another wacko right in the heart of the Big Apple - and I'll probably have to date him.

o, i'm at Loki (bar) last night with (for the sake of anonimity) Betsy and Mary Sue when Mary Sue gets a text message from (again for anonimity's sake) Horace. She checks her phone and is delighted to see that little envelope icon. We then spend the next 20 minutes trying to figure out how exactly to word her reply. You see, text messaging, especially when you're drunk, has to be artfully executed. This is particularly true when you know the receiving party is not receptive to emoticons (smileys). I worry that emoticon use makes me look immature and not intellectual (then again i'm pretty effin crazy, so I worry about a lot of dumb shit like that). Crafting the right amount of interest with the right joke and with the right punctuation takes time, patience, and as Betsy found out - a proof reader.

Anyway, Mary Sue is a free wheeler of emoticon use as is Horace - so that is not a concern in her situation. She writes her mini message, we haggle over wording and she sends it off. However, I too am crafting a text message to a party of intrest who shall be named Butras Butras Gali. I'm pretty sure emoticon use in this situation is a no. So the girls and I agree to incorporate a joke from my earler date with him (if you're reading this, i didn't make it up - somebody really did fart), nix the emotocons, avoid "I" because it comes off as a little too personal, and stick to only one exclamation point as I don't want him to get the impression i'm yelling at him.

This text messaging with wit, warmth, and sass is exausting shit. There needs to be a list of replies somewhere that are universally accepted. Like if you were looking to say the following:

I had a great time with you. We should go out again sometime. I am attracted to you.

The text-semantic converter would spit out:

2-day was fun. Repeat next week? I'll bring midget, you bring poodle.

.....or something. Anyway, there'd be some kinks to iron out.

So yeah, i sent off my text to Butras Butras Gali and got one in return. Seems simple enough. But, damn, communicating these days is digitally exhausting (and i mean digitally both ways).

"It's like those guys you have the great second dates with and then never hear from again. I pretend they died." ~ Miranda

So.

I was discussing this particular quandry today with a friend who shall be named Mary Sue. Here's the scenario: You've had a few decent dates with a guy. Nothing to start deying white pumps "ecru" over, but hey, you had some laughs and atleast a lukewarm connection. All along he's been consistent with communication - playing by the rules mind you. You both wait the same amount of time to respond to each others emails. You never initiate text messaging twice in a row, etc...There's a pattern and it's lame, but it's necessary. Anyway, so during the last date a little somethin' somethin' happened. Now, 5-10 days later, the game has completely changed. He's inconsistent with communication. Often doesn't answer a question with more than a few words, and he definately comes off as "too cool for school" (TCFS).

So, you're starting to get the notion, that "maybe he's not all that into me." Or, "Well, I guess he got what he wanted....asshole." But, wait, he was always kind and courteous before - made effort - took an interest - remembered things that were going on for you. So you start to wonder, is he just playing the TCFS game so that he doesn't have to be the one who likes the other person more than they like him?

Suddenly you go on alert. "Well, shit, if he's playing TCFS, then I have to play TCFS too so we're back on an even keil. I don't want him to think I like him more than I do or GASP more than he likes me." You maintain the TCFS for a little while, but the gnawing question of "What if he takes me playing TCFS as a brush off? What if he thinks I don't like him at all?" begins to surface. You think, "What if there's meant to be more with him? I shouldn't just give up because he's uncertain, should I? But shit, what if it's not TCFS and is, in fact, the brush-off. I definately don't want to look like the girl who couldn't take a hint."

And so you give up - stop initiating communication, which 99 times out of 100 means an end to it all together (if he's playing TCFS and isn't just laid up in a hospital with a broken femur and no phone) because there's nothing worse than looking like the girl who couldn't take a hint. But you wonder for a while if you should have given up so easily or extended yourself just a little bit - been brave, brazen and a little bit naive. You could always tell yourself it won't hurt if he is giving you the brush off. You don't have to feel like a fool for hooking up. Eleanor Roosevelt said, "No one can make you feel inferior without your permission." She must be right, afterall, she's Eleanor Roosevelt. "I should be in control of my emotions - not let them bend at the whim of some man I hardly know." But of course, it's never that simple...

And so, dear readers (all five of you), I leave you with this question: Should we keep it simple, or keep it real? Do we let the ebb and flow that is natural to casual dating relationships run our single romantic lives? Or do we ask the question we're dying to ask - probably to end up back out at sea - but with the slim possibility that for once, we found something real to stand on?